The George Lane Murder Case

Broadway's My Beat from Times Square to Columbus Circle, the godiest, the most violent, the lonesome-est mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat with Larry Thor as Detective Danny Clover. The soft fall of June and Broadway's heart beats fast, the girls press gently against currents of summer wind and wear the glimmer of morning sun on their hair, their lips,

scarlet, moist. On their shoulders golden dance of light, and their perfumes of summer fields, which mixes well with Broadway's own exotic odors, seer of electricity, wash and cool and scent of air-conditioned air, steam mistrifting from manhole covers, and Broadway follows close on the heels of summer morning, turns a corner, punches the time clock, darkens the day.

Time of the Transience, their place of sleep, Duane Hotel for Transience, Side Street just off Broadway, rooms dollar and a half up, weekly rates also, place of desk gouged with a transient mark, place of dust on mirrors on which names and numbers have been scrawled, place of a room where a man lies wounded, dying across in a door bed, and where Detective Dennison

was, and I was. Nothing, Danny. No baggage, suitcase, briefcase, cardboard box, nothing. Not even shaving things, a toothbrush in the bathroom. A thing, had any? Well-dressed man. Expensively dressed. Soak shirt. Cheap hotel. Stabbed in the back with a grimy knife.

Talk to the clerk, Dennisum? Yeah. But you said what? He said this man came in last night around one. He said this man registered as Charlie Brown, a name which conjured up old memories for the clerk and made him request payment in advance, which this man paid.

One day's worth, which is what the clerk said. He was alone? Uh-huh. Look, said he was alone. As the visitors, click that drowsy around too. Can't see with his eyes closed. Hmm. The bomb is in his wallet.