 Broadway's My Beat from Clamsburg to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Broadway flips the calendar, stares at the word December, holds chin between thumb and forefinger and wonders, what happened? Winter is here and the year is suddenly dying, proof positive, the wind rising from the river that twists a headline around an ankle, lifts it up again, flattens it against the gutter, and there it is in bold face. So many shopping days left, so the evergreens are chopped, mounted, dyed blue and tinseled, token of holiday season, token that time's getting narrow for the layaway plan, so get with it, all you need's a dollar, it'll hold the dream till Christmas. Follow the decorations downtown and take a left. East 37th where the season is manifest by holly and apartment windows and electric candles and the latest thing, merry Christmas in phosphorus paint to glow in the dark, 11 o'clock time, night time where I was, and Miss Gaffney's apartment and Miss Gaffney. Look at the joint, will you? I'm looking, I've been looking for the last five minutes Miss Gaffney, now will you settle down and tell me what- Two years I saved to get a full length mirror, now look at it, ding, and now look what I've got, confetti. You ready to tell me what happened? You know what happened, what's been happening around this neighborhood for the last couple of nights? I mean to you. I was trying on in front of the mirror, that's what, and that sniper took a putt shot at me. Why didn't you pull the blind down? At my age. Well, you're lucky, you see this lug? Huh? Here, look at him. Embedded here in the mirror backing, 38th, head high, if I said lucky. Yeah, and high was standing right here, two more inches than Myrtle Gaffney- That's right. Now let's take it from the beginning, did you notice anyone following you tonight when you got home? I could have been killed! Or anyone loitering around outside. He could have killed me and you stand here and I could have- We don't even know what he looks like, Miss Gaffney, we want you to help us. He could have killed me, he could have killed me, shot me dead! At a thin lip of anger, the tightening hysteria fitted themselves into the pattern of the city's newest violence, and there was the other emotion, that the shattering of mirror had been this close to the shattering burst of her life, that her life had been balanced on the bad aim of a man with a gun, that her life had been target for indiscriminate fury, and against terror was only this. You protect me, you hear? That's what you people are paid for, to protect helpless lonely women, you hear? And give her the promise, and phone it in, and leave her now to darkness and bolt at doors and windows blinded and locked against another coming of death. And walk this winter's streets to where room is, in hot plate and minute coffee. And for a while after that, wander the narrow room, and for a while after that, sleep. The next day at headquarters is used in attendance at line-ups where Miss Gaffney can identify no one, in marking areas on a map, trying to plot the boundaries of a sniper's violence. The cultured calm of the woman on the phone, who was very definite she was next on the sniper's list, but was unafraid. And suddenly there is quick winter twilight, and the comment upon it by Detective Muckerman. Look at him, Danny. Millions running home to a hot supper and take what eats you out of the kids. A way to live, huh? Yeah, it is. Me? My life is suddenly mixed up with panicky ladies who've had pot shots taken at them. That Lois Stewart over on West 30, for instance. You've already told me about her. She wrote me a little poem, how her life was really contained in a flower vase, the sniper shot the pieces in her flat. She wrote it down for me. Here, I'll read it. You've already read it to me. Well, you take the reaction of this Lois Stewart and pose it against the reaction of Mrs. B. Morris on West 32nd. Did I tell you about her? No, uh, no, but I'll read it in your report. This one cried a lot. Hang on to me. She was putting in a light bulb, she told me, when wham, through the window the sniper shot the bulb, right? I'll get it, Danny. Danny Clover's office, Detective Muckerman. Yeah. Yeah, where? Two one, two six. Got it. Maybe this time, Danny. Maybe this time one. Three, four people spotted a guy running across your roof, apartment house two one, two six, West 39. Guy was carrying a rifle. Let's go. Lieutenant. I got him, Lieutenant. Bringing him down. Good. Yeah. Oh, here they come. Let me go. I want to go home. Let me go. I'll take him, officer. Come on, you. Take your hands off of me. Find the gun, officer. Nobody had a gun. We'll find it. Get him in the car, Muckerman. You can have me the flash, Muckerman. Yeah. Here. He's a kid. What's your name, son? Mickey. Mickey Rueck. How old are you, Mickey? Going on 16. You live near here? No, Brooklyn. What are you doing here? You're on that roof with a gun. What were you doing there? What'd you do with the gun? And want to go home? Go home, Mickey, later. First, we want to know what you were doing prowling around on that roof with a gun. You like to shoot at women, Mickey? I didn't shoot at anybody. Come on, kid. You just tell us. We'll understand. You like all this publicity you're getting, being called a sniper scaring everybody. You like it, don't you? Makes you feel pretty big, doesn't it, Muckerman? I didn't shoot at anybody. I read it. Go on, Mickey. I read in the papers about the snipers. Found the gun, Ludon. Here. Thanks. In the alley. You must have eased it off the roof. Take a look, Muckerman. Plastic. Tough to tell from the real thing. Is this your gun, sonny? Yeah, it's mine. Where'd you get it? I took it. All right. I stole it. The department stole it. This afternoon after I read about the sniper, the toy shop. Look. Yeah. I was playing. That's all. You read books. Tell you how to play like this. Lieutenant means comic books, things like that. You. What? You're a real lieutenant, huh? Well, what about it, Mickey? Can I see your gun? Turn him over to juvenile, Muckerman. Then you can start looking for a sniper all over again. Danny, it's all right. I'd disturb you for a minute. Come on in, Dr. Sinski. I was just... Yeah, I see what you're doing, Danny. May I also look at the portraits? A series of them, Dr. Take Your Pick. The department artist gets them from fragmentary descriptions given us by the women who were shot at by the sniper. Helpful bystanders, few crackpots. All different. These are the faces of violence, huh Danny? Anybody's face. So what you look for is anybody. A killer who's been denied the death of women perhaps because of some slight defect in vision. Perhaps because his family didn't buy him the eyeglasses he needed when he was a child. Whatever it is has kept him from killing. That's not knocking on Dr. Sinski. I don't know how to apologize for my feeble attempts at irony, Danny. I forget. Yeah, I'll try to do that. I... I heard Detective Muckerman brought in a boy to juvenile. The boy prowling rooftops for the plastic gun. Uh-huh. How old was he, Danny? I'm going on 16, he said. A boy. A child. And images of a world behind window shades and hatred for it. This sniper, Danny. And what about him? You find a man whose face matches in our sketch and then look behind it and underneath it. And remember another child who prowled rooftops with a plastic gun. Your father was Mr. Sinski? Danny? Well what is it, General? That sniper shot. Yeah. He's at it again. House 1843, East 39. Just came in over the phone. Also? Also what, you know? This time he didn't miss. Any comment, Doctor? Any observation you care to make on how we're really dealing with a frustrated child? How we should treat him? No, no. No comment, Danny. In that case, get me a squad car, you know. And go there. And what was night still brown stone house with an early Christmas tree lighted in its living room window? Its promise to be viewed from the street has become this. Cluster and steaming whisper of crowd peering close through window. Beyond tree to where lay another promise. The yet unopened and hidden gift of the season's violence. And get past them and inside. And inside is a woman sprawled against fabric of sulfur. And the man kneeling at her feet. Blanche, listen to me. Just listen. There'll be a doctor in a minute and he'll know what to do. Blanche, please. Mr. What? What do you want? I'm from the police. I'll get out of your way. She's dead, isn't she? My wife's dead. I knew it all. It has to have been quick. With a bullet struck just above the eye. Had to be quick a little. Wait a minute. I want to let them know. I want to let those people outside know. She's dead. That's what you're waiting for, isn't it? She's dead. Wait, wait. I'll show you. Now you can have a good look. Look. Look at my wife. Look at my dead wife. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen. Step right up. Well, listening to Broadway is my beat. Written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. And starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The merry, merry holidays begin their swift curve into the canyon street. And Broadway rushes the season. Against the distant cry of on dancer, on prancer, the sleek dancers, the eager prancers bargain for the sprig of mistletoe. Buy it. Hang it in a doorway. Under it strike the holiday pose. And watch the winter women walk by. The scented fur hugged close. December wind riffling it against their cheeks, their mouths. The same wind that breathed them away from you. So shrug a shoulder, kid. Make jaunty the scarf and relax. Under no yule-tide tree will it be barren, according to the advertisements. Where I was, winter's night flowing through newly shattered window into a room where mantelpiece was simulated marble. Where fireplace was three gas logs neatly arranged, never consumed. Where furniture was draped with embroidered fringe cloths. And this room where death was. You're cold, Mr. I'll turn on a fire. Never mind. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have broken open the window and yelled at those people. Don't think I'm crazy. But don't worry about it, Mr. Durbin. Tell me something, Mr. What? You've been around with what people have been killed. Women of man's life, for instance. You see that a lot, don't you? The husbands of those other women you've seen, what do they do? What do they say? I want to know, so I won't louse up the etiquette. Oh, Mr. Durbin. They cry like I did. They go out of their head like I did. Tell me, Mr. You really need to know. No, I got all I need to know. A little while ago I had a wife. Now I get a memory. Lange. Not how she is now, not how she was yesterday. Sick in the day before, a year before. But how Lange was when she was young, when she was a girl. I should thank him. I should thank her killer. He left me remembering the girl. Tell me how it happened, Mr. Deming. You didn't know it happened, but Sniper, he finally got a bullseye. My wife. Were you here in this room with her? Yeah, I was here in the room with her. Did you notice anything? Hear anything? I was in this room with Lange. We were talking over who to give presents to this year, who we were going to get presents from. Did you see anyone outside? Did anyone follow you home? I'll run the evening down for you. Six o'clock, I got home from work. 6.30, Lange put dinner on the table like she did every night. We eat, we talk, then she clears the table, washes the dishes. I go to the living room, sit in my chair and read. Then I help her change. You know, a night gone in Rome, and she comes in here with her embroidery, and we talk, or we don't talk, depending on how she felt that day. Tonight was different. Tonight she felt good. And then she got killed. Do you understand, Mr. Derman? Do you understand why... No, no, no. I'm dense. I understand nothing. I don't understand how a crazy killer roams around loose when we've got a smart police force like you. I don't understand why Blanche is dead. Do something for me, honest it. What? Leave me alone for a minute so I can figure it out, huh? Watch him move away from you to the lonely place. The couch where his wife is dead. Watch him kneel again at her feet. And for a little while, the time he needed, go to the door, whisper to the official intruders, and they understand. It gives them the interval to adjust focus and cameras, to test with current width, the spring and snap of steel tape, to smooth and make neat the folds of shroud. Then they're spilled into the room, and the man's instant is gone. So leave there, and go home. And a new winter morning at headquarters, and the joyous tidings of Sergeant Geno Tartaglia. Are you happy, Geno? In me, Danny, you are gazing upon a contented fellow. Well, I'm glad. Chuckling because last night was the Tartaglia night at our neighbor's the Remboms, contented because a frolic sometime was had by all in sundry. Oh, Geno. Among which sundry was Fargo. Fargo Rembom, a veritable cart. Fargo Rembom? The Western outlet for the Remboms, a uncle from the Valleys. Who did last night descend upon the eastern branch and did shower them with western-type goodies. Indian blankets, beaded belts, an Indian doll carrying on her back in lieu of a papus, a bottle Sparnov's vodka. And for me, a feather chief's headdress, which I will be glad the model for you come lunch. Do you know what? Oh, Danny, wait till you catch a gang of Chief Mini Tartaglia. First to work, ain't any? I hate to spoil your fun. What must be must be? In the matter of the deceased Mrs. Blanche Dermott, report from technical, felled with a .38 caliber bullet of same type and markings as the sniper has been prone to use on other ladies. But with Mrs. Dermott, he made expert. Right above the eye. Anything else, Geno? From the take of Muggevin and others that work on the case during the night. This report from neighbors on Mrs. Dermott adds up to a nil. 12 years in the neighborhood, Danny. None of the neighbors knew her. All they knew, she was very quiet and a non-mixer. How about her husband? That's a little novelty shop on 7th Avenue. Open 9, close 5.30. Always bringing home novelties and gim cracks to the neighbors' kids. And that's a... Do something for me, how'd you know? Anything? Get a policewoman. Ever go out and buy herself a house dress. Then have her report to me in an hour. Sure. But you want to see me in feathers? Just get her, how'd you know? And the setting up of it. Policewoman. Empty apartment in the neighborhood where the other shooting had taken place. Daytime chores for nighttime trap. And it was done. Then let the day drift backward into December. Watch it from the window of headquarters. Walk with it briefly. Twice to the corner restaurant where the food is always an adventure. Back to the office again, in the window. And see Dave bleed grayly in the night. Takeout set up, Danny. Cruising. Squad cars waiting for us downstairs. Beginning night is strung through with cold. And the hurrying shapes that curve backward in your vision. The street of the spinning lights. And turn off it. East 38. Righted slowly. Past the rows of brown stones in the corner stores in winter loneliness of Manhattan Street. And slowly past the lighted window ground level where a woman sits. Now clothed in a house dress and reading. Trap. And past it another corner turn and stop. Coffee in the thermostand you want some later? What's the time? 7.10. And it's going to be a long night? Yeah. Call in, my man. Yeah. Car 4-3. Car 4-3 reporting. 4-3. Parked at southeast corner of East 38th and 3rd according to plan A. Nothing from here. Car 22 reported suspicious acting man on 4th turning into 38th. Check him down. Drunk. Unarmed. Car 4-3. 10-4. Well? Park further down the street, my government. I'm going to take a walk. You need me I'll probably be in a doorway around the corner. Right. Past the lighted window again. And the woman in the house dress. Police woman. Reading. Cross the street and watch her. She gets up and frames herself against the light. Dares the night. She sits down again. Reads again. And the doorway directly across from her is cold plaster that holds six mailboxes. Directions to the tenants on how to live. And things to do in case of a bomb attack. Illustrated. And in a while a young woman comes up to steps. Clothed around her waitress uniform. Looks into an empty mailbox. Looks empty at you. Goes into the house. Trails. Echo of bookstores. And later a man leaves the house. Checks his pockets and goes out happy. Watch him walk down the street. The squad car picks him up. Trails him. Drops him. And night becomes nine o'clock. And the woman across the street sits. Reads. Gets up. Walks around the room. Sits. Reads. And the nine o'clock wind holds on with cold of the hours before. And fills the street. And gusts of it break off and run into doorways. Wrap themselves around people wait there. And the light from the squad car blinks into the night. And screams at it. Margaret. Sniper Danny just got a communication. Where? Two blocks from here on 40. Let's go. Please wake up honey. You'll be all right Mr. Garson. I fainted up baby. A little drunk too. So what? You want to tell me what happened Mr. Garson? Look at her lying there. She was there in bed when she was shot at right. Poor baby. Wait till she wakes up when finds out she was shot at by the sniper. She'll faint all over again. Just what happened? What? I was reading to her. Go on. I just finished turning the page and she was giving me my drink. And what? I turned the page and she was holding out the glass to me. And then it happened. She got the glass right out of her hand. Over the book. My pajamas. I think your wife was waking up Mr. Garson. Oh he's all right baby. Little bubbly puppy. I'm here little pussycat. Everything's all right. Mr. Garson. Look how she wakes up. A doll baby. I think you better leave us alone now. When Mrs. Garson feels better I want you both down at headquarters to file a report. Yeah baby drink your carrots. You don't mind him little round of these ladies. Well? Shot came from the alley through the bedroom window. The woman was in bed. Sniper shot a glass out of her hand. Lucky. Is she? Oh I'd say she is. What would you say? Considerate muggerman. Four women were lucky. The fifth was killed. Think about it. I just told you. Reverse it. Think about it the other way. Yeah. So let's make a call son. Yeah. Oh. Hello Mr. Dermot. Mind if we come in? Oh come on in. This is Detective Muggerman Mr. Dermot. All right. All right. Sorry about your wife Mr. Dermot. In here. Why don't you boys take off your coats? Yeah. All right. What are you going to get through window picks Mr. Dermot? Putting that cardboard in there as far as I'm going to go. I'm moving. Where are you going? Away from here. Think I'm going to live here anymore? Yeah. It must be real tough. I can tell you this. I sure miss it. How long were you married Mr. Dermot? I told you. 12 years. Oh that's right. I'm forgotten. 12 years. You're not going to believe us. We never had an argument. Why not? Huh? Well I've been married 14 years. And starting with our third anniversary, my wife and I had little arguments every week. And a big one once a month. And we're very happy. So why haven't you had any arguments Mr. Dermot? You didn't argue with my wife, Mr. Dermot. Why not? She'd get upset. Oh that's right. I'm forgotten. You forgot what? That your wife was a sickly one. You've been checking on me? What was the matter with your wife? I asked you a question. You've been checking on me? But where do you keep in this drawer Mr. Dermot? Hey Don. Knitting stuff. I'll adjust that Danny. What's the big idea of opening that drawer? A lot of knitting in there. You wife liked the knit? You just don't open any drawers without permission you hear? Yeah she liked the knit. She liked the crochet and tat and hook rucks. So what difference does that make? You must have had a lot of time in her hands. What if she did? Hey now what's the matter with you? I don't want you going around opening things. What do you think you're- Nothing in here Danny. A picture album, Christmas decoration. What are you looking for anyhow? Let's talk some more about your wife Mr. Dermot. She was a good, sweet, kind woman. Yeah they all are. Did you hate her very much? Hate her? I was married to her. Yeah I know 12 years. Why should I hate her? A sickly woman, a woman who never went out. A woman who sat home all day. I'll try the kitchen Danny. What are you looking? Just tell me that will you? I'll cut it out Mr. Dermot. If you just tell me what he's looking for. A gun. You think I'm the sniper? Are you? You out of your mind? Look at it this way Mr. Dermot. Five women were shot at. The only one who was hit your wife, not wounded either killed. The other four drinks shot out of their hand. A light bulb shot at a vase, a mirror. My wife was unfortunate that's all. Did the other four? Fortunate. At first we thought we were looking for a man who couldn't shoot well. Who was trying to kill and was missing. Now we're going on the premise that he was missing on purpose. I don't understand what you're talking about. Missing on purpose. A crack shot who could shoot out light bulbs through windows. Who could kill your wife through a window. What's he doing in there? Let's go see him. Well you're breaking up my house? You hid this marksman's medal, where'd you hide the gun? Here look Danny, expert marksman's medal. Where'd you hide the gun Mr. Dermot? What do you think I am? Maybe a man who shot at a lot of women to get the word sniper in the newspapers. Just so you could get one woman, your wife. And take one last pot shot at a woman drinking booze in bed to clincher. You're crazy, why should I kill my wife? Look at her from our point of view Mr. Dermot. You're a man who likes people, likes to be nice to children. Likes to go outside sometimes too, huh? Yeah, you're my wife. Wouldn't let me do that. Your wife. A woman who sits in a chair and knits. No friends, nobody to stop him. No fun, 12 years of it. Not even any arguments. 12 years to get fed up. You understand how it was? Of course we do. A man figures he gets old soon enough. A wife like that. Sure, you live, you gotta have fun. Can't stay home all the time. Would you? Where's the gun? Oh, you won't find it. Throw it away. The dismantled, tossed it in the river. Let, listen. You weren't kidding, would you? By far. About understanding. You're a killer, we understand that. Yeah, I know, but I mean about my wife. What you said. How a man gets old too fast. How his life runs away from him and nobody to talk to. Sit in the room, feed a medicine, wait on her. Every night you go to sleep. Dream about how it would be without her. You understand. I know you do. The time of winter daytime leaves Broadway fast. You walk toward the shadows. Someone smiles and takes your hand. Whispers to close your eyes. Then bangs your head against the night. And your scream mixes well with the shriek of the riot. It's Broadway. The Goddiest. The most violent. The lonesomeest mile in the world. Broadway. Broadway is my beat. Stars Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. With Charles Calvert as Tertaglia. And Jack Krushen as Muggevin. The program is produced and directed by Elliott Lewis. With music composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Hi-Averback was heard as Mr. Dermott. Featured in the cast were Elvia Allman, Jerry Farber, Steve Roberts, and Hal Girard. Has come to you through the worldwide facilities of the United States. Armed Forces Radio and Television Service.