Suspense!
Radio's outstanding Theatre of Thrills brings you an hour, a full 60 minutes of suspense.
Produced by Anton M. Leder and produced by Robert Montgomery, who tonight also stars
in a play entitled, In a Lonely Place by Dorothy B. Hughes.
This is Robert Montgomery.
The other day a friend of mine repeated a familiar phrase.
He indicated the travel folder on his desk and said with a kind of triumph, I'm going
to get away from it all.
He's lucky my friend is.
He's going to change the scene, the whole scene.
New horizons, new vistas, new people, or no people at all.
New thoughts or no thoughts at all.
He has a rendezvous with a cloudless sky and a peaceful stream and the easy whisper of
the wind.
Only time stands between him and a fresh beginning.
Indeed, he has a lonely place where there is no loneliness.
Yes, my friend's lucky.
He can get away from it all with a simple change of scene and he has no fear of being
alone with his thoughts.
It isn't like that with Dixon Steele.
It isn't like that at all.
And so with the performance of Robert Montgomery as Dixon Steele and with our play, In a Lonely
Place by Dorothy B. Hughes, we again hope to keep you in suspense.
I stood there at the foot of sunset at the end of the city of Los Angeles looking out
through the evening fog at the Pacific.
The swirling mists kept lifting themselves like gauzy veils coming up to touch my face.
There was something in it like flying, the sense of being lifted high above the crawling
earth, of being part of the wildness of air and something more, of being wrapped tight
in a strange world of fog and cloud and wind.
I had liked flying at night, but the war's ending had finished that.
Since then it had left me, that feeling of power and exhilaration and freedom that came
from being alone in the sky.
But here, tonight, at the edge of this noisy fog-wrenched ocean, I had it again.
Then I turned away.
I was already late for my appointment with Brub and his new wife.
I walked past my coupe parked at the curb and went up the path to the little white cottage.
The lights from the living room windows made little concentric circles in the heavy fog.
It would be good to see Brub again.
You old son of a seeker.
What do you mean by not calling us before now?
Let me see you.
It's the same boy, Brub.
I haven't changed a bit, and neither have you.
Oh, sure I have for the better.
And this is why.
Sylvia, this is Dix, Dix and Steele.
Hello, Dix.
Oh.
We're old friends, really.
You've been Brub's favorite topic of conversation as long as I've known you.
Oh, we flew together, Sylvia.
Brub took care of me like a big brother.
You needed some looking after Colonel Steele.
Remember the night in Selmo...
Save it for later, mister.
And it's not Colonel anymore.
The army made me a gentleman, gave me the only mark of distinction I've ever had, and
then took it away from me.
Say, why didn't you tell me you were married into such a lovely girl?
Well, thank you, Dix.
Tell you.
You called me up five months ago.
And last April the 8th, to be exact, told me you'd just get in and let me know as soon
as you were located.
That's the last I heard.
You checked out of the Ambassador three days later and you didn't leave a forwarding address.
How could it tell you anything?
Keeping tabs on me, Brub?
Oh, trying to find you, you crazy lug.
And here I am.
It's like being home again.
Well, brief me, boy.
What have you been doing and how's it going?
Slow, Brub, slow.
I've got a little apartment and a car and a typewriter, and that's about it.
A typewriter's a new touch.
Try to write a book, like 90% of the other GIs.
The detective novel, My Rich Uncle Fergus, back east, is taking me for a year to see
what I can do.
He calls it giving me a hand over the period of my readjustment.
So that keeps me busy most of the time.
And the rest of the time?
The rest of the time, I hardly know what to do with myself.
You were a hot pilot in England, Dix.
Just a kid at that.
Sure, it's gonna take a little time.
Would anyone care for something to eat or drink?
Cold beer?
No, thanks.
Not at the moment, I'm too relaxed.
We were a casual generation, Dix.
They put us in the middle of something that wasn't very casual.
There's bound to be a reaction.
Oh, Brub's always looking for the hidden motive power.
That's because he's a policeman.
A policeman?
Oh, not a policeman now, darling, a detective.
I'm sorry, darling.
What happened to you, Brub?
Oh, my old buddies asked me why, and I can't help them.
I don't know why.
All I do know is it's rotten hard work.
No, the things men do.
You with a badge and me with a typewriter.
And that reminds me, I ought to be getting back to it.
Oh, but it's still early.
What's the hurry, Dix?
Well, Brub will want his rest, Sylvia, if he's gonna dig around for the glory of the
L.A. police force.
It is L.A., isn't it, Brub?
It is, indeed.
Then you do need some sleep.
Plenty of work in L.A., you know?
Plenty.
I'll be seeing you two.
Well, good night, Dix.
We'll expect you to come off in a...
Hey, hey, wait a minute.
We don't have your number.
My number?
Sure will.
Want to get in touch.
Oh, yeah, right.
Crestview, 908-98.
908-98.
Good.
You'll be hearing from me, Dix.
I'd be hearing from Brub.
And why not?
Good old Brub with his tired eyes and rumpled hair.
Brub had been my big brother.
But he hadn't known everything there was to know.
Some things a man keeps secret.
It's amusing to keep something secret.
I wondered if they were surprised by my quick exit.
But I had to get out of there.
I couldn't stay.
I had to figure things out.
So Brub was a detective now.
And he had my telephone number.
There was something amusing about Brub being able to lay his hands on me whenever he wanted.
Something more exciting than anything that had happened in a long time.
The hunter and the hunted, arm in arm.
The hunt sweetened by danger.
I was driving slowly, hugging the curb.
And then I saw her.
A girl, an unknown girl, standing alone on the corner of Camden Drive waiting for a bus.
And buses didn't run often out here at night.
I pulled up a block ahead and got out, shutting the door so it made no sound.
And then I walked back toward her.
She heard me coming in the fog.
She turned her face to me, smiling a little.
Glad to have someone to share the darkness and the silence with her.
I walked up to her, slowly.
And I was smiling back.
Yes, hello?
Hello, Dix.
Speaking.
Oh, is this Sylvia?
How'd you know?
Recognize your voice.
I've been ringing and ringing.
Where have you been?
Well, I guess I slept through it.
I was up late last night working on the book.
Can you break away long enough to have dinner with us tonight at the club?
Tonight?
I'm not going to be long.
I'm going to be late.
I'm going to be late.
I'm going to be late.
I'm going to be late.
Tonight?
Oh, fine.
Fine.
What time?
Oh, about eight.
Oh, I almost forgot.
Don't dress.
We're informal at the beach.
Thanks.
You had me a little worried.
My dinner coat shrank while I was away flying.
Oh, grubs too.
They fed you gentlemen all together too well.
All right then.
Tonight at eight.
Thanks for calling, Sylvia.
I had slept late.
The day was almost gone.
The apartment was already in shadows.
The afternoon paper was on the table.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
I was in the bathroom.
My door was on the lawn just outside my window, the paper.
I threw on a robe and ducked out quickly.
And I was back in the room standing in the middle of the floor, holding it still folded
in my hand, listening to the blood hammer in my head.
I switched on the floor lamp and sank down into an easy chair.
I lit a cigarette.
Then I took a deep drag and I unfolded.
That was all I had to do.
lay spread open in my lap. They'd found their biggest type for the headline. Strangler strikes again.
Huh? Dix, over here. Oh, hello Sylvia. Where's Brab? He called at the last minute to say he'd be
detained. It's like being married to a doctor. Would you like a drink meanwhile? Here he is now.
Sorry to be late darling. Hello Dix. Glad you could join us. You look exhausted Brab. Hard day?
Haven't you seen the papers? No, I didn't get a chance. Why? It's another one. Oh Brab. Well,
what's it all about? Another woman killed, the same way. Did the commissioner call you in? Yeah,
the whole department. We've been with him since five. We've got to stop it. Yes darling.
Oh, was it someone important? No, no it never is. Oh, I forgot you're just a visitor Dix. You see,
the only pattern we can find is in the time schedule. They come one a month regularly.
You must be starved Brab. Wouldn't you like to order? In a minute baby, I want to unwind.
Have a highball anyway. Malcolm. Yes Mrs. Nicolai. Three scotch and sodas Malcolm. We'll order later.
Certainly ma'am. The first one was about four months ago, May to be exact. May 16th, the night
before my birthday party. There was a girl down on Skid Row. She was a nice enough kid, dancer in a
cheap joint. We found her in an alley, strangled, no clues. And that was number one? Yeah, in June
number two. We found her in Westlake Park. Wasn't any reason for it. A nice normal girl, young and
attractive. She'd been killed the same way and no clues. And then the others? Last night was the
fourth. No motive, no connection between any of them. And never the same neighborhood. And last
night? Beverly Glen Canyon, up where it's country. She was lying on the brush at the side of the road.
There were about 500 car tracks superimposed on that particular stretch, so it wouldn't do any good
to lift them. But we've got one clue, a great one. We know the killer uses a car. How can you tell Brab?
Well, her name was Mildred Atkinson and she'd been playing bridge with three girlfriends in Beverly.
At 11, she and another girl went out to the bus stop together. A friend caught a Wilshire bus and
left Mildred behind, waiting for a Hollywoodland. So how did she get up to the canyon where we found
her this morning? It's a long way. The answer is she went for a ride. Where's that drink? Just another
minute darling. Los Angeles is too big, too sprawling. You can't patrol every street every night.
He's safe. He's insane, of course. Sure he is. A maniac walking the streets, mild-mannered and
soft-spoken and looking as normal as anyone. A homicidal maniac. I sat there watching Brab's
angry black eyes and Sylvia's white pallid face. He's insane, of course. Their imaginations were
poor, blunted little things reaching only as far as the obvious. He's insane, of course.
So that was to be the chorus. What could they know of the world of imagination and beauty,
in which a sane man, as sane as any, could kill and kill again? Don't you like your drink, Dix?
Huh? Oh sure. Lost in the fog, eh boy? But I know why. Do you? Could it be that little banning girl
over at the next table? Could it be that she reminds you of someone? I don't know what you're
talking about, Brab. What girl at what time? Now he sees her. What's the mystery about Betsy Banning?
Does Dix know her? No darling, it's just that she's a dead ringer for another girl we used to know
in England. Especially Dix. He knew her well. Am I right? Yeah. Yes, you're right, little Brucie.
This, this girl is so much like her. You're wrong, Dix. She's not as pretty as Brucie.
Don't you remember? Remember? Yes, I remember Brucie.
But I didn't want to remember Brucie. Brucie of the sea green eyes. Brucie whom I had loved and
wanted and needed. No, I'd been through it before. It was now that mattered. It was today in Southern
California, 6,000 miles away from her, with something else hammering in my head to be looked
at and examined. What? Oh yes, tires. They were good tires, no patches, no distinctions.
Rubber said it himself, they couldn't get tire marks from dry concrete. I hadn't thought so.
Still, I should have made sure. Certain gambles are legitimate. Like taking Mildred to that drive-in
last night. Gambling on the muddled memory of waitresses who served hundreds of average-looking
men and women every day, every night. Sure it was a risk, but really, it was a risk.
Every night. Sure it was a risk, but risks were like spice. Like stunt flying. As long as you
used them like spice sparingly. Like stunts, planning them with precision I could afford to
take risks. I just couldn't make mistakes. I left the club right after dinner. Got back to the
apartment early. I pulled up in front and got out. I started up through the patio to my place at the
rear when I saw I wasn't alone out there. She was hurrying in, not noticing me. In the blue light,
her hair and her slacks and her jacket were all blue. Different depths of blue. I did it out of
impulse without thought. I beg your pardon. Who, who is it? I'm your neighbor, my name's Steel.
So your name's Steel. Did you drop something? I don't know, did I? No, no you didn't. It's
just conversation. Try again another time. No, no, no, wait a minute, wait a minute. I,
I just lost my dinner date. I thought maybe you'd lost yours too. Sorry, mine'll be here any minute.
You've got red hair. I didn't notice that. It's no secret. Like I say, I'm your neighbor,
4A. If you do ever lose a dinner date, let me know, will you? I'll be sure to make a note of that.
Good night. I got some cold beer and some cheese from the refrigerator and draped myself over the
divan. The night was a scorcher. A Los Angeles September night. I lay there eating and drinking
and waiting for it. Not that I thought for a minute it would come, but I was waiting for it and it did
come. It's you. I've just lost a dinner date. Come in, come in. Maybe you'll find him here. I hope not.
I told him I had a headache and was going to bed and that I was disconnecting the phone,
but I still want dinner. You mind if I finish my beer? Go ahead.
I'm Dick Steele. Who are you? My name is Laurel and that's all you get for the time being.
All right Laurel, I don't mind beginning at a crawl. I suppose you're in pictures. Not often.
I don't like getting up mornings. No, I don't either. That's why I'm a writer.
Why'd you come by, Laurel? Because I'm hungry and because tonight I didn't want to sit opposite a
man who's rich and 60 and eats oatmeal. You have a grudge against money? No, only against the men
and women who go with it. People who think that everything in life is for sale. I hate them.
Sometimes they pay the rent and the jeweler. They don't pay mine.
They don't pay mine. How did we get onto this? Haven't you finished the beer yet?
All finished and all ready. Let's go Laurel.
We aided Carl's out on the road to Malibu. We didn't say much. We ate and smoked and had coffee
and I watched what the lights did glinting on that red hair. When we left there I knew it. I knew it
was the beginning of something, of something good. She was beside me and with me and that was enough.
I'd needed her for a long time. Ever since Brucie. That's how long. This girl, this Laurel,
could make it up to me, could make me forget. I parked on an open stretch overlooking the dark
beach in the ocean. She wanted to go down closer so we left the car and struggled through the sand
down to the water's edge. I held her hand tightly. The spin drift salted our lips.
I haven't done this in a long, long time. Having fun? Oh wonderful. You can really smell the ocean
here. Breathe Dix. Breathe deep. Laurel, would you laugh at me if I said I was happy? That I
never thought I'd be happy again? That I didn't think I could be? No Dix. Laurel, Laurel you're
wonderful. Am I? Laurel come here. Come here. Hello? Hello Dix, it's Brock. Did I break into your
writing? No, no not at all. What's up? Who was that redhead I seen you with last night?
What are you talking about? Where did you see me? You didn't see us. We were pulling out of Carl's
restaurant when you went in. Sylvia spotted you and I spotted the redhead. There are always people
looking, brub. There are always eyes to see. Why sure boy. You can't take a step in this world,
you know that. But listen, how about lunch? Fine, fine. What time and where? Noon at the Beverly
Hill station. Beverly Hill station? Police station kid. Pick me up there. Okay, brub. I'll see you there. Noon.
That was a nice station you got there, brub. Flowers and shrubs and a white facade. It looks
like a small eastern university. Beverly Hills is just a small town, Dix. Almost a village but
the forest is first rate. I'll be working out of there from now on. How's the case coming?
Uh, the case? Oh, that. It's a dead end, I'm afraid. You mean you're closing the books?
We don't ever close the books. After the newspapers and all the rest of them forget it,
our books are still open. That's the way it is. That's the way it has to be, I guess.
There's been tough cases before but we find the answer. Our department's had cases running
10, 12 years. Sometimes it's just because we're waiting for the next move but we find them.
This is Dix, old pal, remember? What are you trying to tell me, that the criminal doesn't escape?
That's right. One way or another he's caught. Sometimes it's because he's caught there in that
lonely place living with himself. So it ends in suicide or the insane asylum but there's no escape.
You were saying the other night that this killer is insane. He is. I can't figure it. He's been
pretty smart, hasn't he? The insane are more clever about their business and more careful
too than the sane. It's normal for them to be sly and secretive. That's part of the mania.
But they give themselves away. How do you like this apple pie? Just like mom used to make.
How do they give themselves away? Yeah, they repeat the pattern. Now take the strangler.
Look at his pattern. I don't see any. I must be writing a lousy detective novel. Okay, look.
It's a girl at night alone. He comes along in a car. She accepts a ride. You're positive about
the car? It has to be. My theory is he didn't use it on the last one on Mildred until he'd made the
approach on foot and lulled her. She was waiting for a bus and he's waiting on the same corner.
They get to talking. He invites her to have a cup of coffee. Then he mentions his car isn't far away
and he'll give her a lift. He takes her to the drive-in. Drive-in? What drive-in? Oh, that's
something new. One of the car hops recognized Mildred's picture after the story broke.
She remembered her coming in with a man and ordering coffee. Good girl. That's a big help.
Yeah, it is. And the man. Did she remember him? Eh, it could be you or me or our grandfathers.
No, she couldn't remember. Half a loaf is better than none, eh? I've got to go up to Beverly Glen,
the scene of the crime. Want to come along? Well, I had a date. Come on. I can give you a better idea
of what we're up against. All right. I'll charge it up to research on the book. Good. Show me and
take your car or mine. What was that? My car? Why? Was Brub suspicious? Did he want my car back up on
that street? That street? Was this lunch arranged? No. I'd already hesitated too long in answering.
It couldn't matter which car. It had been too late and too foggy. Did you say something, Brub?
I'm sorry. Thinking about the redhead, I said, whose car do we take? Yours or mine? Oh, we might
as well take mine. You don't mind another passenger? Not at all. The chief wants to come along, Jack
Lochner. We'll go back by the station for him. We swung out toward sunset, all three of us up front.
Lochner was a tall, thin man with wispy gray hair. He didn't look like the chief of anything.
I drove carefully. I suppose it's the thing to do with cops besides him.
Nice day for a ride. Yeah. Okay, so I'll shut up.
This is it, Dicks. Turn right. Beverly Glen. My hands began to sweat. If Brub hadn't called out,
I knew I would have turned onto that street myself automatically. And I was a visitor from the east
who didn't know the country very well. There was tension in my hands and arms, fear that I might
recognize the place at the side of the road and react to it. And then slowly I relaxed again,
realizing that I didn't know the road, that I could never find the spot even if I wanted to,
before it had been dark. We climbed into the valley. There was a chill in the air and the sun was far
away. Nobody spoke. These two men were on a case that had them tired and sore. It wasn't a time for
a conversation piece. I drove on, waiting for somebody to tell me to stop.
Here we are. Just pull up along here, Mr. Steele, if you will.
Is this where you found her? Right there in the brush. You see how thick it is in here?
He'd have known that. He'd have figured that she wouldn't be found for a long time with the leaves
falling on her, covering her. And every day there'd be more leaves. Not many people look off at the
side of the road when they're driving, not unless there's something scenic to look at. This canyon
would be perfect. Then how was she found so quickly? Look, the milkman picked this spot in the world to
have a flat. The killer figured it smart. See how the road curves here? Well, you could see any lights
coming from behind, two loops below. And he could look up to the top of the hill, see the lights of
a car approaching him when it takes the first of those two curves. He can sit with her in the car,
looking like a spooner, until the other cars go by. He was playing it safe. So he does it.
He opens the door of the car, he rolls her out into the leaves, and he's away. No chance of being
caught at it. And strangling's the easiest way. Yes. Yes, that makes sense. How about it,
Brob? Find anything? The experts have been over every inch with their microscopes. He won't find
anything. But he wanted to have another look around, so I came along. Well, it seems hopeless to me,
Mr. Lochner. If there's nothing here, of all places, where can you look? There's only one place we'll
find anything. And where's that? In his car. In the murderer's car? That's where the evidence is right
now. Enough to send them to the gas chamber. Cigarette, Captain Lochner? Yeah, thanks. Got it?
You, um, you haven't been able to get a description of that car yet, have you? Not yet. We're working
on the people at the drive-in. One of them is going to remember. And when you find it, then you'll go
through it for those clues that you were talking about. Hairpins and lipstick. No, Mr. Steele.
Nothing like that. What then? Dust, Mr. Steele. Dust? You heard the man, Dix. He said dust. Like
this stuff all over me. No matter how much I beat it, I can't get it all out. Yeah, that's dust.
We've got dust from the drive-in, dust from her clothes and her shoes, and dust from here,
from a little thicket off Beverly Glen. Three different kinds. And all of them in his car.
It's really fantastic. And even in 10 or 12 years, the dust will still be there. Some of it will,
yes. You want my opinion of this case, gentlemen? The strangler doesn't have a chance.
I swung the car around and we rolled back down the canyon and into town.
They were sitting beside me again, up front, sitting on the dust they wanted so desperately,
breathing it into their lungs, having it settle on the flesh of their hands and their faces and in
their hair. The golden little molecules that would send the strangler to the gas chamber
floated gently and unseen before our eyes as we drove back. And I felt good. My hands were easy
on the wheel. I could be talkative now. I was expected to be curious and impressed. I would
come back to it again. Did it help you, Brud, coming back? No, I didn't find anything. Didn't
expect it. You know something? He's from the East. He is? Oh, you mean the waitress recognized an
Eastern accent? No, he talked just like anybody else. No accent. That's just Lochner's reconstruction.
He's from the East. I know that. He's a mugger. I'm afraid I don't follow you, Captain. What's a
mugger? Certain gangs used to operate in New York. One man would get the victim's soul, you see,
with his right arm. The others would rob him. Until they found out it could be a one-man job.
You don't need more than two fingers to strangle a man or a woman. He's a mugger. He doesn't use his
fingers. They're on any finger marks. He used his arm. He's from the East. As a fellow Easterner,
Captain Lochner, you must admit that a Westerner could have learned the trick. I've seen the way
they did it in New York. He knows how. Same way. I think you're right, Loch. We keep getting closer.
If you will, Miss Steele, I'll get out right here. All right. Thanks for the lift, Steele.
Thanks for letting me go along. I'll see you at the station, Bob.
Ever since this thing started, I've been afraid for her. For her? You mean Sylvia? She's lived in
the canyon all her life. She never had any fear, wandered all over at any time of day.
But the canyon at night, the way the fogs come in, it's a place for him. And I've scared her.
She's alone so much, I never know what hours I have to keep. You know our street, how dark and
lonely it is and the way our house is set up there. I'm the one who scared Dix. I've infected her,
and I can't help it. I can't pretend. Until we've caught him, she isn't safe. Sylvia isn't safe.
I saw how it was with both of them. How they clung together, fear in both of them. The woman
fearing to have her man close on the heels of a murderer and, Brub, afraid for her because she
was a woman, because she was his woman and women were being stalked in the night. And yet, even
though he was afraid, he would leave her because he was a hunter and this was a big help.
And this was a big hunt for Wild Game. Yeah, Wild Game.
In tonight's full hour of suspense, Mr. Robert Montgomery stars as Dixon Steele in the play,
In a Lonely Place. Tonight's study in suspense.
In just a moment, we will return with Act Two of Suspense. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
And now, back to our Hollywood sound stage and Act Two of In a Lonely Place, starring Mr. Robert
Montgomery in a narrative well calculated to keep you in suspense.
I was very tired. Tired of thinking about Sylvia and Brub and the fear that had bound them
as desperately as their love for each other. I was weary of the big hunt, for I was hunting on my own.
I was looking for happiness. I spent the next few days with Laurel. It got so that I didn't
count the hours anymore. All I knew was beauty and I knew intensity and I called it happiness.
And all the time I knew it wouldn't last. I sensed the restlessness coming into her. I could feel it.
Dix, Dix, what is it? Did I say something?
Laurel, Laurel. Oh, what is it? You tell me. You've been sitting there without moving for more than an hour.
Oh, just daydreaming. Was it something nice? Tell me about it. Turn off the radio, Dix. It's making me nervous.
All right. Do you like a drink? Yes, please.
Thanks. You know what we ought to do tonight? Go out on the town. Put on our Sunday best and have
the biggest dinner on the menu. The sky's the limit. How does that sound? Where do you want to go?
To a drive-in? Dix. I'm sorry. I seem to be all thumbs. Here, let me make you a note. No, no, no.
That's all right. I didn't want it anyway. No, baby. No drive-in for you tonight. You're not the drive-in type.
What type am I? The Ciro type, baby. Expensive and plush and chromium plated.
Ciro's. That'll do fine. I'll call and reserve a table for 10 o'clock. Save your money. You can take me to a drive-in tonight.
I won't take you to a drive-in. Why not? Are you afraid someone might see you there? Is that why?
What do you mean by that? I mean you keep me hidden away from sight as if we might run into some of your friends
like that Brub and Sylvia, as if I wasn't good enough for you. Look, baby, relax. You're not making sense.
Didn't I say I wanted to spread out tonight, get dressed up for once and go to Ciro's? Hide you away.
You come with me tonight and I'll show you all for everybody to see. No, I'm tired. I don't want to get dressed and go places.
All I want is to go up to the drive-in. We're not going to the drive-in. We're not going. Dix, you're hurting me.
Hello. Hello, Dix. How are you? Fine. What's on your mind? Can you come over to the house? I want to see you.
Sorry, Brub, but I got a date tonight. I've just had a letter from England, Dix. It's about Brucie. Brucie? That's right.
Okay, I'll be right over. It seems that I can't have dinner with you after all. All right. You don't seem very unhappy about it.
Laurel. Yes? I'm sorry if I hurt you. Forget it. It's all right. We haven't been soft lovers. We haven't played it that way.
The world keeps coming in between us. That makes me afraid. Why should you be afraid? Because I might lose you.
I have to keep telling myself to remember, to remember that I can't take any chances, that I can't lose you. I can't, Laurel.
Don't be afraid, Dix. You see, I love you very much.
Have a chair, Dix. All right. Would you care for anything to eat? No, thanks, Evie. I just finished them. Remember Adam Tyne, Dix?
No. Sure you do. The flight commander from Bath. Nice, quiet fellow. We saw a lot of him that spring of 43.
Well, we knew a lot of fellows over there, bruv. I don't remember. Well, it's not important, except that I've had a letter from him.
First one in more than a year. It's a sad piece of news, Dix. Let's have it. Brucie is dead. Brucie? Is dead? Brucie?
Oh, Dix. Dix, I didn't know. I'm sorry, Dix. I guess none of us realized how much you and Brucie... Brucie.
We didn't know, Dix. No. How could you? How could anyone know? How did she die? Was bombs? No.
Well, then how? How? She was murdered. Murdered? Yeah, murdered. Well, how... Why? Why? Who?
The police have never found out. Better not talk about it, Dix. Well, I want to talk about it. I want to know who did it. Why should anyone kill Brucie?
They don't know. Her family missed her for two weeks. When she was found, it was in a rocky cove. She'd been strangled.
Brucie was dead. Brucie, whom I had loved, who was my only love. Brucie was dead. And no one cared. No one in all the world cared. Except me. Brucie.
I called Laurel when I got home that night. She didn't answer. I stepped outside and looked up to her apartment across the patio from mine. It was dark.
She didn't come home at all that night. Or the next day, or the next night. No word from her. Not a sign. Nothing.
The following morning was a dirty gray rag. I called Laurel's number once more. No answer. I had to get out of that cramped room. Away from the unremembered shape of my dreams.
I didn't take the car. I wanted to breathe, to put motion into my body. I walked as far as Wilshire and then went up to Beverly Drive to my favorite delicatessen.
Dix, where'd you spring from? A guy gets hungry, bruv. How are you, Captain Locker? Fine, fine. Good to see you again. Slide in. Okay, thanks.
Would you like to order now, sir? If you please. Salami sandwich on rye and a beer, please. It'll be just a few minutes. Well, more trouble in Beverly?
Well, same old case. We're not going to let it happen again. That's all. And you think it comes from this neighborhood? It's the last clue we have. We pick up a little more each time we check.
Yeah, but where do you check? How? Well, we've been talking to the help again. At the drive-in where he stopped with her that night. Any luck?
I don't know yet. In these neighborhood spots, a lot of people come by to eat regularly. I got to thinking about it.
There must have been some of the regulars around that night when he took Mildred in for coffee. The Nerva, driving in there, coming in under all those bright lights and gambling that no one would remember what he looked like.
Like you and me, bruv. An ordinary man. Yeah, an ordinary man with the nerve of a jet pilot.
I see what you're after, bruv. Have the help ask questions of the regulars when they come in. Were they at the drive-in the night of the murder? And did they see the couple?
That's it. And I suppose you're hoping this fella's a repeater, too. And then it'd be a break, but there's no chance. No chance except for his nerve.
You mean he might have the nerve to walk in again. He might, Dix. He just might. And you think the help might spot him if he did? I think they might.
They're keyed up to remember, Mr. Steele. The little car-hop Jean, her name is, swears she'd know him again if he came in. She'll know him if she sees him again.
Only she can't describe him. That's the trouble with people in these cases. You remember how it was when we were flying, bruv? How do you mean?
You said yourself he's a gambler. He's reckless. I mean, he'll take chances, like going to that drive-in before killing the girl.
Well, it occurs to me that it's the same kind of recklessness we had when we were flying during the war. We took chances, but we were sure that we'd pull out of them.
Mr. Steele makes sense. And something else. He's probably an ex-serviceman. How do you figure that?
Well, the people who saw him at the drive-in all say he's a nice-looking fellow with nice clothes. At least that's what the newspaper accounts have to say. Am I right?
So far.
Then it's ten to one. He's the right age, good, healthy specimen, average. The average were in the service.
Oh, I know. That's not a very brilliant deduction, but it fills out the picture a little more.
I'll buy that, Mr. Steele.
Yeah, I will, too.
Well, I'll be getting back to the office.
I'll be in a little later today, Chief.
Okay.
By the way, Captain Lochner, every time I see you, I seem to be asking a lot of questions I hope you haven't minded.
Not at all. Rob vouched for you a long time ago. You just keep asking.
I will, Captain. Thanks.
I'm late now. I want to check over those Bruce reports again. See me as soon as you get back.
Right.
Here's your order, sir.
I beg your pardon?
Wasn't yours the salami sandwich?
Oh, yes. Thank you.
Will that be all today?
Yeah, that's all.
Your check, sir. And thank you.
Bruce. This is a pretty common name. There must be a hundred thousand in the United States.
At least.
And hundreds in Los Angeles.
Yeah.
He said he was going to check the Bruce reports. It's not the same one, Rob. It couldn't be. Not Brucey.
I'm sorry, Dick. I know it's a raw wound, but I couldn't help talking to Lochner about her.
I was knocked off my pins when I heard the news and I wanted to report on the case. I figured you'd won one, too.
You were right. Then what happened?
Loch cabled the London police. He thought it'd help us. That maybe Brucey was one of a series like our series.
It's far-fetched, but the killer might have been an American. England was full of GIs at the time.
And was she one of the series?
They don't know. There was a series, but it didn't start right after Brucey. A couple of months, then it began. The same pattern. Strangler.
Well, what was the matter with him? Couldn't they catch him?
No, he was never caught. After six months, it stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Maybe he was shipped back home.
If I could ever find him, if I could ever get my hands on him, the man who killed Brucey, I guess we feel the same about that.
Do you want to come back with me, Dicks, and see the reports?
No, I don't think I could take them, Rob. You understand?
Of course I do, Dicks. Of course I do.
I went back to the apartment and lay on the divan for the rest of the afternoon, thinking about Brucey, strangled, so many miles away.
And Laurel, who lived just across the patio from me and had disappeared as if the earth had swallowed her.
I thought of them both, and soon their figures swam together in my mind and were co-mingled so that they became one.
It was already dark, and I found myself very hungry. I got in the coop and drove over to Wiltshire, not knowing where I'd eat.
Past the Savoy, Romanoffs, the tropics, and then suddenly, the brilliant lights of the driving glittered ahead of me.
I didn't stop to think. I twisted the wheel and pulled into a parking space right up front, right under the lights.
They were looking for a man of my height, a man of my build. I was here for them. I'd come.
Two young fellows were in the car to my left, a middle-aged couple to my right. No police. No police in sight.
I was safe. The girl who came with the menu was pert and pretty, no more than 16.
Good evening. Hello.
Want to see a menu? I know what I want. I'll have the special tonight. It's kind of a celebration.
Yes, sir. All below.
I wondered what the girl's name was. I wondered if she was Jean, the car hop whom the police had alerted,
the girl who would come up to each customer in the hope of finding me.
And here tonight, she had found me, and she didn't know it.
I ate slowly, lingering over the food, and before I left, I handed her a large tip, just to be sure she remembered me.
She thanked me, smiling, and said, and I promised I would.
I went out, Wilshire, to the ocean. The fog blew in at 14th Street, and I should have turned back then, but I didn't.
I could hear the boom of the breakers, and I could smell the sea and the fog, and the fog itself was sweet and cool.
It was silent. The world was shrouded in mists and silence, except for the thump of the water and the far-off cry of the foghorn.
And then, at that moment, I knew what I was going to do.
I got out of the car, and I listened to my footsteps across the pavement toward the beach, and then I listened to the silence,
as I began walking in the sand, sludging through heavy, damp sand.
I passed the club where I'd gone to dinner one night with Brub, where I'd seen a young girl, a pretty brown-haired girl, who looked like Brucie.
I went on, trying to forget. I drifted along the deserted beach, looking for the shape of the living thing, of a woman.
But I was alone. I passed a beach house where people huddled together in warmth and gaiety, and found myself trembling with hatred for Laurel.
If she had come back to me, I'd not be shut out like this and cut off.
I'd always leave you before you're ready. I groped on, my feet chained in the mud, and I stumbled and fell to one knee.
I stayed there, my head buried in my arms. I was there for a long time, lost in the world of swirling fog,
in a crashing wave, lost in a lonely place, and the red knots tightened in my brain.
Suddenly, something came running through the darkness. A small, dark shape rippled upon me, and I realized it was a dog, a friendly terrier.
I stroked it gently and held it close. And then there were footsteps coming over the sand.
I could feel my blood begin to pound with excitement, whether it was a dog, it was a master, or a mistress.
The sound of the steps came closer, and then she stepped forward out of the fog.
I looked up from the door and said, hello. And then I smiled.
She couldn't know that behind that smile lay my hatred of Laurel, my hatred of Brub, my hatred of Sylvia,
my hatred of Lochner, of everyone in the whole living world, of everyone. But Brucie...
and Brucie was dead.
The End
Laurel at last. Laurel.
No, it isn't Laurel.
What brings you, Brub?
Am I invited in?
Yeah, of course.
Sit down.
Yeah.
Anything wrong?
Plenty wrong.
Is it Sylvia?
No. What makes you think it is?
Well, I don't know. You look so worried.
You mean... you mean you don't know what's happened?
I don't know from nothing. I awoke to a beautiful morning, the birds singing, the California sunshine,
and I decided it was a day for the beach. I've been out there all day riding the breakers. Oh, wonderful sport.
You were at the beach today?
Sure. What's wrong with that?
He was out again last night. The strangler. He did it on the beach.
Brub. Again?
The little banning girl. Betsy Banning. You remember her. The girl who looked like Brucie.
Yeah. I remember.
When I get him, and I will get him, I'm gonna kill him.
I'm gonna kill him with my hands. The way he likes to do it.
Oh, now take it easy, Brub. Would you like a drink?
She always took her dog out for a run at night, no matter what time it was.
She wasn't afraid. She was like Sylvia. The ocean was always something safe, something good, and she had her dog.
And the dog?
Buried in the sand, dead, strangled.
Poor fella.
Right on time, just about a month, on the nose, every month.
And no clues?
On the sand, no. No clues, no buttons, no fingerprints, no cigarette stubs, no match folders, not even a calling card.
Well, there's not much I'm good for at a time like this, but if there's anything I can do, Brub, anything...
I was in the neighborhood. I had to stop by and talk.
I'll be going now. Thanks, Dix.
Anytime, Brub. You know that. Anytime.
The sand had been my first mistake. For sand was an evil, penetrating thing, and could never wholly be rid of it.
If dust could tell a story, then sand screamed out its secrets aloud.
That was why the morning afterward, early, I had gone down to the beach and spent the whole day there in the sand.
That was why I had been ready for Brub when he came.
That was why I was ready for the whole L.A. police force, if they wanted to come.
After Brub left, I went out of the house, drove to the cleaners on Pico, and left a bundle of dirty clothes.
Then I ate in Beverly, and afterward went into Warner's Theater for a double bill.
On the way home, I thought I was being followed.
A large gray sedan that stayed with me for three miles, but I was wrong.
We were together in a red light, and when it changed, the sedan shot ahead of me and disappeared into the night.
I slept, without dreams, and didn't wake until late afternoon of the next day.
And still Laurel hadn't come back.
Do you love me? I'd asked her.
And she said, yes.
She lied in my face and in my arms.
I hated her. A cheat and a liar.
No one cared. No one ever cared.
Only Brucie.
Brucie who was dead.
Who had left me alone.
Alone forever.
For all of my life.
Mr. Steele?
Yes.
Captain Locknore would like to see you up at the station, if you don't mind.
I don't mind at all.
Well, take your time. There's no hurry.
Well, that's all right. I'm ready now.
You can follow me in your own car, if you like.
It doesn't matter.
You might as well take yours. You know the way, don't you?
Oh, yes. I know the way.
So they wanted to look at my car.
While Locknore kept me occupied.
I laughed out loud driving over.
Let them crawl through it. Let them look at the sand and the dust.
Let them make casts of the tires. It didn't mean a thing to me.
It only made the game more exciting.
Thought maybe you could help us, Steele.
I'd be glad to, Captain. You name it.
It's the Bruce case. The English girl. I understand you knew her.
Yes, yes. Brub and I both knew her. Wonderful girl.
I've been doing a good deal of thinking about Miss Bruce.
Brub told me your idea. It could have been the same man.
I've got a list here of American men who were friendly with the Bruce girl.
And were all in England when it happened.
Just look it over. See what you can remember about these men.
Anything they might have said or done. Here.
Oh. I see Brub's name is on it.
Yeah. Mine too.
But you'd been transferred before then, Dix.
My transfer wasn't completed until after I got back from Scotland.
I had a month's leave accumulated.
You came home after that?
No, no, no. I was sent to Paris and into Germany on the cleanup.
I was overseas another six months.
What about the men on that list?
I can't tell you a thing against any single one of them.
They were all good men. Not one could have had anything to do with this. It's impossible.
Okay, okay.
Brub's been telling me the same thing. It's another dead end.
Well, that's enough for the day.
I'm going home to sleep for 20 hours.
Thanks for coming over.
Deal.
Good boy, Dix.
Why? Because I stood up for the fellas?
You did too. We had to.
I never knew about Scotland.
How'd you like it up there?
It was wonderful.
Because she was with me.
Brucie.
She loved it there.
And I loved her.
The car was where I'd left it.
If the police had gone after dust, they hadn't taken much.
The floor mat was no cleaner than it had been before.
I went home and sat in the living room, watching it get dark, not bothering to turn on any of the lights.
There were no slips, no mistakes.
There had never been any. There never would be any.
I'd go back east. I'd get my trunk off tomorrow by express, and then I'd go by plane.
Goodbye, Brub. Goodbye, Sylvia. Thanks for the buggy ride.
But first I'd find a room, not too far away, and hole up for a few days.
Once I was gone, Laurel would come back to her apartment and I'd be waiting.
In the shadows.
I'd take care of Laurel.
I sat there in the heavy darkness, my fingers aching, my head banded by iron.
There were footsteps outside.
No, not Laurel.
A man coming home late from the office.
But she might come tonight. I'd been cleared by the police.
No one need be afraid of me tonight.
She might come.
I sat behind the dark window, hardly breathing.
Then I heard them coming, clicking on the pavement.
High, pointed heels. I looked out.
Slacks, a careless coat over the shoulders, a scarf to mask her flaming hair.
I moved quickly, out the door, stepping softly through the windows, coming up behind her.
So you decided to come back?
Turn around, look at me.
Sylvia.
Yes, Sylvia.
Where's Laurel? Where's Laurel? What have you done with her?
Laurel's all right, Dix. She's all right.
Where is she?
Dix.
Where is she?
She isn't coming back. She's safe and she's going to stay safe.
So you poisoned her against me because you hate me from the beginning you hated me.
No, Dix, no.
Only I did feel something was wrong with you.
From the first night you walked into our house, I knew something was terribly wrong.
You knew what could you know, a jealous dame.
You couldn't even stand to see Brub have a friend like me.
Wanted him all for yourself, didn't you? And now Laurel, you take her away from me too.
Laurel came to us because she was afraid. Afraid of you and what you might do to her.
That's a lie.
Is it, Dix?
Tell me, what happened to the girl who had coffee in the drive-in with you?
What happened to the girl in Westlake Park?
The girl down on Skid Row?
Sylvia, I'm going to kill you.
No!
Huh?
All right, get him!
All right.
It worked, Brub, it worked!
We were all in my apartment, Lochner and Brub and Sylvia.
And some of the boys I'd seen from the Beverly station.
They put on the lights and sat me down on the die-van.
And they stood around looking down at me.
All of them but Sylvia.
They stood between me and the chair in which she sat huddled.
And Lochner was looking down to talk to me.
I'm arresting you in suspicion of the murder of Mildred Atkinson.
That's very funny.
And suspicion of the murder of Betsy Banning.
And the attempted murder of Sylvia Nicolai.
Have you anything to say?
Yes.
I think you're crazy.
Listen to me, Dicks, it's no use.
We have Mildred Atkinson's fingerprints in your car.
There's only one way they could get there.
Would you be lying?
You, an old friend, just to trap me?
And we have the dust.
Do you know what a good lawyer could do with your precious dust?
I'm not through, Dicks.
There's quite a bit of lint from the Atkinson girl's coat.
Lint?
And there are hairs from Betsy Banning's Scotty Dog.
We found them on the suit you took to the cleaners.
But you can't think of everything, Brab.
Especially when you're rushed.
When your luck runs out.
Dicks, Dicks, look at me.
Why did you do it? Why?
Was it because you loved Brucie and she wouldn't have you?
Is that what set you off?
Is that what made you do it, Brab?
Why, Dicks, tell me why.
Because... because I killed Brucie.
This is Robert Montgomery again.
With thanks to our cast for their splendid performances.
Next week for Suspense, we've chosen a story with triple threat possibilities.
The title, the story, and the author taken by themselves are enough to command our interest.
In combination, they become a dramatic force powerful in suspense.
I speak of Nightmare by William Irish.
A story which fuses reality with unreality.
And a frightening pattern of fear and suspicion.
If you've ever had a nightmare, you know its impact.
You know the difficulty with which you cast it aside.
If you've never had a nightmare, we cordially invite you to have one on us next week.
When with Nightmare by William Irish, we again hope to keep you in suspense.
Good night.
Mr. Montgomery may currently be seen in the Universal International Production, Ride the Pink Horse.
In a Lonely Place by Dorothy B. Hughes was adapted for radio by Irving Ravitch.
Directed by Anton M. Leder and produced by Robert Montgomery.
Ludgluskin is our musical director and conductor.
And Lucian Morrowek composes the original scores.
Next week here, Nightmare on Radio's outstanding theater of thrills.
One hour of Suspense.
Music
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