 Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle. The gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor, as Detective Danny Clover. Nighttime of November, a special time on Broadway. Sense it, it's a new time, when the after-images of early autumn are dying, cloaked already in river mists, chill and drifting. And sense this, that winter is already at a place not far away. Drifting too, hung from a pale moon, scutting over the city and making new shadows. Hurry, it gets dark quickly. Where I was, darkness was cut across by the fingers of light, intersecting the beams of two searchlights, focused groundward. Destruction of building temporarily halted. Rush wrecking job stopped because of this. Remains of dead man found and report phone to headquarters. This would be the cellar, Mr. Clover, where we found him. Under three inches of composition flooring. What does it look like to you, Mr. Clover? Real puzzle, huh? Just a skeleton and all? Well, there's something we can tell about him. You know, what I can't figure out, that satchel of money laying beside him, must be over a thousand bucks in there. What about that? Imagine lying five years under a cellar floor. I do know it's been five years, Mr. Rogers. Well, I bought these three buildings to tear them down for a garage. I got a story about this one. Right where we're standing. What story? Of course, we've torn down to the cellar, so you can't tell, but this one used to be a nightclub, you know. No, I didn't. Yeah, it was. That's the story, a scandal or something about this nightclub. The bank told me, a partner of something five years ago ran away with a payroll or something, to California. What else? Nothing, except that the other partner tried to hold on to the club, but it failed a year later. The bank grew up. The bank took it over four years ago. Couldn't lease it. Nailed it up. Anyhow, that's the story the bank told me. Well, it doesn't look like the man ever got to California. He was murdered. Sure what else? He didn't just lie there and pull three inches of composition flooring over his head. Shot, huh? Twice. See the bullet? The chest cavity? Hmm. Small caliber, 22. And here, right arm fractured and beside it, see another bullet. Bigger one. Yeah, 38. Shot twice by two different guns. Like I said, a puzzle. Well? Well, what? This is a rushed job, Mr. Clover. You know that. Let's get this stuff out of here. It's a good morning, in case you didn't hear. Hi, Denison. Sit down. Excuse me for saying it, but you look a little beat. Big night last night? No. You're a single man, Danny. You're entitled to a big night. Were you going to say something, Danny? No. Oh. Then maybe this will interest you. Got a rundown on the corpse you found last night. What about it? Well, that's what it takes to get a rise out of you. Come on, come on. Get with it. Yeah, better do that else I won't be liked, huh? Technical chart of the teeth. Muggevin put the code on a teletype. Late last night, the one place we got a call back from was Danimora. You get on identification? Code checked out to a former prisoner named Bob Foster. Released six years ago after a 10-spot stretch for Grand Larson. Anything else? Stick with me, kid. I'm loaded. My identification came in. I checked it with R and I. They had a file on Foster. Yeah, wait. Muggevin left some notes for you. Yeah, 1947, May, May 23. A year after he was out of Danimora, Foster was wanted on suspicion of Grand Larson. He packed a satchel with his partner's dough and ran out on him. That would be the satchel you found. Who was his partner? A fellow by the name of Joe Turner. He and Foster opened a nightclub together, a blue sheen. A year after Foster allegedly checked out with his partner's dough, the joint went into bankruptcy. And the word is, Joe Turner cried his heart out at the time, beat his chest, called his partner naughty names. Any lead on Turner? One of the boys traced him to a hotel on West 12th. Only the hotel is out of business now. The management converted the place into offices. Nobody knows what became of the hotel records, so... So an all-points bulletin on Joe Turner. Yeah. Is that all? Yeah, it's got a girl type in it, too. Aggie Blaine. He used to do a poker with clever parakeets at the boys' nightclub. The last known address, let's see, 1326, West 34. It did real good, Denison. Yeah, pull up a minute, Danny. There's more. Oh, what? Those bills you found in the satchel. What about them? Their serial numbers were in series. Must have been the nightclub's payroll. A few weeks after Fawcett went up in a puff of air, 520s out of the same series turned up in sunny California. That's all? Now I can go? Yeah, you can go. Don't sit in that chair, Sonny. Just pick a spot on the floor and stand on it. In the floor, the floor, not the rug. This okay, Miss Devlin? Floors don't belong to me, Sonny. Furniture does. Let's not louse up the furniture, huh? What do you want? Some information about a girl named Aggie Blaine. My niece, brother's daughter, brother's dead. Went out without muffler and rubbers, winter of 36. Got himself a flu that wouldn't quit. Fell over in his face the next day, never got up. Where's Aggie? My niece. That's what you said? Blew out of here a long time ago. Don't know whether she's alive, dead or what, or could be married to the king of Turkey for all I know. How long ago did she leave? Oh, been five years. Used to be a dancer, Aggie was. Used to. Hey, don't lean on the furniture, Sonny. Pretty furniture, huh? Yeah. Yeah. New as a day, I got it. You want to sit down? We go in the kitchen. Not in the parlor. Not on this stuff. What do you do, Miss Devlin? Huh? Your niece used to live with you. She's gone now. What do you do? Taking rumors? You mean sublet like that? Huh? What for? Who needs it? Retired, huh? It's nice. And all this furniture, ornate. Huh? Oh, you mean tricky with the curlicues and the things, huh? Yeah, all mine. Bored and paid for it. Let's get back to Aggie, Miss Devlin. I don't know she's alive or dead. I told you, I just... She used to dance at a nightclub called the Blue Sheen. With pigeons. A blue one and a yellow one. One named Gloria, the other named Phyllis. Oh, I've seen it myself. Look, Miss Devlin, one of the men who owned that club was found last night. He'd been murdered. You're leaning, Sonny. He'd been murdered. And your niece might be able to tell us something about it. Couldn't you give me some... No, no, nothing. Aggie, she was a dancer. Is she alive? Is she dead? How do I know? Okay. And leave there. And once more into November day. Its furnishings also not to be touched nor leaned against. For instance, the autumn perfume worn by the girl who almost brushes her sleeve. Side steps, changes course, hurries on. And from far off, the brief, wild sob of a freighter sailing out of autumn waters. And at headquarters, it arranges itself into familiar pattern. Routine investigation into death. And wait. And on the first quick surge of November night, the return on the All Points bulletin, Joe Turner, bankrupt nightclub owner, had been spotted in a skid row bar. Third booth on the right was all his. Go there. The place is jukebox and fat cats crawling cymbals and sawdust. The place is Joe Turner, who was once a man. You come up with a drink, Mr. and something good will happen to you. Do you understand me, Joe? I'm from the police. Something real good. I'll dance for you. You watch me. You watch me. I hear this is just for you. Sit down, Joe. You don't have to do that. You like me. You'll buy? I've got other routines. Tell me about your nightclub, Joe. Your nightclub, the Blue Sheen. Tell me about the club and about Bob Foster. Him? Your friend the Bogs. Well, I'll hate you. I'll squash you like a fly, so help me. What'd he do to you, Joe? Well, who did something to me? Foster. Bob Foster, he stole from you, didn't he? Walked out on me. Didn't wave goodbye. Just took my money. Danced off someplace. Far away. Never sent a postcard. Nothing. Aggie either. Aggie Blaine? There was a dancer. You ever see her? Oh, it's a stunning dancer. Well, I'll show you a dance. It's with the hands first. You know where Aggie is, Joe? Aggie's far away to... Aggie and Bob, the Blue Sheen. We found Bob last night, Joe. He'd been buried under the cellar of your nightclub. Bob. Bob, he forced to... Well, that's where he's been. You kill him, Joe? Because he stole from you when he went away? Joe, listen to me. I performed for you, Mr. Where's my jacket? You kill him, Joe? I don't know. Maybe I did. He deserved it. Maybe I did. You think I did? Come on, Joe. Let's join me go uptown. Charge? Suspected felony. Murder. Turn him over to the policeman's school as to proper procedure and proper jail tier and proper cell. Back to the office and sit at the desk. Far away, a light is turned off. And another. And a swollen sag of gray suddenly hangs from the black sky. Morning folding over the horizon. Danny, downstairs, come on. Down the corridors and the steps and outside is damp and still night. I've been wounded upstairs. I got it. Uh-huh, shut. Dead Danny, on account of the police rang her doorbell yesterday, on account of she's Aggie Blaine's aunt. I'm talking to you, Danny. You think so? You are listening to Broadway's My Beat written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Two outstanding events on CBS Radio tomorrow in the day time. For one, the quiz kids will return to the star's address to begin another series of their breath-taking metal gymnastics. Professor Joe Kelly will be in charge of the Little Wizards and they'll all be waiting for you to join them tomorrow on most of these same stations. The other big event tomorrow is the American Radio premiere of Christopher Columbus, Darius Milo's famous opera conducted in concert form by Dimitri Metropolis. It's the featured work on the New York Philharmonic Symphony heard on most of these same stations tomorrow. Broadway makes its entrance out of subway kiosks, out of night corridors, blinks once and long against the white of a new member day, then moves into it soft, polite. It's the thing to do. Treat the morning nice. Don't step on the cracks. You'll still be on your feet when day is done. And the other performers, the man hanging from a spectacular, twisting out the Mazdas that died in the night. And the mannequin, her face dusted, a bolt tightened where wax had given in tonight. And torso and head tilted closer now to shop window. And on wax lips, the good morning kiss. A new day, kid. Live it. And at headquarters, November morning, Sergeant Geno Tortaglia dipping a finger into a container of coffee. Just testing, Danny. You leave these things to the whim of that new girl in Balos Delco. I knew it. Too sweet. Well, that's too bad, Geno. Some days you wake up on the wrong side, and it comes in your container. True, true, Geno. Don't feel bad about it, Danny. No percentage in building a tragedy out of it. We'll both be bigger persons if we don't make of it an issue with the delicatessen. And off the work we go. You gained, Danny? Whatever you say, Geno. Am I permitted a simple statement of fact? Of course. I admire you. Thank you. To work. In the name of Miss Devlin and to Aggie Blaine, the murder weapon was the same that five years ago did do in Bob Forster, suspected absconder with his partner's loot. Same weapon. Indeed. The bullet that was found in the chest cavity of the remains of Bob Forster bore the same markings, riflings as the bullet extracted from Miss Devlin. Ergo, same weapon was used. Small caliber gun, Danny, 22. Then whoever killed Forster five years ago, still around. Which brings me to Miss Aggie Blaine. The routine perusal made by our boys of vital statistic records, a marriage license date of July 3-0, 1947 was found made out to one Aggie Blaine and one Herbie Morse. They find the... Don't interrupt, Danny. A check was made on said Herbie Morse and was found that he owns a drugstore on 23rd corner of night. That's how. You care for my coffee, Danny? No, no, but thanks anyway, Geno. Thanks for everything. Yes, sir? What can I do for you? My name's Clover, Mr. Morse. I'm from the police. Hi. I'm trying to get some information about a girl named Aggie Blaine. Depends upon what kind of info you want. She was my frown. Some things I'll tell you. Some things I won't. Just tell me how you met her and when you met her and why you're not married to her. Things like that, Mr. Morse. What's the matter? You think you could have stayed married to her? Mr. Morse. You haven't got the dough on the wear with all. Just tell me about it, Mr. Morse. She's not gonna make a fool out of me. You know what I'm gonna do one day, buddy? Get me another wife, a big gal, a big blind gal. I'm gonna run in front of her with my big blonde wife rubbing her cheek to me. I'm gonna show her... When did you meet with Aggie? On an airplane. I said hello to her and from there on in it was air pockets, all the way to Frisco. You met her on the way to California, huh? When was this? In 47. Drugged convention. I never saw the inside of the convention hall. Not with Aggie showing me the fancy eating places. And me with a paper to read on dressing at the prescription department. I go on. That was in June. Then back in New York, somehow she wouldn't let me see it. Then she called me. When? July the 30th. I know because July 31st was the day he tied the knot. How come the divorce? A fella. I work late one night fixing up a one-cent sale. I came home, she wouldn't let me in. I beat the door in with my bare hands. There was a fella there selling rugs. He gives me his card and left. Next day she followed him. One of these days I'm gonna look that guy up. You know that? You still have his card? Do I? Right in my wallet. I want it. You're gonna fix him, huh? Swell. Here. Here's the card. I'm on your side, buddy. Have you seen Aggie since then? I'm happy to say no. However, the day that I do, I will also find me that big blind, buddy. I'm gonna parade her up and down in front of Aggie. And get out of the way of Mr. Moss's wagging finger. And through the aisle, lined with preparations, guaranteed to keep you alive longer than anybody. The right turn, down the aisle of space guns, insecticides, and bubble baths. And then left at the table where everything is marked down to 19 cents. And out into the street. Legwork now, an address off the card given to you in the drug store, and a standard drug dealer. Aggie? She ran out on me, Mr. a long time ago. Customer of mine came in one day and ordered our most expensive number wall-to-wall. Aggie went along with the delivery truck and never come back. Customer's name? Ewing. Dr. Keith Ewing, big back man. Got offices in the Muncie building. And at the offices of the Muncie building be told by Dr. Ewing that Miss Blaine was merely a patient of his. In that condition he never saw her again. No, he never treated her at his office. She was an outpatient at the Cheney Hotel. So go there, Cheney Hotel. Yes, the clerk says. Miss Blaine, yes indeed. He checked out, he's sorry to say. The morning after an automobile dealer's conclave, he remembers. Forwarding address? Yes indeed. 1213 East, 61st. So go there. The girl who answers the door is dressed in velvet pedal pushers. But shakes her head sadly at the name of Aggie Blaine. Agatha, it seems, moved out on her about a month ago. Bag, baggage, and her very own boyfriend, Tony. Where? Well, Tony owns the apartment building over on East River, Beekman Place. So go there. I'm from the police, Danny Clover. And I'm too desperately sorry because whatever it is I can't use it. Let's talk about it inside, Miss Blaine. But then we'd be committing something or other, wouldn't we? Oh? The city ordinance is something. You see, I'd let you in here and we'd talk or whatever. And all the time you'd be operating under false pretenses. Naughty? Tell me about it. You see, dear boy, I'm not Miss Blaine. Not the girl you need, not Miss...what, Blaine? Aggie Blaine. Girl who used to work at a club called the Blue Sheen danced there with birds. With birds? Oh, how desperately thrilling. That's what we'll talk about, huh? Of course, let's. I haven't indulged in anything so pulpy in years. A club dancer with birds, man of the police knocking at my door. Oh, just walk right in, Mr. Clover. The rugs are deep in the fireplace as Italian marble, and my dressing room is perfumes and custom-made crystal and full-length golden mirror. And it's a castle, and I call it home. So you may plump down wherever you like. I'm grateful. Don't thank me, thank Tony. Tony Crenshaw, my fiancé. Nothing's too good for you, Agatha, he said. And he's loving it. Get the shack on our wedding day. All mine. Oh, that Tony, he's a charm, all right, all right. And now your, uh, Agatha... Agatha Reigns. Always was, always will be. Oh, I almost slipped. Soon, Agatha Crenshaw, Tony's wife. You want to hear about Aggie Blaine? Dying. It's how we met, we two. Yeah, speak to me of Aggie. Five years ago, she was a dancer at the Blue Sheen. She... Yeah, there were feathered creatures. You said all that. There was something else. A man named Bob Foster. Just one man? This dancer couldn't have been very good. Bob Foster, ex-con, five years ago, 1947. Partner in the Blue Sheen. We found him the other day buried under its cellar flooring. He'd been shot twice, murdered. Oh, tell me you're not making this up. Because if you are, I die of disillusion. It's so desperately sorted and thrilling. You ever know this, Bob Foster? Not till this precious instant. But don't let that stop you, go on. Aggie Blaine had an aunt, Miss Devlin. Yesterday, she was murdered with the same gun that killed Foster. Isn't that always the way... Another thing about Aggie Blaine. In 1947, she met a man on a plane to California. When they came back here, they got married. A man named Herbie Moss. Serves a girl right, killing her aunt and that Foster fellow. Yeah. Get your things. We're going downtown. Oh, such a short time and we so well know each other. Already, you're taking me out. We want you for suspicion of murder. Get your things. It's a lovely day and when I got up, I didn't know what I'd do with myself this morning. And you've come up with something. Let's go wherever you want, Mr. Clover. And this room is what, Mr. Clover? Interrogation room. Sitting or standing? Sit down, please. Smoke? Oh, I have my own. You can light me, though. Yeah. Thanks. Still excited? Tolibly. It's slowing down. Do something about it, Mr. Clover. Like book you now? For what was that again, I've forgotten. Murder. Oh, that's a charge. All right. That's really one of the... You got him? Bring him in. How do you feel, Joe? It's a shame the way I feel right now. Hi, Aggie. Charades, fellas? I supposed to guess what he is? Yeah, do that. Hint, a guy named Joe Turner, co-owner of a nightclub named The Blue Sheen, partner found in the cellar, employed a girl named Aggie Blaine. Now guess why he's here? Hi, Aggie. There's no excitement in it anymore, Mr. Clover. Take me home. Then you don't know who this man is. By the pink of his eyes, I'd say a whinoe. You look nice, Aggie. A rum pot. Well, there's another way we can do it, Denison. You better look at her, Denny. She's getting excited all over again. Those people bring back fond memories, lady. You should have seen her when she danced. You should have seen her with the blue light. With the spinning spot. Hi, Joe. Where you been, Aggie? I looked for you once, Joe. I couldn't find you. You're a stinking liar, Aggie. Now you see why I didn't find you. Now we all know each other. Hi, Aggie. Sure. I used to know a cop. I've been drinking a lot, Aggie. I've been thinking about you. Have you? Joe? She's still pretty. Almost all we need, Joe, is the motive. Why did you kill Bob Foster? Hey, Aggie. Don't remember out loud, Joe. You wanted the business, Joe? The nightclub or her? Tell him, Aggie. You want to confess how you killed Bob? Go ahead. Oh, baby, baby. I'm going to tell him my part, baby. I never killed anybody. Joe. Who'd I kill? I wanted the business, so I took a shot at Bob, but I hit him in the arm. That's all. Then he ran to you, Aggie. You boys believe rum pots around here? Go on, Joe. Next time I saw my poor old partner, he was dead. Then you felt so sorry for him, Joe. You buried him under the cellar with some money to see him on his way. All that Aggie, she's got a mind on it. She figured it. Go ahead, Aggie. Show the fellas how you got a mind on you. Mr. Clover. Uh-huh. It's getting serious, huh? Huh, Mr. Clover? That's the lieutenant's serious face, yeah. It's getting serious. Look, Bob Foster came over with a shot arm. I said, Bob, before you go see an MD about your poor bullet-filled arm, here's a gun. Bob, I said you shouldn't take that from a guy like Joe. When I handed the gun to him, it went off. Well, that's some mind. Then what was your aunt defending herself against when she got shot by the same gun? Well... When Bob came to you when he was shot, you were in his place, weren't you? Well, yes, I was. Your aunt knew what happened. Blackmailed you. Hey, how about my aunt's furniture, a scream, huh? Furniture, income, proceeds from blackmail. Who's your aunt, Dad, Aggie? I didn't know. Gee, you're all alone, huh? She lost the whole thing for us, Joe. This policeman came calling. She got panicky, called me up and said she was going to talk. You see? At first, she lost it, Joe, you and me. Since I got back from California, remember? Now, how about that California trip, Aggie? Great. Just took a flyer that had planted some of that money for us that was supposed to have stolen. To make it look like he'd run away to California. Hi, Joe. Five years, honey. I've had a lousy time. What about you? Great. A time. A real time. Yeah. I've missed you, Joe. We probably see a lot of each other now. For a time. In the ab of nighttime, the slabs of Broadway lean against the darkness in crazy tilted angles. The balance is delicate, precise. So the walk must be careful. The talk, quiet. It's the never-never time that drifts in from the edge of the world. The time of regret. It's Broadway. The gaudiest. The most violent. The lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway. My Beat. Broadway's My Beat stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover with Charles Calvert as Tortaglia and Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Mary Jane Croft was heard as Aggie Blaine and Sheldon Lendard as Joe Turner. Featured in the cast were James McCallion, Ted Bliss, Martha Wentworth and Peter Leeds. Bill Anders speaking. Have you ever longed for Escape? Escape from an everyday existence that may have a color of its own but with which, nevertheless, you are temporarily bored? If so, CBS Radio's dramatic adventure program called Escape is meant for you. Every Sunday evening on most of these same stations listen in for a new drama of Escape at the Stars Address. And remember, Amos and Andy are here every Sunday on the CBS Radio Network.