Broadway's My Beat: The Lynn Halstead Murder Case (EP4993)
episode
The Great Detectives of Old Time Radio| Daily Mystery Dramas
36 min
7 speakers
4 chapters
transcribed 3 months ago
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What is the Lynn Halstead murder case about?
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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, follow us using your favorite podcast software. Also, 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 using the Zelle app to box13 at greatdetectives.net or become one of our ongoing Patreon supporters for as little as $2 per month at patreon.greatdetectives.net. But now, from January 19th, 1952, here is the Lynn Halstead murder case.
Broadway's my beat, and 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.
Broadway settles down to another year's living. The days begin to drift backward again, away from you like they did last year. And it starts all over. Punch the time card, smile at the boss, and the income tax forms can be picked up at any bank or branch post office. But there's still the dream. And it could happen on Broadway. It's the corner of the world where a million performers do their bit just for you. It's carnival and a clown and a girl with yellow hair blowing kisses. The end of a ride that costs you a dime. Maybe you'll get your money's worth.
There were no dreams where I was. The big room, the chill room, the room of the lost dead. The city morgue. The man with me, the seeker of sorrow. And she wanted to come home, Mr. Clover. The last letter I got from her told me how much she missed Akron. Not that she didn't like New York, but it's so big, so hard to make plans. Yeah. You want to look now, Dr. Holston? Yes. Doctor? How did she die? Hearing. Sharp. Lean. Sharp. Where did you find her? Look, Doctor. I want to know. Where was she found? The river. She's been here for three days. No, no. I want to look at her. I want to look at her face. You haven't said it directly, Doctor. She is your daughter, isn't she? My daughter. Feeling all right, Doctor? Yes, I just want to sit down.
Cigarette? Cigarette? How long has Lynn been in New York? About three years. She left Akron on her 18th birthday. Didn't have much trouble getting jobs. As far as I knew, her last employment was as a private secretary. Private secretary with whom? She didn't say. She just mentioned it was a real estate office and that she liked her work. Where did she live here in town? I addressed my letters to her at the Linden Apartments in Gramercy Park. Please, Mr. Clover, leave me alone with the proverbial. And know that outside the light of the winter's morning is brilliant, dazzling, as it strikes the frost-veiled chrome of the city. But here it must filter through steel-webbed windows, reflect off the faces of the dead, grow dim.
Here it lies against the closed eyes of a man who has made the journey, found at its end his child's death. Then his hand reaches out for the girl's forehead, draws aside a strand of hair, tries to smooth away the pain, the shock that had been frozen there, and walk away from it, because this is an image of vanquish seen too many times. Go now to the Linden apartment, yellow ivy clinging to old marble, facing the steel-fenced Winter's Garden, whose paths can be walked only by those privileged for the key to its gates. Gramercy Park. Talk to a man who, among his other duties, had dispensed such a key to Lynn Halstead. You understand it's quite a privilege, our private little park.
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