The Steve Courtney Murder Case

Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesome-est mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as detective Danny Clover. There's a thing about Broadway.

It mixes well with the sunlight. On a noon day of summertime, the concrete strikes silver glints. The mob is nicely proportioned with silken ankles and ducks hunts and wind-blown hairdos. In an organ grinder-place background music for the big grin and the clown's funny nose.

At headquarters, I stood watching it, pushing away the time for the filling out of my routine reports. The diversions were down there in the streets, the girl in the yellow silk dress she wore, both knowing about summer and loving the feel of it.

I heard two things. The side that came from me, the phone ringing that came from the phone. Danny Clover speaking. Did you do what I told you? Who is this? Did you do it, Mr. Clover?

I don't understand. Who am I talking to? I wrote you a letter about Stephen Courtney. But Stephen Courtney's dead? Yes, I know he's dead. What's the matter with you? Everybody knows he's dead. What's your interest in Courtney? Who are you?

Can't you see it doesn't matter who I am? Hello. Hello. Hello. It started that way. The anonymous call. Impossible to trace. The sifting through the dust of a man's death. Stephen Courtney's dying had for a moment upset the delicate balance of many worlds, a finance of corporate bodies of dynasties in oil and steel in the breeding of racing horses.

The decay that for months had wasted his body had forced him finally down to the level of all old men who must die. The headlines wept, the commentators lamented, the memos came down from chairman of boards that be a minute of silence for the death of Stephen Courtney. But now it was spoiled. Now a voice cried, murder, and the policeman must listen. In the Records Bureau,