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Choice Classic Radio Detectives | Old Time Radio
Broadway Is My Beat: The Marcia Dean Murder Case 05/12/1950
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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. The sunlight that drifts into police headquarters has a different texture to it. That's because it touches concrete and iron grill work before it finally breaks through the dust in the windows. That's why I supplement it with my own personal sunshine. His name is Sergeant Intaglia, and he never knocks, even on Thursday. And sometimes he brings company. This man's name is Harry Dean. Danny. Close the door, Titaglia. Okay, okay, you can stay. Just close the door. Sit down, Mr. Dean. Over there. Thank you. You're the man I want to see. Well, that all depends. What's on your mind? I'm 46 years old, Mr. Clover. In four months, I'll be 47 in August. I live at 903 Hillcrest Road in Queens. All right. Once, when I was six and a half, I stole a peppermint stick. I got caught. Well, I mean, I gave myself up to my mother. Hey, Danny. What is it? Go on, Mr. Dane. I wanted to draw a parallel. Two days ago, I stole $20,000 and you're giving yourself up to me? Well, it was for my wife. You. You understand that, don't you? Just that you stole $20,000, that's all. Here's Marcia's photograph. That's my wife's photograph. Yes. She's going on 42. No, she is going on 43 now. Not very attractive anymore. I know that she looks like what she is after 20 years of me. Bank teller. You stole the money from the bank? Well, I stole $20,000 from the Charles Street national bank where I work because I was told I could have Marcia back for that amount of money. Are you trying to tell me that Marcia was kidnapped? Yeah. Don't you see? All right, go on. Well, I came home yesterday and Marcia wasn't there. About 9 o'clock I got a phone call. Man said Marcia wouldn't be hurt if I brought the money. Then he put Marcia on the phone. She was being brave, I know, but I can see. I could tell she was frightened, terrified. She pleaded with me to. Whenever you can talk, Mr. Dean, I can talk. Man has a right to feel about his wife. That man said, bring the money. Go to that summer resort, Far Rockaway. Register at the Idle Wild Arms. Put the money in the bottom bureau drawer and leave. But I did it and they lied to me. Marcia hasn't come home. They've done Tortaglio. Yeah, Danny? Nothing to the newspapers about this. I'll get this picture, Mrs. Dean and the wires and then go up to Far Rockaway. Okay, Danny. What happens to me, Mr. Clover? What you expected? You go to jail. There was no protest in him as Tartaglia led him away. Only a tired, empty dejection that had stamped its shape on his body stained his eyes with the color of despair. When the room was empty of him, a question remained. Why had it been done to an ordinary man, an ordinary bank clerk? The answer was ordinary. The man was in a place where money flowed and teased the right pressure. And for as long as was needed, the flow could be diverted. A loved woman can be that pressure, even for an ordinary man like Harry Dean. At Far Rockaway, the beach is littered with the debris of those who have escaped for a day, for a weekend. The surf washes against the feet of a child and a child screams. The mocking sun touches a woman's shoulders and the woman giggles. The man lying buried in the sand next to her twinkles his toes. And strung behind them like a munch rented backdrop is a string of leering resort hotels with screen porches and empty rockers. The Idle Wild Arms was one of these. Glory hallelujah. A guest. Hey, give me room, boy. I've got a welcoming speech for you. Just a minute. I don't interrupt, boy. It's the off season and I gotta rehearse it on somebody. And you're just as good a guinea pig as anybody, aren't you, boy? Look, you're interrupting, boy. I'm gonna have trouble with you. You may at that, kid. I'm from the police. Idle Wild Arms welcomes you with open arms. And I prom ain't gonna be idle, but you might be wise. Did I hear you, boy? You're from the police. It finally penetrated, huh, Don? Look, boy, I got nothing to do with this crumb joint. They hire me to spread sunshine and desk clerk for a Lousy sobuck. A week with meals. Meals. Harry Dean. What did you do for him? Wife. They know there's a brat. What? Harry Dean? I did nothing for him except show him to his room. He didn't react to my jollity, so I fluffed him. Which room? 6A. I guess it nauseated him because an hour later he checked out. That I had to do too. Check out the crumble mouth. Where is it? The room I told you. Outside. Oh, oh, oh, you. You mean. You mean. 6a. Right down the hall. Boy, it says Harry Dean. You want. Not me, huh? Not you. For a minute there, you had me on my knees. Don't let me keep you, boy. I gotta rehearse my act. Glory, hallelujah. 5aM 6 a. Oh. What are you doing in my room? Get out. Oh, I'm sorry. I thought this room was unoccupied. If I. Part of the recreation program. Get out. Bakar. I called for help. I'm from the police. I want to search this room. Oh, this can't stop you then. No. That bureau. Do you have your things in it? Not yet. Only just got in a little while ago. Haven't had time to unpack. What's in there? A mouse? A time bomb? Maybe money. Maybe $20,000 worth of money. 20,000? I wish I'd known. I could have got to it first. Nothing. You say you've been here only a little while. Just long enough to open a window and get a whiff of ocean air. Maybe an hour or two. Did I do wrong? Who are you? What's your name? Edith Keller. I'm a stenographer. Got two weeks vacation, so I came here for peace and quiet. So far it's not quiet. Take a look at this picture. Ms. Keller, have you ever seen this woman? Yeah, I saw her. She did just what you did. I barely got my body into the room. There was a knock on the door. This woman. This woman here says she left something in the bureau, bottom drawer. She took it out. Wish I'd known. 20,000. Was there anyone with her? Yeah, man. He stayed in the hall. I didn't get a look at him, just heard his voice. Gee, gosh. I know. Ms. Keller. $20,000. She smiled at me. It was the kind of a smile that had regret in it. So I returned in kind. Then she looked toward the door, so I left. On the ride back to Manhattan, I jotted it all down in my mind. It was simple. Marsha Dean was never kidnapped. Marsha Dean had made a thief out of her husband, Marcia Dean, 42, going on 43, had run away with another man. The money her husband had stolen would finance the production. It meant starting all over again. Back to routine. Find out about Marsha Dean. Climb concrete steps, ring doorbells and call Marsha Dean's neighbors. I know you. You're a policeman. I am. If you're not, you just stole a police car. Come on in. Thanks. This won't take long. Mrs. Mrs. Graham, this way. In the parlor. That's the Mr. Sitting there in the rocker behind the newspaper. Graham. Graham, this is a policeman come to call. What's your name, mister? Clover. Danny Clover. Graham, his name is Danny Clover. Once, Graham saw a picture in a magazine. Picture of a man in a rocking chair who was retiring on $200 a month. Graham sent in the coupon. Now it's 15 years later. Graham sits in a rocking chair just like the picture. Don't you, Graham? Ms. Graham, I wonder if you can give me some information about a neighbor of yours. Comings and goings of a neighbor. I can give you comings and goings of three houses on either side of me. On this side of the block, across the street, further down than that. I see I stand at that window and a snoop. Oh, don't look down your nose at that, mister. Some people stand at a bar and drink their pleasure. I snoop mine. When was the last time you saw your next door neighbor, Mrs. Dean? Mmm, yesterday. Wednesday. What time was that once you got into the cab? What time? About three, I'd say. It was about that. What kind of a cab was it, Ms. Graham? Mmm, yellow Cab, I think. Wasn't it, Graham? I said, wasn't it a yellow cab? See, mister, I told you it was a yellow cab. It didn't take long. At the cab company, a girl with rimless glasses and green eyeshade was courteous, efficient and bored. She pulled the driver's route reports out of a steel file, checked them with me and found the one that matched. At 3:12pm Wednesday, Hackie Stan Holdeck had picked up a fare at 903 Hillcrest Road in Queens. If I wanted to talk to Stan about it, the girl said she was sorry. There was no way of reaching him. He'd report in at 10 o'clock. If I cared, I could wait till then. I cared. At 10 5, a cab rolled into the garage. It was Stan, she told me. I went over to it. Oh, the things your body will take just so as it can eat. You have that trouble, Mac, Continually. The girl in the office told me you were Stan Hodek, that girl is always right. It's like an affliction with her. What's the matter, pal? Did you lose something in a cab? You think it's mine? Oh, nothing like that. Stan, I'm Danny Clover, Police Department. Oh. Somebody made a complaint because I questioned the good name of his family. I do this many times a day. On Wednesday, you picked up a fair stand in Queens. I want you to tell me about it. Wednesday? Yesterday's a long time ago. In Queens. That's a long place. 903 Hillcrest Road at 3:12 in the afternoon. Try to remember, Stan. Okay, I'll try. Queens. Hillcrest Road, Wednesday. Give me a hint, Mr. Clover. A man or a woman? A woman. Well, that makes it easier because it's easier to remember a woman. Yeah, yeah. Now I remember. What about it? I've got a photograph here. Was it this woman? Let's see. Yeah, yeah. I remember because this age type woman is easy to forget. How did you happen to go there? Did she call you? No, no. A guy hailed me from the street. What guy? Who knows some guy out of a crowd. Told me to go to Queens to that address, pick up a lady and take her to where he'd be waiting for. Where was that? On a corner in Brooklyn. I remember because all that was on that corner was an empty lot. Lousy meeting place. But will you take me there now? I don't know. I just finished a day's work. You'll have to clear it with Ms. Righteous in the office and we'll clear it. Let's go. Stamp right here, Mr. Clover. Here's where I left her off. Let's get out there. You're sure it was right here, huh? Sure I'm sure. I ought to know. This billboard here was. You didn't see anyone pick her up? Will you tie my shoelace, mister? Hello, little girl. I fell down back there because my shoelace is untied. Here. And put your foot up on my knee, honey. Thanks. Aren't you out pretty late? No. Do you stay out this late every night? Oh, no. Tonight I'm big. Tonight I'm a big girl. There. There you are. Thanks. I've even got a big girl's pocketbook. Your mother should know you've got her suede pocketbook. Oh, it's not my mother's. I found it. Whatever. Give me back my pocketbook. Hold on one minute. Where did you find it? Come on, I'll show you. You recognize this purse, Tom? I don't know. I didn't take notice right over here on the field. Over there near those tin cans. Stay here, Stan, with the girl. Yeah. 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. Find anything? I found something. Marsha Dean. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. When Dan Seymour starts putting in those phone calls from coast to coast on Sing It Again this Saturday night, there'll be $55,000 in prizes and cash riding on the calls. Here's Sing It Again this Saturday and every Saturday on most of these same CBS stations. When the promise of summer touches Broadway. Broadway dons its Hawaiian shirt and stands on street corners to batting averages. The men from Mars. The rise to fame and fortune of Hopalong. How much it costs to dress the kids because this hoppy character is so famous. And then the real tidbit. Murder. All the other conversation was just an appetizer. How a policeman found a woman lying dead in a vacant lot. Lying under a shroud of tin cans. Her funeral bouquet, a clump of weeds. That was something to talk about. And her husband, a bank clerk. Poor guy. Stealing the bank's money to ransom her life. And all the time she was there in the vacant lot. A lunch hour isn't long enough to discuss things like that. But at police headquarters, there's time. There's a cold, dank room that contains within itself all the time in the world. The morgue. Here he is. Danny. Oh. Why did you have me brought here, Mr. Clover? I know she's dead. I know. Do I have to? I know what you must feel, Mr. Dean. This is something that has to be done. You understand that, Mr. Dean? You'll be all right. Yes. Yes, Mr. Clover. Patrol McKenna? Yeah. Was this your wife, Mr. Dean? Marsha Marshall. Marsha, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the bad times, all the hard years. Forgive me, Marcia. Mr. Dean. Mr. Dean. What do you want? When we brought the cab driver, Stan Hodek, to your cell this morning, he said he'd never seen you before. Yeah? Had you ever seen him loitering around the house or the Bank. Oh, no, no, no, no. Please, miss, please. Ask me questions another time. Pod's voice. Did you recognize it? Could it have been the one who made the kidnap phone calls? Oh, no. I don't know. How could I remember a voice? Can other people do that? Remember the sound of. Maybe it was his. I don't know. Patrol. Mechanic. Yeah, Marshall. Kenny, watch. And he's got your gun, Mr. Dean. Give it back to me. Give it. I've waited for it. It's fired. Look, Mr. Dean, we'll find Marcia's killer. You can't take it on yourself. You'll have to kill us to get out of here. And then kill again. No. It's not you I'll kill. No. This man here. I'm going to kill myself. Myself. To end the grief and the pain in my head. And no more pain. My God. Timmy will be. It's okay now, Danny. He's out. Let him come out of it himself and take him to Dr. Sinski. Then lock him up. And thanks, Kenny. You were quick. Can I come in, Danny? Yeah, come in her, Dagley. All right, thanks. Now, here they are, Danny. Wear them in good health. Wear what in good health? Your shirts and your intimates, Tartaglia. Your shirts and your intimates, Danny. A little plot Mrs. Tartaglia and I whipped up for you for Mother's Day. I heisted your laundry out of your locker and took it home. And Mrs. Tartaglia got together with her Bendix washer. Here is your laundry, Danny. As clean as clean can be. Thank Mrs. Tartaglia for me. I will, Danny. It gives her pleasure. And when you leave, tear down that note I got up from the police board officer who borrowed laundry. Return it to Danny Clover, no questions asked. Wilco, Roger. And now that we have solved the problems of the domestic life of the police department, may we get down to work, Gino? Oh, indeed we may. Then do it. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, Danny. Now, in the matter of the cab driver, Stan Hodek. To wit, we have had him sweating all morning over photographs from our rogues gallery in an effort to identify the man who hailed his cab with directions to pick up the now deceased Mrs. Marchedine. Anything? Nothing. Also in the matter of Stan Hodek, we have checked his call sheet. Right after dropping Mrs. Dean, he picked up another fair a block away from the scene of the crime, took said fare to the Roxy, thereby confirming Stan's story as far as time is concerned. All right, what else? In the matter of Harry Dean. To wit, about 15 minutes ago he was released on bail Said bail being set at $10,000. Who put it up to Douglas? Oh, his sympathetic employers. The Charles Street National Bank. Yeah, I figured they would. Man works at one place for 20 odd years, works there faithfully, then suddenly he needs a lot of money to buy back his wife's life. His wife gets murdered. Danny Clover speaking, Mugavin. Danny, I'm phoning from the call box at 45th and Broadway. What's up, Mugavan? Dan Hodak, the cab driver. Yeah, he's in the middle of the street there and he's been shot to death. Danny. Danny, over here. Here I am. Let us up. The traffic, don't it, Danny? A side show like this. Not every day a spectacle like this. Give those words the newspapers, Mug, and they'll love you for it. Danny. Oh, sorry. Okay, I said I'm sorry. Now, briefly, like this, Danny. From eyewitness accounts, each one with personal variations, because the eyewitnesses have personal problems. But essentially, they come out the same. All right, Mugavan. After a little prodding, they all agree on this. Hodak's cab came to a stop for a red light. Man got out, got lost in the crowd, the light changed, the cab didn't move. Unusual for a cab. Well, maybe not unusual. Depends how you feel about cats. The cab still didn't move. All the traffic behind it was tied up and screaming. Finally, some brave guy got out to argue with Hodek. No argument. Hodek was dead. You saw him, Dan? Yeah. Bullet hole the back of his head. A new way to pay a cab fare, huh? Denny, the man who got out, could any of these eyewitnesses identify him? I asked him that, Danny. They laughed in my face. Who bothers to scrutinize a guy gets out of a cab? Danny. Oh, Danny, can I see you for a minute? Hello, Dr. Simsky. This. This thing, Danny, this murder of the woman, Marsha Dean. May I inquire as to your progress? What makes you so interested, Doctor? Oh, it disturbs me. A person like Mrs. Dean who only saw her name in print in a telephone bookshelf. We've made some progress. Oh, I'm glad. I'm not a vindictive man, Danny, but whoever did this thing. I know what you mean. Oh, Danny, I got here the autopsy reporter, Marshall Dean. Tell it to me that she was shot with a.32 caliber pistol. You already know she died instantly. The bullet entering the sternum at close range pierced her heart. When found, she had been dead approximately 30 hours. Huh? One hour more or less, Danny. But 30 hours is a fair approximation. And it makes a liar out of a person I talked to in Rockaway. Forgive me, Danny. I don't understand. Stenographer on vacation. Doctor? A girl who said her name was Edith Keller. I saw her Yesterday afternoon when Mrs. Dean had already been dead for a day. Edith Keller said she'd just seen Mrs. Dean. So? So what, Danny? So Marcia Dean never left Brooklyn. She was never in Rockaway. The beach fire smoldered along the stretch of east far Rockaway. And clinging to their fringe of light and warmth, the shadows huddled and protested with small squeals of delight. There was background music, too. The portable radios, the rhythmic thumping of an out of tune piano. Courtesy the idle wild arms. The lobby was decked with a desperate gaiety. Under torn Japanese lanterns, two people danced. Sitting alone on a wicker sofa was Edith Keller. I went up to her. Are you gonna ask me to dance? I'll dance, Ms. Keller. Oh, I remember you. You're the detective. It's not against the law to ask a girl to dance, is it? I want to talk to you, Ms. Keller. All right, we'll talk then. It's just as good. Watching the dancers and the fun. I was getting lonesome. Please, sit down. No, not here. Somewhere quiet. Your room. We'll talk there now, Ms. Keller. All right. See, I did what you said, but we haven't anything to talk about. Not like this. A bank teller, Edith. Let's discuss him. Bank teller? I don't know anymore. No, you didn't know him, Edith. You just knew that tellers handle money. You knew there was a way to get that money. I think you must be crazy or something. You and someone else kidnap his wife, make him bring the ransom here to this hotel. Put it in the bottom drawer of the bureau. You got that money, didn't you, Edith? You're wrong. I told you that woman got it. The woman whose picture you showed me. I told you that. You lied. Marshall Dean was never here because she was dead in the vacant lot in Brooklyn. You and whoever you worked with got her to go to that lot, then murdered her. Who are you working with, Edith? Please, I. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know. Who is it, Edith? It could be easier maybe, if you told me who was it. But someone knocked. Edith, Open the door. Open it, darling. Harry. Go away. Go away. Come on in, Harry. Close the door. All right, I'm in. Now what? If you want to grieve some more about your wife, Harry, I'll watch. Oh, don't Worry about it. Not me. You. You killed your wife, Harry. And made it look like kidnappers did it. The ransom money you pocketed for Edith here. Touching. She's worth killing twice. Folklore. If you knew her like I did, you'd know that after being married for 23 years, a man misses what he can only read about, Harry. You'd understand that. Clover. Killing the cab driver had to be done. You brought him into my cell to see if he'd recognize me. Of course he recognized me. Why didn't he say he knew you? He got too clever. He caught on to what was happening. He wanted money. He said, let's go for a ride in my cab and talk about money. So I shot an appetite like his was no good for Edith and me. Let's go, Harry. Well, then you know why I can't go with you. Two killings. Three. Harry. No. No more killing, Harry. Eat it. My charge. He's got to die. He's got to die. Hey. Hey, D. I didn't mean to. Huge. Edith. Edith. Edith. Edith. Edith. Don't die. Don't die, please. Please. Now listen, Edith. Don't die. Don't die. Didn't die. Just breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. In May, the twilight sighs down on Broadway like a rosy promise you walk toward it then someone smiles and takes your hand, whispers to close your eyes and your head gets banged against a wall. The lights are bright, the noise is loud and your scream mixes well with the shriek of the night. It's Broadway. The gaudiest, most violent, the lonesomest milestone 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 Courage. Included in the night's cast were Jack Crucian, Howard McNear, Joseph Granby, Virginia, Greg, Hal, March and Marley names. Prejudice can easily be the wedge which splits a nation's unity. And in these days of world disunity, America must remain a symbol of democratic strength. Watch closely for words of prejudice and stamp them out. Only by individual alertness can our nation safeguard itself against this disease which strikes from within. Accept or reject people on their individual words. Joe Walters speaking. This is cbs, where the Goldbergs are every Saturday night. The Columbia Broadcasting System. Brought to you by radioclassics.com Programs are copyright their respective owners. All rights reserved.