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Choice Classic Radio Detectives | Old Time Radio
Broadway Is My Beat: The Francie Green Murder Case 03/24/1950
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Your message amplified. Ready to share your message with the world? Start your podcast journey with podbean. Podbean Podbean podbean Podbean the AI powered all in one podcast platform. Thousands of businesses and enterprises trust Podbean to launch their podcasts. Launch your podcast on podbean today. My school uses Podbean. My church too. I love it. I really do. Welcome to Choice Classic Radio where we bring to you the greatest old time radio shows like us on Facebook. Subscribe to us on YouTube and thank you for donating@ChoiceClassicRadio.com 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. Broadway It's a time and a place and a fury that beckons with a blinking eye then reaches out and hugs you close and you're caught up in it. The seesaw color, the riot of noise and night sounds, the mottled gold from the spectaculars that drifts over you and you try to hold it but your hands clutch a pinch of dust, a handful of ashes. That's Broadway, My beat. Scattered in the streets there are cubes of silence spotted so that the roar of the city rolls against them. Ebbs. Municipally designated hospital zone Quiet. Do not blow horn. Pain creates its own sound. It doesn't mix well with the voice from outside and in the hospital corridors. You walk as if on a knife blade. The balance is that thin between you and the people on the other side of the wall. A man was waiting for me at the end of the corridor. Hello, Danny. Dr. Sinski. I got your call, doctor. You made good time. The hospital got in touch for me to get here, so I did likewise to you. Why? They'll be wheeling a girl down to the operating room in a few minutes. Her name is Francie Green. It's the name of a lifetime, Danny. Now she dying. She might live, Danny. She was hit by an automobile. Someone hit her and ran away. Huh? This accident, this hit and run away. It was preconceived, this of trying to kill a 20 year old girl with the name of Francie Green. This had a plan to it. I don't understand you, Doctor. Last Saturday morning, the same girl I treated in emergency ward, man with a handkerchief tied over his face tried to beat her to death. She screamed and the man ran away. I gave her compresses and kind words, but her lips were trembling. I couldn't stop that. She was terrified, gone Tonight, Danny. I talked to her. She said someone tried to push her in front of a subway train yesterday. She just felt this someone's hand on her back. Tell me, Danny, who could need the death of a 20 year old girl to make him happy? The girl. What? What about her? Sells cigarettes at a place called the Oasis. She's coming now, Danny. Francie. Francie. You'll be all right. I'm a policeman, Francie. I'm Danny Clover. Find out who wants me dead. Find out. The girl turned her head away from me, shuddered and let the pain wash over her. Because the flow of pain was better than the brutal touch of death. Then she turned back. And her eyes were restless. Shadows of fear that wouldn't sleep, that nothing could make sleep. Her begging now was silent. My promise to her was silent. Then I got out. The Oasis was one of the caves on 52nd street where the shriek of trumpets was chained to the walls. Where loneliness was bartered for the lament of saxophones. Where a voice was close to your ear because you wouldn't have heard it otherwise. All alone. Kin? Yeah. Did you pick this hole or did it just come on? You like something? You've been dreaming. I picked it. I'm from the police. Yeah? Don't apologize, kid. We've had your type before. What kind of police? New York. Elmira. Secret. You got your badge from saving box stops. You want to see my credentials, is that it? That would be a good bit. You show them to me. I believe him. You can have fun on the house, but. On the house? Here, take a look. I believe him. Have fun, you said. On the house. You can say that. Henry Miller, proprietor, master of ceremonies, caller of the dance. Time magazine says of me, and I quote, colorful owner of perhaps the worst nightclub in America, but without doubt the best time in the world. What do they say about Francie Green? The cigarette girl? They didn't get around to her. You got a bit with Francie? I asked because most of the time I'm like a father to her. Then you know she's in the hospital. The doctor says she might die. But you'd know that, being like a father. All right, I'll split hairs with you. When she stopped showing up for work regularly, I stopped being fatherly. I became the irate employer. What made you like that? France's excuses. She was beaten up. A subway train chased her. These are excuses To a colorful, cultured employer. You didn't believe it. Why? I'll tell you. The lazy girls that work for me dream up such bids to get out of slavery. You wouldn't believe it. They wait, you said France is in a hospital. Dying. The truth. Not an act. Not an act, Henry. Remind me to make a note to send the flowers. Flowers with a sweet smell to them. That, Francis. A good girl. Sweet. She wanted me to find out who wanted her dead. Any ideas, Henry? No, no ideas. Unless. Unless what, Henry? Unless Francie, my innocent cigarette girl, somehow got innocently mixed up in last week's murder. That's right. There was a shooting here. Yeah, Joe Padgett, a very steady customer. Last Friday it happened. And you haven't solved it yet. Don't you guys have a department for the solution of craz? Good morning to you, Danny. May your day be merry and bright. What's the matter with you, Tartaglio? Lack of sleep, Danny. The pink eye were over last night. The who were? The pink eye? Mr. And Mrs. Pincus. Plural? Pink eye. Latin. And the pink eye kept you up late. Making canasta after canasta. Salt to the wound. As Father Salvatore said, it's the luck of the Pinkorum. Father Salvator said that and demanded a new deck, laughingly. Tartaglia, huh? Oh, yeah, Danny, did you get that memo I left you? Yeah, yeah, I got it, Danny. The girl, Francie Green, the operation. This way and that way. Dr. Sinski doesn't know yet. Go on. The solution of the murder of Joe Padgett, who was found shot to death in the men's powder room at the Oasis nightclub last Friday night. To wit, solution of crime is being undertaken by Detective Mugavan. Yeah, I know. What progress? Progress. To wit. Joe Padgett was a bricklayer by profession with a wife by marriage. Good union man, home lover, 100% substantial. It is his wife who concerns us at the moment. She concerns us how? Well, she had a perfect alibi the night of the shooting. She was playing hostess to a sewing bee on her block. But there's something strange. You did that. Good. Now tell me what's strange. At the time Muggerman questioned her, Danny. The next morning, there was a guy there who held her hand and wiped away her tears. What guy? A guy who the police also questioned a guy named Ray Fennell. Ray Fennell. Now, it's Ray Fennell who concerns us at the moment. As indeed it did. This Fennel, when interviewed, said he was a projectionist onto the screen at the Outpost Theater. This checked alibi. You should have such a strong alibi. At the time of the murder, Ray Fennell was in jail. The alibi of Ray Fennell was something I had to find out for myself because of the promise I'd made to the girl Francie. Because. Because I had to find out for myself. The outpost was Movie cribs on 42nd Street. Converted from a legitimate theater to a burlesque house to a grind house. But it was grinding out. Now the posters yippeed. Was four sagas of the Golden West. Not a double feature, not a triple feature, but four for the price of one. Four Apollos with golden spurs riding four silver stallions into the sunset. And a snack bar just inside the lobby. Even the ticket taker was bow legged. He looked at my badge, digested it. Shifted the wad of bubble gum in his mouth, inclined his head to a stairway. It was very hop along, the whole thing. The door on the projection booth said Keep out. I didn't pay it no mind. You can read, mister. The sign says Keep Out. Somewhere they must have taught you how to read. Two little words like that. You Ray Fennell, productionist. The way you said that, you could be a dues collector. But you don't look like a dues collector. More like a cop. You Ray Fennell? Yeah, I am. He wait till I turn off the speaker. I'll tell you about Ray Fennell, mister. Up here in the projection booth, he is king. He pushes a button, magic pictures appear on the screen. The clients down there, they might not understand why a cop loused up their magic. Unless the cop states his business. They tell me you were in jail last Friday night, Ray. Why? I got a better why. Why don't you goons leave me alone? All week you've been dirtying up my days and my nights. Why did they put you in jail, Ray? It don't register. Insults don't register on you guys, huh? It's on the book, Mr. Ray Fennell. Drunk and disorderly. I get one lousy night off the week the clients put me in the drunk tank. All you clients make me sick. A man was murdered last Friday night, Ray. Do tell. They tell me you know his wife. Do tell. It's your turn. I'll tell you like I told the others. Yeah, I know his wife, Mrs. Padgett and me. Very friendly. I know her for a long time. Even before Mr. Padgett. The cold and dead Mr. Padgett. And you've been consoling her for his death. Much better than a consolation prize. Ask Mrs. Paget. You could almost say she's happy her husband's dead. And you, how about you, Ray? What's good enough for Mrs. Padgett's? Good enough for me. Oh, now look what you made me do. I don't pay no attention, the film breaks. You won't mind if I take myself away from you to fix this? Yeah, I mind. Ray, leave it alone. You'll square this dereliction of duty with the management, with the union, with the client. The clients get restless. Listen to them. They'll understand. All of us clients understand things like that, but some things we don't. You don't say. Like what? Like about a girl named Francie Green. You know her too, Ray? Never heard the name, never laid eyes on her. You're building something, aren't you, mister? Yeah. We want to know why somebody wants her dead. It's easy, mister. Everybody wants somebody else dead. Take my good friend Mrs. Padgett, for instance. And you, for instance. Let's go. Are you crazy? I can't leave this boo. Yes, you can. Call your relief or whatever you have to do. Then let's go. Why? Why? You goons got nothing on me. I've been over it a thousand times. I got the alibi. It's all down in your little dime store notebooks. Don't get excited right now. You've heard the name Francie Green. All I want you to do is look at her. And I want her to look at you. Danny. Danny here. Hello, Dr. Sinski. How is she? I couldn't come to the phone when you called that you were coming down because I had a help in the operating room. They took Francie back. Another operation this morning. Emergency, huh? She's still in there. We can't move her here. Slip this robe on. We'll go into the operating room. You'll see her. This is Ray Fennell, Dr. Sinski. How are you, Doctor? Take a robe off the hook, Mr. Fennell. Yeah, yeah, all right. Just this morning, Danny. She started the hemorrhage. You ready? Through this door. We're feeding her oxygen. I. I don't feel so good. Such a sweet girl. What would you do if you were granted three wishes? Would you chase wealth, power, love? In Confessions of a Mid Centurion's all new six Part Radio Pod Play Father's Hatbox Meet Ralph Mayfair, a devoted family man whose world is turned upside down when he discovers a genie living in a magical hatbox. But wishes come with a price. And Ralph will soon learn how power and greed can twist the very things and the very people he loves. Most. So join us for a gripping journey of choices, consequences and the mangled threads of the human heart. Episodes of Father's hatbox. Start Monday, March 10, with new episodes every Monday and Friday, with a dramatic conclusion on Friday, March 28th. So subscribe to Confessions of a Mid Centurion, wherever you get your podcasts. What would you wish for if you dared? No good at all. Francie Green. Such a nice name. Riot. 20 years old. Of all the shrill, insistent voices on Broadway, the voice of death is sometimes the hardest to. But it's there, and finally it will be heard. As Broadway heard the whisper of the dying of Francie Green to Broadway. The fact that Francie had been a cigarette girl in a nightclub gave her shroud some glamour. But the fact that her dying was the final sum of the brutal violence committed upon her. Broadway shrugged off a girl like that. They said, what can you expect? At headquarters, we felt differently about the dying of Francie Green. Sergeant Gino Tortaglia, he felt different about it, too. Ah, Danny, it frightens me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and it frightens me. What does Totaglia? Everything. His job. This metropolis we call a metropolis. This young girl, Francie, who shouldn't have died, but died anyway. Ah, wait. Let me finish, Danny. Let me spill it out. Otherwise I'll. I'll be right to fall into the clutches of a psychoanalyst or some other professional man. Even my domestic relations with Mrs. Tartaglia have become strained. Huh? Yeah, Danny, I screamed at her last night. I raised my voice to Mrs. Tartaglia in front of the Tartaglia children. All she was doing was hoovering around me. Hoovering? Yeah, with a hoover. She was performing a necessary domestic duty, like vacuuming the Tartaglia rug. And I scream at her just because I am so internally upset about this murder of Francie Green. Feel better now, Tadaglio? Is it all right to go ahead? Yeah. Yeah, Danny, I've told you my feelings on the matter. So now let us proceed to the chores of the day. Anytime you're ready, Tetegli. The alibi array. Fennel, the projectionist has been checked and rechecked as per your command. The records show he was veritably in the drunk tank the night of the murder of the bricklayer Joe Padgett, arrested by Patrolman Samish. It doesn't get us anywhere, does it? That's not my department, Danny. To get us anywhere, I'm only a cog in this infernal machine we call living. There's a connection somewhere, Tartaglia. There has to be. Padgett was killed last Friday night. The attacks on Francie began Right after that. Whatever you say, Danny. I also have here an item that might or might not be of interest to you. Huh? What is it? The body of an unidentified man was washed up in Yeast river last night. The consensus is that he was murdered. You want it now? Give it to Detective Kenning. Anything else? Nothing, Danny, except I am filled with a great sorrow over the death. Yeah, I know, I know. Is it right with you if I leave now? Whatever you wish. Where you going? To call on Mrs. Joe Padgett. I want to know how she feels about all this. May your venture succeed. And success. Danny. Leave me now. How it comes out? I'll add it to the record. Oh, Danny. Danny. Podbean, your message amplified. Ready to share your message with the world. Start your podcast journey with Podbean. Podbean, the AI powered all in one podcast platform. Thousands of businesses and enterprises trust Podbean to launch their podcasts. Use Podbean to record your podcast. Use PodBean AI to optimize your podcast. Use PodBean AI to turn your blog into a podcast. Use Podbean to distribute your podcast everywhere. Launch your podcast on Podbean today. Yes. Oh, yes. A half a dozen hot cross buns in the center. You and Mrs. Padgett? Yes. What are you? I'm not selling anything. That bakery truck parked across the street. You're the man. I'm Danny Clover. I'm from the police. Oh. Oh, I see. Well, please, come in. In the parlor. Sudden. Thank you, Mrs. Pattern. Or anything Since Joe died. Since my husband Joe had that accident. I think I'll move away from here. I'm sorry about your husband. Yeah, of course you are. I know you are. Everyone's so kind. The girl's been wonderful. The girls, my neighbours. Begging me things and comforting. Such kinds. Tell me about Joel. Mrs. Badger. I told about Joe two times, three times to a policeman. I want to cooperate, but I've told already. It takes time to tell. Dusting around the house, straightening up a girl must take hold. Tragedy comes to everybody and a girl can't let herself go. How did you and your husband get along? There was a difference. I read books, magazines. The better quality. Joe came home from laying bricks too tired to be friendly. And husbandry he didn't discuss. He ran out of talking about things a long time ago. Some of the other girls have the same trouble now. What, Mrs. Patchett? Now that Joe is dead. Now that Joe's dead. There's another fellow, Mr. Clover. The girls don't blame me. The other fellow, Ray Fennell. He reads and he laughs and he knows nice things to talk about. There's Ray Fennel. He says, love, like in the movies. Did he tell you Joe was dead? Did he break the news to you? No. It was simple how I found out. I got out of the cab and went in and Gene told me. Out of the cab? I went to meet my husband at the Oasis on Friday nights. We meet there. We used to meet there. Joe got paid on Friday. My insistence, we stepped out on Fridays. Who is Jean? Jean is Jean Bradway. She's pretty. She's such a pretty girl. She's the photographer that takes pictures of couples at the Oasis. She met me at the door and told me. Oh, pardon me, Mr. Clover. The door. Yes. Oh, yes. A half a dozen hot cross buns and cinnamon buffers. There was nothing after that. She offered me a slice of cinnamon cake and I said no. I asked her whether there was anything else she could tell me. She said no, so I left. Left to the idea that Mrs. Padgett was one of the girls, one of the million housewives. And because I'm a policeman, the idea was clouded with the fact that there are files on housewives who have committed murder. Mrs. Paget had told me a story. It was a story that needed checking. I called headquarters for information on Gene Bradbury, photographer at the Oasis. They came up with her hotel address. I went there. I guess I disturbed her. Go away. Go away. Can't you understand? Get away from here. Go away. I've got to talk to you. Go away. Go away. Go away. I'm from the police, Ms. Bradbury. You want to talk out here? How do you say no to a police? How do you tell a cop you don't want to talk to him? Sometimes, like now, you can't. What about it? Here or inside? Come in. I don't know a thing. Come about the murder of Joe Paget, huh? I don't know a thing. You get up pretty late, else you'd know. Else you'd read the papers and know Francie Green is dead. Dead? Murdered. Ms. Bradbury. Francie Green was murdered. She sold cigarettes at the Oasis while you took pictures. You passed her a hundred times a night. Now she's been murdered. Dead, Francie. What do you know about her dying? What's the matter with you, being a cop? Does it kill you inside? Look at me. I'm trying to scream. I can't do it because you embarrass me. I'm a cop, Miss Bradbury. Sometimes I've got a mentality that doesn't go beyond motives for murder. And why, after one murder was done, another one follows it. Listen to me. Something happened last Friday night. Joe Padgett was killed. He was killed. Then later, a week later, a kid named Francie Green was run down and killed. What's the connection, Ms. Bradbury? How do I know? I take pictures, a commission job and run fast. How do I know anything? What happened Friday night? Why was Francie killed? Because Joe Padgett was killed. Help me, Ms. Bradbury. I don't know a thing. I took pictures all night. All night, mister? All night. What? What are you thinking about? All night, except for 10 minutes. Francie relieved me. She relieved you? How? I broke the heel on my shoe. I went to the dressing room to fix it. I gave Francie the camera. A guy was hollering to have his picture taken. Francie knew how to take a picture. Go on. Nothing else. She took one picture. She brought it to me to develop. She handed me the camera and said, jean, there's such characters in this place. She said that. For any special reason? After she took the picture, some character came up and offered her 50 bucks for the negative. The man she took the picture of? No. Some character, I said. Francie brushed him. She gave me the film. I developed it, gave it to the customer. He liked it so well, he bought the negative, too. The customer? You know him? Sure. He's in every Friday night. Little guy with a candy store on grand street comes in every Friday night for a ball, has his picture taken. He pays by check signs at Menasher, NMI Meston on Grand Street. Huh? Thanks. In a minute, mister. At this moment in eternity, I'm busy. It's all right, man. I should. Take your time. Thank you. Making up an order of confections for the shindig. Mrs. Rosenblatt sewing for his son, David Davies. Bar mitzvah tomorrow. Confirmed. You know, should be with Glick. I will relate to Mrs. Rosenblatt's compliments today, so it'll only take a minute. £5. Chocolate covered cherries. I got to weigh up. Got it ready in the sack. £4, 12 ounces there. £5 to the penny. Oh, is this Mrs. Rosenblatt getting fancy? Chocolate covered cherries. I remember when a dime's worth a penny, Licorice was. How often do you have a son who's bar mitzvah? Now I can wait on you. What is your pleasure in the line of confections, mister? A friend of yours, Jean Bradbury. A doll. She says you took her picture at the Oasis. Last Friday. Every Friday, Jean takes my picture. Last Friday? Come to think of it, last Friday. No, it was Francie. Anyhow, every Friday, have an anniversary with a different girl. Celebrate some charming thing that has happened to us during the week. Pardon me, mister, but you have a right to talk to me intimately like this. I'm from the police. Manasseh. Danny Clover. Oh, then maybe I better explain to you about my name. That NMI in the middle. Menashe NMI messed. And this nmi is an affectation. I picked it up in the army. I wasn't blessed with a middle initial. I didn't mean no harm by it. May I see the picture you had taken last Friday? Manisha? Mancha. I got them all pinned on the wall, see? Which one was last Friday? Oh, this one right here. Remember? Because the girl is last Friday's girl doll. Huh? Yeah. The man behind you in the background. You know him? I never had the pleasure. As a matter of fact, now that you're pointing them out, this is the first time I noticed him. Mind if I take the picture with me? Manisha gives me such glamour. It's absolutely necessary. You should take it. It's necessary, manisha. Excuse me, miss. Kenny Storm. Yeah, he's here. It's for you, Mr. Clover. Thanks. Danny Clover here. You're a tough man to track down, Danny. Hey, Danny, guess what? What? Tartaglio. The guy they fished out of the river I told you about. You said give it to Kenny. Maybe you should take him. Why? Because the arresting officer who arrested him in the first place for being drunk and disorderly has identified the body as belonging to Ray Fennel, the projectionist. Interesting, huh? Danny. Hi, Danny. It was interesting. Interesting enough to make me go back to headquarters to look at the broken body that the river had washed back. The body that had been identified as Ray Fennell. And then it all fell into place. That meant going back to a movie grindhouse called the Outpost and to a projection booth. It. I don't even have to turn around to know who it is. I got a feeling up my back the minute you open the door. Turn around anyway. Ray. Yeah. I hear you've been calling a Mrs. Paget. Ray's a nice girl for a man, huh? I called at the morgue, too, Ray. There's a man there with a tag around his toe. The tag says it's Ray Fennel. But the tag's wrong, isn't it? Yeah, but then maybe only you and me know that. So what is it, Bill? Murder you committing same? You killed your alibi for last Friday night. But like you say, so far only you and I know that. So let's go and tell the people, huh? You got corny dialogue for a policeman. Here, I'll prove it to you. I'll flick the switch and prove it to you. Everett, Kansas, there's no call on you to do this for me. Well, there is, ma'am. Cause I. Cause it's my duty to get the varmints who killed your father. Rustle your cattle. Who's cornier, you or the cowboy? I give you a choice. The man in the morgray. The same one you hired to get drunk and disorderly enough to be put in jail. Your build, your identification. Enough to establish you positively among a hundred weekend drunks. Ah, you're more fast. Fascinating than moving pictures, John. Why would I do that? You have created a certain suspense in me for an alibi. Police proven your alibi for the time you needed to murder Ray Padgett because he stood in the way of Mrs. Padgett. That's very funny. Shut up, Ray. I'm not through. Then you had to murder Francie because she took a picture that you were in. You made a mistake, though. Yeah? You talked to her about the picture. You tried to buy the negative from her. That way you're registered on Francie. You couldn't afford that because you were supposed to have been in jail. So you had to kill her. I had to do that, huh? Sure. You should have let it alone, Ray. Who cares about a picture taken in a nightclub? Let's go. It's not going to be that easy, Ray. Fennel is not going to let it be that easy for you. Don't be a fool. Kill you. Kill you and run. What if they caught me? A little more time left for living. Give me that gun. A little more time. Give it to him. Hey, here, Cam. No use, Rachel. Hey, ma'am. Got to be a ride. Like I said, Dre, let's go tell the people. In its midnight fury, Broadway is a mirage, a fragment peopled with phantoms who might be men or women. You touch some, they vanish. You touch others, they snarl and slink away. It's real or it's a slab gouged out of a dream. You never know which it 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 Tartaglia. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. The musical score was composed and conducted by Alexander Curry. The cast tonight included Kay Stewart, Virginia Gregg, Joe Forte, High Averback, David Ellis and Jack Cruch.