← The Great Detectives of Old Time Radio| Daily Mystery Dramas
The Great Detectives of Old Time Radio| Daily Mystery Dramas
Broadway's My Beat: The Harry Foster Murder Case (EP4833)
00:35:09
Today's Mystery: Danny searches for a missing man who has been stabbed. Original Radio Broadcast Date: May 5, 1951 Originating from Hollywood Starring: Larry Thor as Lieutenant Danny Clover; Charles Calvert as Sergeant Gino Tartaglia; Jack Kruschen...
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Sam. Welcome to the Great Detectives of Old Time Radio from Boise, Idaho. This is your host, Adam Graham. In a moment, we're going to bring you this week's episode of Broadway's My Bait. But first, I do want to encourage you. If you're enjoying the podcast, please follow us using your favorite podcast software. Today's program is brought in part by the financial support of our listeners. You can support the show on a one time basis using the Zell app to box13@greatdetectives.net. you can also become one of our ongoing Patreon supporters for as little as $2 per month. And I want to welcome Christopher and Richard as our latest Patreon supporters, both supporting the podcast at the Showmas level of $2 or more per month. Thank you so much for your support. Now, from May 5, 1951, here is the Harry Foster murder case. 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. In the early twilight, Broadway is dappled with beginning shadows. It's the time of the small shock. The springtime's day starts its long scream down into night. It's time, clock time, the hour for going home again. Close the ledger, lock the store Figure the overtime Smile at the boss and out into the street Blink, then run. The subway waits for no man Home again end another day again. But my day was just beginning. North on Broadway and to the east Central park around the 80s and pushed through the crowd whose focus was a park bench that faced the street. All right, come on, come on. Break it up there. Let him through. And Sergeant Mugaman tells you why you're there. Right over here, Danny. Land right there near the bench. I found the knife. I didn't pick it up. I really. Who's the boy? Paul. Paul Gilbert. I haven't been home from school yet. You'll go home in a squad car, Paul. I promised him. With the siren, Danny, with the siren. What happened, Paul? How did the knife get there? I saw the man take it out of his own back and throw it down. And then the man staggered away. Did I show you this, Danny? All this blood. Wherever he is, he's hurt real bad. I want you to think for a minute, Paul. What did this man look like? Tall, I guess. Yeah, I guess that's all he was. Tall. Most grown ups are tall, aren't they, Paul? All of them, except for midgets. One more thing, Paul. Was there Anyone with this man? Think hard. No, I don't think so. Well, you told me that the other man I saw wasn't with him. The other man in the hat just watched him. Then the man in the hat ran away. He wasn't with him. What did the man in the hat look like? He had a hat. That's all I know. I got scared. I ran. That's right, Danny. Paul ran right into Officer Curcio on the beat, Almost knocked him down. Curcio came back, saw the blood on the bench, the knife, phoned it in. Paul, did you know the man? The man with the knife? No. Uh, I usually don't come home from school this way. We had an after school game with the 8B2 over there on the playground. This is the first game of the intramural squad con. Argument for Paul with a siren. Then the careful tracing, the sifting through the shadows of a city, the dust of a city, the hiding places of a city into which a wounded man must crawl and lie for a time and then wander in search of a kindlier place, a darker place, and leave behind him the trail of the wounded, the blood of his life. But the man who'd been stabbed had done none of these things. The hospitals told me that. The doctors. The fella in the neat white jacket in the drugstore across from the park, who, not having a wounded man, offered me a special on shaving cream. Then the legwork of the man on the beat, harvesting the crop of those who had been at the scene of the crime, sorting them, packaging them, parceling them out to me one by one. Look, mister, how many rides do we have to give you guys? I was calling on my girl. I brought her a box of chocolate covered peppermint. She was beginning to understand me. We won't keep you long. You don't understand, mister. I don't stick close to my little bird, she busts out of her cage. I've known her to do that when I pop out two minutes for a corner newspaper. You were in the park this afternoon, saw a man who was stabbed. Can you describe the man? I was never. No park went on for unfortunately got stabbed. An officer took your name. You made him erase it, start all over again. Because he wasn't spelling it right. So you caught me in a lie. Can you describe the man who was hurt? Describe who got a chance to get close to him? Everybody pushing, shoving, like it was a parade for a general. I'm lucky I got a peek at the top of his fleeing skull. That's all Look, I want to explain why I lied about not being in the park. My girl, the bird thinks I work for a living. Little white lie. I used to keep the cage, that's all. You can go, then. The man who is eager, whose eyes dart and pierce, who follows you as you move away from him, stays close to you. Kneads the lapel of your coat. I was real close to him. He had a knife in his back. He breathed in my face. I could tell you the color of his eyes, how close I was. Tell me. Blue eyes. Washed out blue. And no tears in them. No tears at all. No remorse for the evil doing that had brought wrath upon him. Blue eyes. What color hair? Dirty. A dirty color. All matted. No. No, it was blond and shining. There was a kind of light that shone about it. That's because he was dying. Dying in protest against all the wickedness that'll drown. Drown us all. A big man, a short man up. What does it matter how he looks? I was close to him, I tell you. He reached out his hand to me, touched my hand, the tears up my face. Help him out of your office. Motion a policeman over. Watch him. Be gentle with a man. Take him away. And then motion for the next one to come in. Realize, of course, that you're imposing on my time. Not that I mind. It could be a welcome relief from those small monsters I simper and smile at. And diaper. You're a nursemaid, Ms. Cram, is that right? Call me governess and call me Virginia, Miss Cram. Doesn't sound like me at all. Don't you think you take the children to the park every day, 4 to 5:30. Except on rainy days. On rainy days, the children and I stay at home. And I'm permitted callers from 4 to 5:30. That's on rainy days. You told an officer you saw the man who was hurt. I was making conversations. I needed that to get those brats out of my hair. You didn't see him? I wouldn't have gone near him. But I can tell you who did see him. The looker. Who? The looker. All of us in the park know her. She sits in a window across the street on the fifth floor. Watches every move we make, every day. Sits there and watches. It makes you feel as if you're being spied on. Know What I mean? Fifth floor, in an apartment on 80th and 5th. Oh, you can't miss her. Just stand out in the street for a while. Her eyes will bore right through you. But on a rainy day, I Know you're permitted callers. That's all, Mr. Yes? I'm Danny Clover, police. We haven't done anything. I know. I don't even know who you are. There's no name card on your door. You want to come in and talk to us? All right. I'm George Mason. She's my. In the wheelchair. Diane's my wife. Good evening, Ms. Mason. Diane. Diane, dear. Diane, we've got a visitor. He said good evening to you. Say hello, diane. This is Mr. Clover from the Police, Mr. Mason. There was some trouble earlier across the street from you. Talk to her. I'm trying something. Maybe it'll do her some good, talking to her. No one ever does, you know. You just talk to her and I'll answer you. All right. There was a man stabbed across the street from you, Mrs. Mason. In the park. Yes, I heard about it when I came home. Have you found the man? No. Mrs. Mason. I understand that you sit by a window every day. That's right. That one. She sits there, watches. It's her pleasure today. Every day. Then she must have seen what happened. She must have. Pretty. Pretty what? What are you trying to say, Diane? Can't you see how it is? I'm sorry, George. Yes, what is it? I saw a man today. I saw a knife today. Is there anything you can do? Can you talk to her, Diane? A man today? A knife today? Yes. Well, can you tell me what the man looked like, sweetheart? Nice. Was he a big man? Was he a small man? Was he a nice man? Man? Did you like. And try to erase from memory the eyes of the woman filled with the name Terrors. The known terrors that dart and scurry, gnaw and nibble at the fleeting instance of serenity within her and try to wash away in the city's night, screaming the crooning of a tuneless song. Suddenly the known words a man, a knife. And know that the eyes that absorb all movement, all shadow, all light on faces, things that pass before them have seen nothing. Not the man who was stabbed, not the one who did the stabbing. And then the long walk to the darkened room. Turn on the shaded light bulb and search the cupboards for sleep. Finally it comes in the morning. The scorching cup of coffee, the walk to headquarters in the cheery greeting on the threshold from the cheery Sergeant Artaglia. Welcome, Danny. Welcome to your abode, away from your abode. Good morning, Gino. Ah, the best, the sunniest, the bravest. Well, not so early, Hudson. All I've had is a cup of coffee. For which I am delighted. Huh? For which I am delighted. Come, I will escort you to your office, Danny. You will see there how I have taken the liberty to spread upon your desk a repast. He shouldn't have done it, Gino. A repast consisting of a hot paper, container of coffee and a half a dozen cinnamon bums. Voila, the repast partake. Looks good. How else should they look? The cinnamon bums were baked in the oven of Mrs. Tartaglia with her own two lily whites. Go ahead, partake, munch if you like. Mmm, delicious. Thank Mrs. Tartaglia for me. Goes without saying. And now to the events of the morning. Okay if I disturb while you munch? We of the department have discovered that this park bench upon which an alleged man was allegedly stabbed has been a lucky bench. Or unlucky, depending, of course, on the point of view of whom sat there. You'll explain it to me, Gino. It goes without saying. The lucky part of the bench is that five weeks ago a man found a punnet wrapped in a newspaper. $300. Turned it over to lost and found. So? So is that four weeks ago, same man turned into lost and found from the same bench. A like newspaper containing another 300. And we have not seen this pleasant, honest citizen since. Do you have his name? Oh, it goes Without Harry Forster, 1345 West 16 1. I should keep the cinnamon bums hot for you, Danny. I'll do that, Gino. You go ahead and do. Please help me. Please come in and help me. What's the matter? My husband. No one will help me. I asked the neighbors. They said, call the police. Call an ambulance. Please help. Where is he? You'll help? He's in our bedroom. I think he's. I think he's dying. And no one would. No one. No. Mrs. Foster? Yes, Harry's wife. He came home last night and there was blood. He just looked at me like an animal. And there he is. Mister. Help him. Please help him. Dead. No. No, you're wrong. He's been dead for a long time. He was asleep. Only asleep. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. On CBS this Sunday evening, Charlie McCarthy will play a tattoo artist for a group of six sailors, while beautiful Anne Southern acts as his reluctant model. There'll be more fun with Eve Arden, Amos and Andy, Red Skelton and Corliss Archer. Stay with CBS this Sunday for these great comedy programs will be heard on most of these same stats in the Maytime, the sun grins down and pats Broadway's cheek. Broadway loves it. The sunlit minutes are added to the 10 minute break for a cigarette. The walk is slower, the sway gentler. The windows are opened wide and the doors too. Glints of sunlight are carried through long hallways on the sigh of a summer's wind. Touching the lips of the girl at the typewriter, touching the hand of the man at the water cooler. Watching her touching the steel of the fire file cabinets, warming them and having made the tour back onto Broadway and start all over again. But where I was, there was no warmth. Only a woman drawing a shawl tight around her shoulders and talking quietly to her dead. Harry. Harry, listen to me. You were right. We should have told them. We should have told them all about it. And you wouldn't be like this. And I would. Mrs. Foster. What should you have told us? What? What did you say? What should you and your husband have told us? About the money. Nothing else. The money found on the park bench? Yes. You see, we should have told them, Harry. But he did, Mrs. Foster. He reported it, turned it in. You don't understand. I knew no one would understand. Then maybe you can help me. Friday was always Harry's day off from the factory out there. You can see it from here. See, on his day off, I'd pack him a little lunch and he'd kiss me goodbye. Walk uptown to Central Park. He gone. He always went alone. He always sat on the same bench. Harry used to describe it to me. What he saw, people he talked about. Felt as if I'd been there with him. And one day he found money in a newspaper and turned it in, like you said. The next week. Turned it in. But after that I told him he didn't have to do that anymore. You mean he found more money? Is that what you're trying to tell me? You mean he found more money? For five weeks in a row. I told Harry he didn't have to turn it in anymore. I told him to go back. To be sure and keep going back every week. Yesterday too. And we'd be rich. No more of this. No more factory. Why didn't you call us when he came home hurt? Call a doctor. It would have spoiled it, ended it. The money. Don't you see? I thought he'd live and we. That money. No, you couldn't. You couldn't see. Then she turned from me and walked over to the window. Stared out of it across her shoulder into the noon sunshine. I could see the factory emptying its lunchtime Employees, the crowd breaking off its fragments to the curb with the lunch pails, to the push carts for the ham on white and coffee. Then the other sound. The feet in the doorway. The entrance of the professionals. Coroner, photographer, reporter. The man had been murdered. I left, then back again to Central park and the park bench of the stabbing. Sit on it. A man named Harry Foster used to find money here and he was killed. And a woman who had seen it happen. A woman who sat at a window every day. I looked up to the window. She wasn't there. I wondered why. I knew why. She was in the wheelchair. There was a man pushing it carefully down the steps. Can you scooch a little to the side, friend? Oh. Need a hand? Yeah, if you want. Thanks. How are you feeling, Mrs. Mason? She ain't gonna answer you. I didn't know she left the house. Why should you even bother? Oh, I'm Danny Clover, Police. Oh, hi. I'm Ben Taylor. Got a U drive down the street. Only Mrs. Mason here. Different kind of a take drive, I see. Just today? Oh, no, all the time. From one to three. The elements willing. I take her for a ride. Sometimes here, sometimes there. Oh, sure, sure. Right away, Ms. Mason. See you, Danny. Wait a minute. How long have you been doing this, Ben? Since her accident. Since at Coney last year. Hide her back here and up here head. I guess I better take her. I heard her cry like that before. I can't stand it. Sure. It's a nice day, Mrs. Mason. I hope you enjoy your ride. Oh, she will. She likes riding in the car. See you around, Danny. I watched Ben lift her gently out of the wheelchair, lift her into the back of the car, close the door, fold the chair, place it in the car trunk, then back and saying something to her, she looked up. For an instant, her eyes found me. Then she smiled and shaped a lost word with her lips. They were gone. And back at headquarters, the wall clock ticking off the hours of Harry Foster's death, ticking off the hours that his murderer came to a park, looked at it, smiled, walked away in the warm sun, ticked off the question of why money had been left there for Harry Foster to find. Week after week. On Friday's twilight, and at 4 o', clock, the door opening slightly and all you saw of the man was his cocked head. You Mr. Danny Clover? That's right. You want something? Only to know if you're Mr. Danny Clover and to give you what I have in my pocket. They said I should give it to you. You being the interest of the. What have you Got in your pocket. This. An envelope, stamped and everything. I found it. Give it to me. It's addressed to George Mason. Anybody can see that. That's the husband of that woman, the cripple. The one they call a looker in the papers. The one they think they saw that stabbing. I did right bringing it to you. It's been opened. You open it. Don't lie to me. You opened it and then resealed it. All right, I opened it. I'm a normal kind of fellow with all the normal curiosity. First, I was going to mail it when I found it, but then I saw who was addressed to. I couldn't restrain myself. Unlike the proverbial cat. Mr. Clover, it could make trouble for you being like that. Not when you see what's in it. Not when you see what it says. It says you've made a terrible mistake. That's all. Not another word. See? You can't do anything to me for just reading that. You just read it yourself. That's why I brought it to you. Because I'm a cooperative citizen. Where'd you find it? At Grant's tomb. I've been curious about that tomb for years now. Finally, I took time off to go to study it. Then I found a letter on the steps. And I never did get to really study Grant's tomb. Tough. You'll stick around, huh? Some of our boys want to have a long chat with you. They enjoy curious fellows. Sure. Anything you say. I'm nothing if I'm not cooperative. Just nothing. I wouldn't say that. But you stick around, huh? Hi, Ben. Well, hello, Danny. Hey, how do you like this, huh? I rigged up so when it's a sunny day, the telephone is on the outside of my shack. Inspiration, huh? Fine. Who wants to be on the inside when outside it's sunny? You, car rent. And Danny, I can give you rates. Just talk. If you don't do business together, we never become enemies, huh? What's on your mind, Mrs. Mason? Ah, yeah. Sad, huh? You know, if you set your mind to it and consider all she's been through. And then look at her. She's a pretty woman. I noticed you said she was hurt in an accident at Coney Island. Ben, what kind of an accident? On the rolly coaster. You know, one of them rides fell off. Right near the end of the ride, she stood up. Was she with anyone? Yeah, her husband. You want to know something? In spite of the heartbreak of having a wife like that, you know, Mr. Mason is one of the nicest guys I ever met. What about Mrs. Mason, Ben. What about her? Can anyone ever talk to her? Have a conversation with her? I talk to her. About what? Things. You know. Ain't it a pretty day, Mrs. Mason? Is there a draft on you, Mrs. Mason? I talk to her, but she just hums and sings. But, you know, I think she's getting better. Maybe I'm contributing. Where'd you go driving today? Down Riverside Drive. You know, the river, Grant's Tomb, the churches. Thanks a lot, Ben. Anytime, Danny. Anytime at all. Oh, hello, Mr. Clover. Good evening, Mr. Mason. We're delighted to see you. Please come in, Diane. It's Mr. Clover. Diane looks better, doesn't she, Mr. Clover? Yes. Yes, she does. I brought you something, Mr. Mason. Here. Huh? A letter. It's addressed to you. Read it. I don't understand. Read it. Yes, it is. It's addressed to me, but it's been open. That's right. Read it. All right. Note says you made a mistake, Mr. Mason. Mrs. Mason, your husband might be electrocuted for a murder he committed. Leave her alone. I wasn't going to touch her. Cut it out, Mrs. Mason. What's the matter with you? Have you gone out of your mind, Clover? I said cut it out. Mrs. Mason. I told you, leave her alone. All right, you've come here to accuse me of murder, but leave her alone, George. Don't worry about anything, dear. Get me a drink of water. What? What did you say? A drink of water, George. Cold water from the refrigerator. Diane, darling, a drink of water. Do it. You won't be able to wait on me anymore. Mr. Clover is going to take you away from me. You're talking like you know what you're saying. You do know what you're saying. What's happening? What's happening to us? It's already happened. It's all over. Poor George. Paid off, didn't it, Mrs. Mason? Sitting at the window, watching. Watching for a man your husband could kill. Simple little man. He came and sat on the same bench every Friday. He got paid for a while. It was you. You wrote that first letter to Ann. And this one made me pay blackmail to a man who didn't even know me. Didn't know anything about me. It was so simple. Write a letter, put a stamp on it, drop it from the car. Someone picked up the first letter and mailed it about five weeks ago. A letter with instructions in it? Why, yes. Leave money every Friday on the park bench. The man who picked it up, Mr. Mason, you thought was a blackmailer, so you killed. She's crazy. She really Is she's crazy. No, I'm not. I'm just a cripple, George. I can't move from this chair, honest. But I'm not crazy. She's crazy. What did that first letter say, Mr. Mason? The man saw me push my wife off a ride at Coney Island. He demanded blackmail. But I didn't push Diane. And why did you pay the money, darling? But you weren't going to let your husband alone, were you, Mrs. Mason? Even after he did what you wanted him to do, murder a man. Another letter. That one your husband's holding, telling him he killed the wrong man. It's not much to ask, is it? Wanting George to suffer. Look at me. You're an accessory, Mrs. Mason. Am I? What can you do to me? A cripple in a wheelchair in a prison. Would that be different? Tell me how. I didn't push you, Diane. I didn't push you. You fell off that ride. You fell. Liar, Diane. You're a liar, George. Diane, will you listen to me? I made it up to you. I carried you. I waited on you. I went crazy that day. I hated you. I don't know why. I don't know. Oh, I know why. You're an evil woman. Evil. Poor George. You should have died. You should have. You should have. Poor George. It's night on Broadway now there's easy laughter and a trumpet scurls its music into the grinning mob it's top of the evening have another drink on me, kid, and let's sit this dance out It's a street gouged out of a scarlet dream 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 Tartaglia and Jack Crucian as Mugavan. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Lamont Johnson was heard as George Mason, Kathy Lewis as Diane Mason and Virginia Gregg as Mrs. Foster. Others in the cast were Herb Vigren, Lou Krugman and Johnny McGon. Every Saturday night, Jan Murray takes a tip from Danny Clover and goes looking for people only. Jan's Beat is the United States by coast to coast phone. He offers a grand in cold, hard cash if you can identify the phantom voice. So stay tuned now as Jan Murray and sing it again. Follow immediately on most of these same CBS stations. Joe Walter speaking. This is cbs, where you laugh at Jack Benny every Sunday night. The Columbia Broadcasting welcome back. A good episode, although in the first half, Danny was being unusually abrupt in missing witnesses, as if he realized that he had to get through these witnesses in order for the episode to stay on schedule. The boy who was given a squad car ride with the light on was one thing that made me wonder how often that happens. I tend to think, unless it's a brain raid or something, the light should only be used for true emergencies. But maybe I'm a stick in the mud. Danny called the killer's wife an accessory, and I'm not sure that's right. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. But I think the writers struggle with the idea that someone can be morally responsible for her death, but not legally culpable. Because, yeah, she's definitely guilty of extortion. And of course she hoped her husband would do the killing. But hoping that someone commits a murder doesn't make you an accessory to the murder. The husband did it all by himself, with no assistance from her in either planning or covering up the crime. Well, listener comments and feedback now. And we have just a very brief comment over on YouTube on the Thomas Hart murder case. Listen, enjoy. Great. Thank you. Appreciate that you enjoyed the episode. And then listener just left a remark on the listener survey. Broadway's My Beat. Well, thank you so much. And that one was from Matt. And now it is time to thank our Patreon supporter of the day. And I want to go ahead and thank thank you to Steve, Patreon, supporter Since May of 2019, currently supporting the podcast at the Detective Sergeant level of $7.14 or more per month. Thanks so much for your support, Steve. And that will do it for today. If you're enjoying the podcast, please follow us using your favorite podcast software and be sure to rate and review the podcast wherever you download it from. We will be back next Wednesday with another episode of Broadway's My Beat, but join us back here tomorrow for Dragnet, where you've been driving a couple of years for Lavelle trucking lines. That right, Burroughs? That's right. Yeah. What if you'd mind running it through for us again, Burroughs, maybe there's a few details about the thing that you forgot to mention, huh? Well, it won't be any different than last time. I pulled out from the loading dock about six o' clock yesterday morning hauling a load of Scotch whiskey over to Phil Phoenix. Pulled up for the red light at Alameda and Jackson. That's when the guy pulled open the door and got in next to me, put a gun in my ribs. Told me to look straight ahead. First thing he did was hand me the pair of goggles and tell me to put them on. Same kind the welders use. Front of the lens was covered with tape. I put him on. I couldn't see a thing. Guy took over the wheel and started driving. Well, did you have any idea what direction you were heading in? No, not with the goggles on. I tried to follow at first, but I got all mixed up. Couldn't tell where he was driving. Made quite a few turns. He drove about 20, 20, 25 minutes, I guess before we pulled up. That's where the switching point was. Two more guys met us there. I could only tell by the voices. They pulled me out of the truck and put me in a car. I hope you'll be with us then. In the meantime, send your comments to Box 13@Great Detectives.net follow us on Twitter radiodetectives and check us out on Instagram. Instagram.com Great detectives from Boise, Idaho, this is your host, Adam Graham, signing off.