Broadway's My Beat: The Anna Compton Murder Case (EP4908)

Starting a business can be overwhelming. You're juggling multiple roles, designer, marketer, logistics manager, all while bringing your vision to life. Shopify helps millions of business sell online. Build fast with templates and AI descriptions and photos, inventory and shipping. Sign up for your one euro per month trial and start selling today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. It's time to see what you can accomplish with Shopify by your side. 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 Beat. But first, I want to encourage you, if you're enjoying the podcast, please follow us using your favorite podcast software. Today's program is brought to you in part by the financial support of our listeners. You can support the show on a one-time basis by mailing a donation to Adam Graham, P.O. Box 15913, that's P.O. Box 15913, Boise, Idaho, 83715. You can also become one of our ongoing Patreon supporters for as little as $2 per month. Just go to patreon.greatdetectives.net. Now, from September 15, 1951, here is the Anna Compton murder case. Broadway's My Beat, from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesomest mile in the world. Broadway is my beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. When it's September and the summer sighs away, Broadway is festooned with the colors of fall. The pastels of the cotton dresses mix sadly with the brown and gray of the flannel. and here and there Broadway shapely foliage turns to plaid. It's the time of the quickened step and the crumpled travel folder and coney dyed beaver. And the September song is a deep-throated sound, the mob voice, the hay fever, and the oysters being torn from the half-shell. Another season, kid, one more three-month span to get where you're going. And the autumn days have their six o'clock in the morning time, the just beginning another day time. It was a street where Broadway turns a corner into the 40s, where I was, and Detective Mugovan, and a woman. She's in here, Danny, in this car. Up there on the floor in front. Well, who is she? I don't know. No identification, no handbag. Just this. Car registered to Edward Bishop, 1110 160th. Uh-huh. Slippers in the glove compartment. Who found her? Officer Kaplan. Tagged it late last night for traffic violation parking. Five o'clock when he was going off duty, he noticed the car still wasn't moved. Opened it, looked. Found her under that blanket. Let's say she was about 27, huh? Shot once in the back. From up close. Yeah, death probably instantaneous. Um, here they are, Danny. In the front of the car, Doc. Hey, you're a new Doc, aren't you? Don't move her, Doctor. Wait for the photographers. But don't just stand there, Doc. You gotta... You'll get used to it, kid. This kind of thing happens a lot. And the cluster of the walkers to work, the people of the subway, glad for the delay of the dead woman, the dead woman who lies at the beginning of another day. Stops it for a time, holds it, the desolate pause, the time for turning back. But the hungry day will not wait. Subways are empty and must be filled. The clever machines in the offices long for the fluttering caress of quick fingers. Can't stop for the dead kid, a buck has to be made. Give someone else your place in line. And in the corridor of the address on the registration slip A woman in a raveled coat sweater sweeps away the night litter and autumn mists Gathers them on a dustpan, throws them into the street You ask for Edward Bishop And she shrugs you to a scarred door at the end of the hall Watches you as you knock Waits with you for the door to open You're an early bird, mister Police Huh? Oh, my A woman drops her broom, scurries away to tell her friends and neighbors Early bird out to catch a worm, huh, mister? Not me, not for something I've done. I never do anything bad. You, Edward Bishop? Oh, not me. Mr. Bishop's my roomie. He gone and done something naughty? Come in, mister, and tell me all about it. Where is he? Oh, out frying his nightly kettle of fish, I presume. His bed ain't been slept in. No? Oh, my, that hollow you see in the bedclothes is where I tried it. I'm an experimenter. Long as he wasn't in it, I thought my roomie's bed might be better than my own. It wasn't. Mr. Bishop's gone and done something naughty, huh? Do you know where he is? I want to tell you something about Mr. Bishop, my roomie. He's a tight-lipped man. Rockface, I call him, when he ain't looking. That's because he never whispers a secret to me or shares a Coke when I offer him part of mine. He just lets me dab his hanky with cologne sometimes when he's going out for a heavy evening. He had a lot of them, evenings like that? Well, for a man who has to shave twice a day, he has more than his share. You wouldn't know with whom. I might. But first you tell me what my roomie did to you. Maybe you'd find it cozier down at headquarters. Maybe that Japanese kimono you wear makes it look... You're getting rough. Hello there, mister. I'll tell you what I know, then you tell me what you know, huh? My roomie's been squiring a lady by the name of Anna Compton. You know her? Oh, just to talk to on the phone. That lovely voice. Haunts you. When did you talk to her last? Oh, two or three days ago. I'll tell you just how it was. She kept calling here evenings, asking my roomie to call her back. Just leave her name, Anna Compton. My roomie squiring a married lady. Bishop never shared anything with you, and still you... I'll tell you about that, too. Her haunting voice made me nervous. I told you I'm an experimenter. So one day I sat down with a phone book and called every Compton there is. Then a man answered and said his wife Anna wasn't home. Who was calling? Of course I hung up. Then you know her address. In the New Rochelle phone book for everyone's eyes to see. Now it's your turn. What did Mr. Bishop do? A woman was found murdered in his car. My, oh, my. That's as naughty as you can get, ain't it? Mr. Blackburn said that. Then Mr. Blackburn reached over to my lapel, pinched off a piece hanging from the buttonhole, and dangled it accusingly under my nose. This is the way I left Mr. Blackburn. Then back to headquarters, issue an all-points bulletin for Edward Bishop. Then down one flight to the photo lab, be handed a picture. Tuck it in the black notebook where you've jotted the name of Leo Compton and his address in New Rochelle. Then the ride there to the community where the houses have the built-in attitude that violent death never visits here. In the next street, maybe it happens, or to a friend of a friend, but it never happens here. Anna? Anna, is that you? Lost your key? Anna, where have you been? Your name Compton? Leo Compton, that's right. I'm from the police. My name is Danny Clover. Oh, yeah? Mind if I come in? Well, I guess so. All right. Oh, wait a minute. Wait a minute there. Yeah? Police. Mr. Compton... It's about Anna. It's about Anna, isn't it? What's happened to her? Listen to me, Mr. Compton. All right, all right. I'm listening. Is Anna your wife? Yes, yes, yes. This woman, this picture I have here. Yes, that's Anna. How did you get that? How did you get Anna's picture? I wish I knew someone to say this. Anna's dead? We found her this morning. She'd been shot. Oh. She... Her body's at the morgue. Anna. I've got to ask you. I know, I know. She didn't come home last night, Mr. Compton. No, no, you're wrong. she came home. Anna came home to me. It was my fault, really. I sent her away. I told her I didn't care. And the things I said to her, the names. Suppose the last words you ever said to your wife were names like that. What happened last night, Mr. Compton? She came home It was about seven yesterday evening And she had the bracelet on She was wearing a bracelet when we found her She had the bracelet on and I asked her where she got such an expensive bracelet to wear And she said she got a bargain A bargain. What do you mean? From her boyfriend. Oh, she told me, Anna told me all right. And listen, listen, you know what I did? I called him up. I'm not narrow-minded, things can happen just because it's your wife doesn't mean it can't happen. I called her boyfriend up, and I told him to come over. I'd pay him for the bracelet. Did he come over? Oh, he came over. Anna was stunned, all right. And I wrote a check for the bracelet, $200. Don't you think Anna wasn't stunned? Mr. Compton... But you know what she did? She left with him, anyhow. Bracelet, check, she, and him. And that's when I said... What was the man's name? Bishop, Edward Bishop. He's an auctioneer for the Hunter Galleries. There's something else. Yes? I'll call for Anna. I'll take her out of that place where she is. Come in off the avenue of the Americas, mister. Behind these dirty shop windows, there are bargains. Edward Bishop worked here? He did till he killed himself a woman, ran up a parking ticket. You know all that for sure. I know Eddie. He works for me. The pitchman to end all pitchman. The spiel that kills. That's Eddie Bishop. He talking to buying something you don't like, mister? You said he killed her. Why? You're a cop, aren't you? Come inside. I'll brew you something warm. It gets cold for everybody on the avenue. No, leave the door open. A looker might want to come in to browse. That's how it is in the world. Lookers, browsers, handlers. Then walk out. Just like my Eddie. You want a sip of the warm brew? Why did you say he killed her? It's in Eddie to do a thing like that. That's what's about him that fascinates a girl. That and the clever way he handles an auctioneer's hammer. I could show you a three-time bruise. Three times and you're sold on a man like Eddie. You read in the papers a woman is found dead in Bishop's car and that makes you know he's a murderer. That and the way he spoke my name sometimes after we closed up the shop. Zoe, he'd say to me. Zoe killed a long day for me. You don't argue with a man like Eddie when he talks like that. You knew Mrs. Compton? When the summer began to fade, Eddie started talking to me about her. How she looked when she walked in one day to bid on an object of art. Then how she looked over a cocktail at a corner bar. And then how it was with the lights of Coney on her face and in Eddie's car on the long way to New Rochelle. All this my auctioneer told me. That's how I know the dead Mrs. Comte. I'm glad for her. You never saw her with him? It was last night. I watched from behind the counter. I saw her shove her wrist at Eddie. Eddie put a bracelet on it. One he'd bought from stock. I thought it was for me. Right in front of me, he did it. If it was like that for them, why would he kill her? Who knows? Maybe she rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe she asked him for it. Eddie was a man to oblige a lady. All right. Thank you. Do something for me, mister. What? You find Eddie Bishop, give him my message. Tell him I want an invite to his execution. It's been a dull season. Danny? Over here in the squad car. You got something, Mugovan? Maybe, maybe not. Guy was found dead in the building excavation over on 3rd. Nobody wants to touch him. Yeah, let's go. Drive down the ramp, Mugovan. Yeah. This sidewalk superintendent's really got something to stare at now. Here. Hey, what happened, mister? Him. Him and a scoop happened. Half hour ago, I decided to scratch this ground. First scoop full of shovel come up with was him. Hey, let's get it down, huh? Sure. That okay? Yeah, real good. I'll take a look, huh? Shot, Danny. Here's a wallet. Look at this. Check for $200 signed by Leo Compton. Uh-huh. Paid of the order of Edward Bishop. Edward Bishop? He's the man we figured murdered Anna Compton. Yeah, the man we figured murdered Anna Compton. What? What'd you say, Danny? Nothing. I didn't say anything at all. You are listening to Broadway's My Beat, written by Morton Fine and David Friedkin and starring Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. Singers Alan Dale and Sarah Vaughan will be Steve Allen's guests on Songs for Sale just a little later tonight. Once again, Steve will be playing host to four amateur songwriters and their unpublished songs, one of which will be chosen for a nationwide hearing. For Merriment and Melody, hear songs for sale later tonight on most of these same CBS radio stations. September morn dips a dainty toe into a Broadway billboard and unshivering gazes down upon a street that only yesterday was choked with summer. But the refuse is there, where summer has passed and left pieces of itself. In the scratch and warp of summertime blues still screeching out of the loudspeakers, the sunny mannequins, wax slightly melted, waiting in shop windows to be replaced by the fall and winter models, the faint odors of the sun-worn perfume, the souvenir of the golden girl who walked right past you, turned a corner, vanished into a place where summer never dies. A place not open to you, kid. Only autumn's ahead of you, kid. Start using it. It's already given you two murders. A woman in the front seat of a car, a man scooped out of the earth on the teeth of a steam shovel. What more can you ask? September's showering her gifts on you, kid. Take them. They're all yours. And at headquarters, Sergeant Ataglia brings you your share of them. Holds them from you with a smile that shows he slept well last night. He accumulated totems on the murders, Danny. In these papers, I tease before you. Have a good night, Gino. No complaints come to mind, Annie. The evening was a fulsome one. Father McCleary came to call. A pleasant time was had by all, as is our usual procedure. Father McCleary is a fine man. Salt of the earth. I asked Mrs. T to break open a bottle of Mogan Dovered wine. He don't even blink an eye. Sips with you, talks with you, brings presents for the Tartaglia brood. This is a man who also brings you the gift of restful sleep. Remember me too, M. Gino. Roger, Wilco. Now, to the papers I am about to bestow upon you. In them, you will find a report from technical to wit. The bullets that killed Mrs. Compton and Mr. Bishop, technical states, came from the same gun. Markings are identical. The rundown on the past histories of Mrs. Compton and Mr. Bishop is contained in reports from interested neighbors and relatives gathered by... Hey, you spare me a moment, Mr. Cluck. Look, you. Standard operating procedure is to knock when one desires a moment of Danny Corfus. Come in, Mr. Compton. I've come to demand, Sir. I'm not leaving here until you give it to me. What would that be? Anna's bracelet. The one that... Well, everyone's dead. It belongs to me. Because you gave Bishop a $200 check for it? I stopped payment on my check. After all that Mr. Bishop did give it to Anna, I needn't have made that stupid gesture. And now she's dead. And he's dead. Yes, your wife is dead. You loved her, you told me. The bracelet's mine. You want to quibble about it? Have me spend money on lawyers? You're right, Mr. Compton. It's yours. Take it. We've no more use for it. We have photographs. You understand. It's not the money. It's only that if it once belonged to her, it now belongs to me. It's a kind of... Remembrance of the dead? Well, I'm not going to think about it. I have enough trouble living in an empty house with no one to scrimp and save all my life, share it with Mrs. Compton. And the cost of things, Mr. Clover, it's outrageous food, furniture, clothes, and transportation. You know what cab fare cost me from New Rochelle? $560. It's outrageous. You could have come in another way. Oh yes and be mocked at pointed to as the husband of a murdered woman They put my picture in the paper you know and that makes me a curiosity a freak You didn tell me when I last saw you Mr Compton What did you do after your wife left you with Bishop What's that? I said, what did you do? Go anywhere? Talk to anyone? Well, of course I talked to someone. A man's wife walks out on him when he's given her all this. Who? Mervyn Mago. He's an old friend from boyhood. I go to him whenever I'm in trouble. He's a professional helper. He's in that business. He makes money by helping people? He runs a mission on East 40th. You'll like him, I think. Well, thank you, Mr. Clover. You were easier to deal with than I thought. Danny? The man's wife is murdered and he comes back for... Danny, you think? It's something to think about, huh, Jim? It was something to think about. Consider a man whose wife had been murdered. Consider in space of 24 hours his tears had dried, the shock of death had dwindled into something much more negotiable, a $200 bracelet, for example, the grief tempered by the high cost of taxi cab fares. Leo Compton had motive enough to commit two murders, his wife because she had run out on him, Edward Bishop because he had run with her. Motive, certainly. So check on his story. Item. He was a man who needed companionship at the time of stress. Specifically, he liked to talk to a man who ran a mission. Go to the man who ran a mission and ask questions. Glad you came to see me, Mr. Clover. I really am. So am I, Mr. Mago. If it doesn't check the boards and a few back-issue magazines, you'll admit I do the best I can. Then there's always the coffee and doughnuts. The boys expect them. Standard fare for places like this. Sure, now... Once I got a bright idea, put in a ping-pong table. Build it myself. You know, ping-pong for the boys, a little physical exercise. What happened? The boys didn't understand about ping-pong. Took down the net, made a backstop out of the old magazines. Well, I confiscated the dice. Loaded. How often does Leo Compton come down here? Sometimes often. Sometimes not for months at a time. Whenever Leo feels the need. Need of what? Someone to talk to. But why do you? Because he doesn't have to explain himself to me. The embarrassment of bearing himself to someone doesn't have to be done. I know him, Mr. Clover. I know him well. That's what I want you to tell me about, Mr. Mago. I guess it was 20 years ago I met Leo. We went to the same summer camp in the Catskills, a charity camp. I was his big brother assigned by the counselor. You know, the older camper. I showed him how to put a French tuck in a bed. His swimming buddy, you know? Uh-huh. And since then, whenever he got into trouble... With himself or with the world, he came to me. I like to think I'm necessary to Leo. I can understand. Leo is a product, Mr. Clover. The making of a living, the background of poverty. Even now, now that he's fairly well-to-do, it still eats him. What does? Even at camp, the pattern was there. He would organize little card games after lights out, wouldn't play himself, but took a cut from every pot. That sort of thing all his life. I see. Tell me something else. When his wife ran out on him, he came down here to talk to you. What did he say? Not a whole lot. He told me the story. I listened. That's just about all he wanted down here. He told you and then he went home, is that it? Not right away. He told me, and then the boys started to straggle in for their coffee and donuts. He joined them. He always does. He ate four of those donuts, Mr. Clover. See you for a minute, Danny. Oh, sure, Mugovan. What is it? I want you to talk to a man. Come on in, Mr. Scott. This is Mr. Scott, Danny. Mr. Scott, Lieutenant Clover. I do. Oh, sit down, Mr. Scott. Sure, right there will be fine. Go ahead, Mr. Scott. Give the lieutenant the bracelet. Thank you. I thought it was the right thing to do, Lieutenant Clover. I saw the man's picture in the paper mixed up in a murder and that he should all of a sudden come to me. It's the bracelet Mrs. Compton was wearing. Yeah, I know. And out of the side of his mouth, offer to sell me. Where did you get this bracelet, Mr. Scott? I told you, didn't I? Oh, I'm sorry. Would you mind telling me again? Go ahead, Mr. Scott. Please do. Well, here I was walking toward the subway entrance on 59th Street, and he come up to me. Who did? The man whose picture was in the paper about his wife's being slain. That's who? He means Leo Compton. I mean Leo Compton. He plucked my sleeve. He offered to sell me this bracelet. He said he was making deliveries for jewelry concern, and the bracelet was left over, and nobody seemed to know where it come from. Uh-huh. How much did you pay for it, Mr. Scott? Ridiculous price. He has $5.60 for it, and that's what I give him. You might as well know, too, that he kept turning his face for me, but I certainly recognized him. That's why I've come here. Muggerman, write Mr. Scott a voucher for $5.60, and thank you very much, Mr. Scott. You call me in, Danny, and you ask me to step over into a department that's not strictly mine. Why don't you wait for the reports from Technical? All I want is an opinion, Dr. Sinski. Whose toes would you step on if you give me that? Gordon of Technical. All right, so he deserves a toe-smashing once in a while. What do you want of me, Danny? You examined Mrs. Compton, the bullet wound, the type of wound where it was in her back. Is it one that would bleed freely? Yes, Danny, but you know these things as well as I. Why do you ask... I just got these photographs. Look at them. The inside of the car where Mrs. Compton was found. Well, Dr. Stensky? You know as well as I, Danny. Tell me anyway. I want to be sure. It is obvious that the loss of blood in the car was slight, which makes it, to me, apparent that the woman was not shot in the car, but somewhere else, and then put into the car and... I'm a doctor, Danny, not a... A detective? I didn't mean it to sound like that. Yeah, yeah, I know. Thanks for the opinion, Dr. Susky. It's all around in the backyard. Go through the gate. Well, I hope you appreciate me crating all this stuff for you. Why, it's you, Mr. Clover. Moving day, Mr. Compton? Oh, no, no, no, my wife's things. It's hard to live with. I see. Giving them away, huh? Well, not exactly. Selling them? I saw an ad in the paper where they buy merchandise. Well, yes, yes, I'm selling Anna's clothes. Why? How much are you getting for them? Why? I'm curious. Why? $5.60 for a bracelet worth $200. A man like you to do that's strange. How do you know about the bracelet? The man you sold it to got scared. The bracelet was mine to sell. Why should he get scared? That's not the point, Mr. Compton. The point is why you should sell such a valuable bracelet for so little. You could have gotten more. I got what I wanted. Yeah, I guess you did. You broke even. Bishop gave your wife the bracelet, so legally it's yours. But you'd paid him for it. I told you that. You gave him the check, so we'd find it on him. So your story of what happened the night of your wife's death would hold up. What's that? But with Bishop dead, and the bracelet legally yours anyhow, why should you be liable for the check? His estate would have the check cashed. Well, that's right, I did. I gave him a check for it. Stopped payment on it, too. That's right. Why should I spend money I don't have to? Sure. You see what I mean, don't you? Sure. You know, you're a funny man, Mr. Cunt. Well, I guess people say that about me. I don't care. You're so careful with money, and you're an honest man. But you couldn't stand having that bracelet around. It was a symbol of what your wife did to you. So you sold it for the cost of your cab fare, even all round. That's how much you know. I lost plenty. I lost my wife. You're a funny man. I told you, my wife had a boyfriend. And I was ready to forgive her. She walked out of me anyhow. Oh, she would have come back, don't you worry about it. You'd already killed her when you called Bishop. I killed... I told you... I know. I told you how it was. I said that. Then when Bishop arrived, you killed him, too. Wrote out a check and stuck it in his pocket. Put your wife and Bishop in Bishop's car as if she'd left with him. She did, I told. Oh, you didn't listen at all. I could call technical. They'd find blood in your house, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You don't understand anything. I worked hard all my life. I put my own price on things. My wife belonged to me. She was mine. And nobody gets it. Not for a $200 bracelet, they don't. What do you think I am, anyhow? Let's go, Mr. For a bracelet? What good is that? What did you need that for? As if it were something. I'm a hard worker. Things I own didn't come easy. What's going to happen to them now? Mr. Clover, you better get in touch with Mr. Mago. He'll know how to advise me. Well, he's just like a big brother to me. It the journey to the end of all the other streets in the world this Broadway You turn a corner and you there Walk it slowly. Lean your heart against it. Shop for the kicks, the bargains, the heartbreak. Until it all explodes in your face. 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 Mugovan. The program was produced and directed by Elliot Lewis, with musical score composed and conducted by Alexander Courage. In tonight's story, Howard McNair was heard as Leo Compton. Featured in the cast were Billy Halep, Lou Krugman, Joe Forte, and Francis Cheney. Two styles of music, both tops in popularity, are heard every Sunday over most of these same CBS stations. Guy Lombardo's sweetest music this side of heaven is one. The others, the singing style of Mario Lanza, new vocal sensation of the airwaves. Enjoy God Lombardo and his Royal Canadians And the Mario Lanza show tomorrow night Stay tuned now for Sing It Again Which follows immediately over most of these same CBS stations Bill Anders speaking This is CBS where you meet adventure with Charlie Wild On Sundays on the Columbia Broadcasting System Starting a business can be overwhelming. You're juggling multiple roles, designer, marketer, logistics manager, all while bringing your vision to life. Shopify helps millions of business sell online. Build fast with templates and AI descriptions and photos, inventory and shipping. Sign up for your 1 euro per month trial and start selling today at shopify.nl. That's shopify.nl. It's time to see what you can accomplish with Shopify by your side. Welcome back! This one in the second half of the episode really became much more of a character study than much of a mystery, and the killer's own actions are what gave him away. I mean, Tartaglia solved this, and I don't say that in any way to disrespect Gino, but that's not typically the thing he does, but pretty much he's like, whoa, let's just go ahead and call this here. this is really really suspicious and really after that it was just kind of revealing the sort of person he actually was that led him to taking the actions he did and of course Howard McNair did a good job as always and I think it was an interesting episode it's this type of thing that's okay every once in a while I wouldn't want to see all the time there was one thing that kind of threw me a bit and was a reminder that sometimes uh words might still say the same things but they don't mean the same things because when the rescue mission guy said he had four donuts and automatically that just was like what because four of donuts that I tend to eat when I eat donuts, and I don't eat them very often anymore. But for donuts, that'll put you in a sugar coma, or at least would be pretty close to it. But these were not 21st century donuts. These were 1950s donuts, which were quite a bit smaller, denser, and they were not super sugary. Maybe a little bit of a light glaze or some sugar dusting. Plus, these were donuts that he got at the rescue mission. Now, rescue missions, and I believe this still goes on today, it certainly went on while I was growing up because my maternal grandfather helped collect food for a local rescue mission. He got day-old groceries and food items that could be shared with these sort of ministries. So, usually, you'd be looking at day-old donuts. So, essentially, a guy eating four donuts at the rescue mission says this is a guy who, a bit desperate, maybe a bit of a nervous eater. It's not necessarily a sort of pigging out sort of thing like that might signal if you were dealing with modern donuts. All right, listener comments and feedback now. And we have a comment over on YouTube regarding the Howard Crawford murder case. Ryan Sir writes, I find it interesting and funny how the announcer will not say Broadway's my beat. English teachers thought it was sacrilege to use apostrophes. So in proper English, the title is Broadway Is My Beat. But that's 320, not the show's title. Contractions were frowned upon big time. By the way, you sound the same from Orlando as you do from Boise. Thanks so much. The whole question of what this series is called, I talked about it way, way back. I think it was either the first or second episode, so I'm not going to rehash that because it's a lot. But even when the series was airing, they couldn't really seem to agree on what it should be called. In fact, different newspaper listings would have the show as Broadway's My Beat, and other listings would have it as Broadway is My Beat. It was thought the definitive answer was found when someone found a script page at one of the writer's papers, and it had Broadway's My Beat on it. But then there were other scripts that had Broadway is My Beat. Now, it used to be that the consensus in the old-time radio community was that the title of the series is Broadway is My Beat. But the weight of evidence has slightly tipped in the favor of Broadway's My Beat, and so that's what we go with. But it is a fraud issue. As to sounding the same in Orlando, I'm glad to hear it. And for that, I really am grateful for my microphone, which I've been through many over the years. Right now, I'm using the A-Labs Wireless. and it's so good at not picking up stuff other than me. I did have a few moments when I was recording in Orlando because the hotel I was staying at was right near the SeaWorld, just about half a mile away. So it was a busy part of town and there would be these little bursts of noise while I was recording and I would hear it and I'd stop the recording, check, and I wouldn't make it on the recording. And most of the stuff, even around my house, it doesn't capture. And I check whenever I think it might, and usually it doesn't. Although I have been advised that my son has already made a cameo. Someone heard him in the background and I didn't catch it. And I believe my cat as well. But usually it does just a great job filtering that out. All right, well now it's time to thank our Patreon supporter of the day. And I want to go ahead and thank Eliza, Patreon supporter since July 2021, currently supporting the podcast at the Shamus level of $4 or more per month. Thanks so much for your support, Eliza. 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'll be back next Wednesday with another episode of Broadway's My Beat, but join us back here tomorrow for Dragnetware. second-story routine. We use a jimmy or a small pinch bar. It usually goes through a window. Is he working alone? Uh-huh, strictly. I say his French bread's nice and fresh. Yeah. Where's Allen staying in town? Do you know, Red? No, I don't. I know where you can find him, though. We're a 1322 club out on North Paris. The guy's out there quite a bit, almost every night. I think the guy who owns the joints will find his. Jeff Allen. Is that supposed to be his right name, Red? As far as I know, uh-huh. I only met him a couple of times. He hung around Ziggy's place when he first came to town. Of course, I didn't know what he was up to then. I hope you'll be with us then. In the meantime, send your comments to box13 at greatdetectives.net. Follow us on Twitter at Radio Detectives. And check us out on Instagram, instagram.com slash greatdetectives. From Boise, Idaho, this is your host, Adam Graham, signing off.