And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
Memorial Bridge, written for suspense by William N. Robinson.
It is officially called the Blackstone Overpass.
But to me, it'll always be the Clara Adams Memorial Bridge,
in tender memory of my late, unlemented, and mysteriously departed wife.
Clara was not smarter than I was. She was just older and richer.
And she never gave me an opportunity to forget it.
Is that you, Charlie?
Yes, dear.
What kept you?
I stopped by the overpass job.
You said you'd be home early.
Yeah, I know, but I wanted to check on things over there.
They're ready to pour the cement for the main bridge pierce tonight.
That's nice.
Nice?
Yes, but it has nothing to do with the fact that you said you'd be home early.
She'd been building up this head of steam all day.
And when she got like this, there was nothing to do but let her run down.
I'd heard it all before, so I went into my room, washed up, and got into some comfortable clothes.
When I'd finished, I joined her in the kitchen. She was still there.
Charlie Adams, first you marry me and my money, and that sets you in business.
Then you get John Peran for a partner.
He's forgotten more about the construction business than you'll ever know.
Yes, you're a lucky man, Charlie. Where would you be without my money and John's brains?
What are you doing in the kitchen?
It's Thursday.
Oh, maid's day off, huh?
That's right.
Nobody home but us, huh?
That's right, Charlie. Just you and me in our little honeymoon cottage.
Scared, lover boy?
Scared?
Well, don't be. I wouldn't expect you to act like a husband.
Why do you hate me?
Hate you? Oh, I don't hate you. Hate is an emotion. I don't feel anything for you.
Yeah, I know. Why? You got what you wanted, a husband, as you like to remind me, bought and paid for.
Where do I fail?
Oh, you should have been handing me that spider.
Spider?
That iron skillet. Tonight, for sake of going to be fried the way I like it. Well done.
Hey, it's heavy.
Of course it's heavy. It's cast iron.
Must weigh five or six pounds. Need two hands to manipulate it properly.
Well, stop swinging it like that and put it on the stove.
Too bad you don't hate me, Clara, because I hate you.
Now stop it, I say.
It's too bad you don't feel anything for me, Clara.
Now stop it.
Couldn't you feel any emotion, Clara, before you die?
Not even fear?
You did, Clara. I believe you did. I believe you were scared just a little bit, weren't you?
Eat lunch.
get rid of it, stuff it into the back of the car, and get it out of the house.
And somehow you find yourself out of the house,
and driving the car down the parkway without quite knowing why you're there or where you're going.
And then slowly, like in a dream, like it was happening to somebody else,
you hear a siren somewhere. You look into the rear vision mirror,
and you see the flashing red light, and there's nothing else to do but pull over to the curb.
In just a moment, we will return for the second act of suspense.
Get the really light refreshment. This is where I talk, Kay. Get the really light refreshment.
That's Pepsi-Cola, of course. I just wanted to say be sociable, Charlie. Of course, Kay.
Be sociable. Have a Pepsi on the road or at home. It always refreshes without filling. Charlie.
Pick up extra cartons now. Pepsi is so delicious it goes fast. That's why you should keep plenty of
Pepsi on hand. Oops. Maybe I'd better sing. Be sure to say keep Pepsi handy. Yes, Charlie,
but the song says it sociably. Be sociable. Look smart. Keep up to date with Pepsi. Drink like
refreshing Pepsi. Stay young and fair and get in there. Be sociable. Have a Pepsi.
What Kay means is get plenty of Pepsi next time you shop. Well, yes.
What is it, officer? What did I do wrong? I'm sure I wasn't speeding. No, no, you're okay,
but I just noticed the lid to your trunks come unfastened. I'll fix it for you. Oh, no, no, no.
Don't bother. I'll do it myself. I'll need the key probably. And there under the friendly and
helpful gaze of the officer, I fought to close the trunk lid of my car. And Clara fought back.
Even in death she fought me. In obstinate death she lay in that luggage compartment and defied me to
close the lid. Looks like you got it back too full. Yeah, yeah, maybe I have it that. Yeah,
that does it. Thanks, officer. Thanks.
Good evening, boss. Good evening, Jerry. I thought I'd drop back and see how the concrete works coming.
Well, we've fought two piers of the overpass bridge so far. We'll do this next one as soon as the men
have had some chow. Mixer's right in position, I see. Yeah, she's already to go. Oh, you're doing a
good job, Jerry. If you're running the night shift, I think we'll have this job finished ahead of time.
That's what I'm aiming for, boss. Oh, by the way, did I tell you? There's a hundred dollars in it
for you for every day you bring it in ahead of schedule. Oh, well, thanks, boss. The Blackstone
overpass. It's hard to believe that a few months from now this confusion of dirt mounds and concrete
pillars will be carrying a thousand cars an hour on an eight-lane roadway over the heads of another
thousand or so cars an hour going the opposite way. Listen to me philosophizing and keeping you
from your supper. Go on down to the shack with the gang and get your chow. Well, if it's all right
with you, Mr. Adams. Oh, sure it is. Run along. All right, then. I'll do that. I'm a little hungry.
Sure you are. Jerry. Yes, sir. You say this pier is ready to be poured? Yes, sir. The mix is in
position. We'll be pouring as we eat. Would you like to wait around and watch? I might do that, Jerry.
And he was gone, down the slope of Dirkville to the construction shack where the rest of the night
shift was having their food. And I was alone with Clara on the Blackstone overpass,
but not quite along. Behind me, the concrete mixer kept chunking away, turning slowly,
agitating with elephantine thoroughness its huge load of pebbles and cement and sand, tons of it.
Enough of it to fill the forms of a bridge pillar 30 feet high. It was in position, Jerry had said,
and all it was needed to dump its contents into the waiting form was a pull on a lever.
Of course. Perfect. The perfect resting place for Clara. Here her obstinate strength could do some
good. She could hold up the Blackstone overpass. It was a matter of seconds to unlock the trunk of
the car. The construction shack was out of sight. It was dark. I was alone. I dragged the bony and
stiff body of my ex-wife to the edge of the wooden forms and toppled her over the side. I yanked at
the lever. And that was the end of Clara forever and ever. And while the form was filling,
while the form was filling and the bridge pillar taking shape, it first occurred to me that the
Blackstone overpass had now become the Clara Adams Memorial Bridge.
I went home to a quiet house on the first peaceful night's sleep I'd had in years.
The next morning as I took my time over coffee and toast, I planned my next move.
Clara's disappearance must be established, but how? Well, the shortest way of launching a
piece of gossip is to confide in a friend, especially a married friend. So I took my
partner, John Coran, to lunch and I played distraught, distant, and preoccupied
through three pre-Prandial martinis. What's the matter with you today, Charlie?
Ah, you don't seem to be here. You're not with it. Something bothering you?
Oh, no, no. Nothing special. Ah, come on, Charlie. Don't try to get
pappy. Uh, John, can you keep a secret? Well, sure. You know me, pal.
Yeah, well, I wouldn't want this to get any further. My lips are sealed.
A thing like this is embarrassing to talk about. I wouldn't want it to be general knowledge.
Well, fire away, pal. I'm all ears. John, I'm worried about Clara.
What's the matter? She giving you a bad time? Oh, no, no, no. You know how it is with Clara
and me. I am her ever-loving honey lamb and she's my little lump of sugar.
I may be sick. Yeah. Well, that's the way she wants it and
that's the way it's going to be. I got a hand it to you, Charlie. You've
been a model husband. And frankly, I don't see how you do it. What do you mean?
Well, Clara isn't the easiest of women to get along with from what I've seen.
Well, we all have our shortcomings, John. Only... Only what?
You promise she won't breathe this to her soul? I already promised.
All right. John, it's this. Clara's disappeared.
What? Yeah. Gone. Vanished into thin air.
When? I don't know. Sometime yesterday.
She wasn't home when I got in last night. No note? Nothing like that?
No, nothing. Had you had an argument with her?
No, everything was peaches and cream, she'd say.
Maybe she went visiting her family. She hasn't got any family.
Oh, that's right. I forgot. Well, how about her friends?
What friends? The ones who warned her against marrying me.
He's only after your money, Clara. Don't say I didn't warn you, Clara.
Friends? I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing that my wife was
out on me. How do you know she's out?
Well, I don't, but that's the way they'd interpret it.
Don't you think you'd better report this to the police?
I just said I don't want to be a laughing stock, didn't I?
Yeah, but... Report it to the police.
It gets in all the papers. Yeah, yeah.
Oh, well, I wouldn't worry, Charlie. She's okay.
She's just going on a little trip or something. She'll be back safe and sound
and sooner than you expect. You think so, John?
Sure, I know so. Don't you worry.
Well, I'll try not to. It's funny. I feel better just talking to you about it.
Sure you do. Only remember, John, this is just between you and me.
Don't breathe a word of it. Promise, pal?
I promise, pal.
Yeah, it was all over town and thoroughly established that Clara had vanished
sometime Tuesday. John's wife had done her job well.
A little too well.
Yes? Mr. Adams?
Yes? Lieutenant Watson, police department. May I come in?
Why, yes, certainly, lieutenant. Please do.
Thank you. Won't you sit down?
Yeah, I think you'll find that chair over there comfortable.
Thank you.
Well, now, what can I do for you?
Not from the missing persons bureau. We've got to report your wife is missing.
Well, yes, in a way.
What do you mean, in a way?
Well, she isn't here and I don't know where she is. Yes, I guess you could say she's missing.
How long has she been missing?
A little over a week. A week ago Tuesday.
How come you didn't make a report to the police?
Well, I don't know. Each day that went by, I expected to hear from her.
Only you didn't.
That's right.
Any idea where she could have gone to?
If I did, I'd go find her, wouldn't I?
Yeah, I guess you would. Just walked out, did she?
I guess so. She didn't take a car and she didn't take a cab.
How do you know?
Well, I checked the cab companies.
Oh. Well, you've got to admit, it looks kind of suspicious.
Does it?
Mind if I look over the house?
Wouldn't do me much good if I did, would it?
Not much.
Well, be my guest.
Of course, he found nothing. There was nothing to find.
But this didn't stop Lieutenant Watson.
Failing to find any evidence of foul play in the house, he sought to find reason for it elsewhere.
He dug into my background, and Clara's background, and he came up with an interesting theory, which happened to be the truth.
Mr. Adams, I think you killed your wife.
Indeed. Why would I do such a thing, Lieutenant?
The usual motive's money.
Oh?
You married her for her money. You insured her heavily. Of course, you can't collect on that until you prove she's dead.
And you can't accuse me of killing her until you prove she's dead.
Oh, I'm quite aware of that. Nevertheless, I'm convinced you did it.
How, Lieutenant?
I don't know, but don't suppose you'd tell me, huh?
And spoil all your fun. You're reconstructing the crime.
Yeah, that's just it. I'll have to admit to you, there's no evidence of a crime. Mrs. Adams has just vanished, that's all.
So, without any evidence of a crime, why not assume that there isn't any?
But people don't just vanish.
And my wife did.
Not without help.
You'd have to prove that.
I know.
And you can't?
Frankly, no.
Then may I suggest you go away and leave me alone?
All right, Mr. Adams, but with me, out of sight is not out of mind.
What do you mean?
Murder, it is said, will out.
Oh, come on, Lieutenant, how corny can you get?
We'll see, Mr. Adams, we'll see.
In just a moment, we will return for the concluding act of...
...suspense.
Now, here are Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy.
Charlie, where have you been?
Well, it's a long story, Bergen. Remember, you said you wanted the car lubricated.
I said I wanted a Guardian maintenance lubrication.
Like all Chevrolets, Pontiacs, Oldsmobiles, Buicks, Cadillacs, and Chevy, and GMC trucks.
Our car deserves the best of service.
And that means Guardian maintenance at our dealer's service department.
Yes, well, I drove our car to our dealers without an accident.
Oh.
Most of the way.
Charlie, where's the car now?
It's on Main Street between 4th and 5th.
Is it closer to 4th or 5th?
It's all the way from 4th to 5th.
All right, young man, you're going to get it now.
I'm only kidding, Bergen. It's just a scratch fender.
Our dealer's GM Train Mechanics have already got it looking like new again.
It's part of their quality appearance service.
Shall I still meet you in the woodshed?
You drove the car without permission. It's the woodshed.
And I'll see you there as soon as I phone the dealer.
Well, take your time. If you're not there in 10 minutes, I'll start without you.
Well, it seems like it all happened a long time ago.
The Blackstone Overpass is finished now, and 50,000 cars a day stream over and under it.
People have stopped asking me if I've heard from Claire.
They've stopped clucking and shaking their heads when they meet me on the street.
I live a quiet and serene existence as befits a man who's been living in the dark for a long time.
A quiet and serene existence as befits a man whom tragedy has touched
and who, furthermore, must wait another year for the big insurance payoff
when his wife will be declared legally dead.
Which is not, however, to say that I live a completely anchorite life.
As much red blood flows in my veins as in the nextfellas,
and from time to time when I encounter some lovely creature as lonely and as spirited as I,
I'm not above an evening of genteel misbehavior.
On such occasions, I seem compelled to include the Blackstone Overpass among the earlier gambits of the rendezvous.
Are you acquainted with Blackstone Overpass, my dear?
Acquainted with it? Well, I've driven over it once, twice.
Now, do you like it? Well, yes.
Well, it surprised you to know that I designed and built it?
You did? Mm-hmm, I did.
Well, I had no idea. Care to drive over it again with me?
Oh, my, yes. It isn't far out of your way, really.
And so I would proudly escort my lady of the evening through the sweeping cloverleafs of Blackstone Overpass,
extolling to her its aesthetic and engineering virtues,
reciting the liturgy of its statistics, the ever-mounting total of vehicles that rush through it daily.
And always as I swung around the gracefully steep off-ramp to the lower level,
I felt a surge of pride and power as I passed by the cylindrical pillar which supported the upper level
and which contained the mortal remains of my vanished wife.
Sometimes I'd murmur to myself that Clara Adams, my good...
What'd you say, honey? Oh, nothing. I didn't say anything.
Again, it's one of those nights, and beside me is a little lady who's a real charmer.
Oh, Charlie, I just can't get over it. You building this great big bridge all by yourself.
Oh, I had a little help. It's so... so... we're all so very...
Oh, Charlie, I've got a car coming towards you.
He's out of control. He's jumped the divider.
The car is crushed against one of the cylindrical bridge supports, rammed against it head-on.
And my lady and I are jammed inside, cut and hurt, and from somewhere far away there's a voice.
Hang on! Just hang on! We'll get you out of there!
Charlie, look.
What?
Look ahead, in that concrete pillar.
I looked just beyond the broken windshield where the impact had torn at the cylindrical bridge support.
I look, and I know before I look what I'll see there in the pebbles in the cement of the pillar.
A human hand, petrified, mummified, concretized, but unmistakably a human hand,
connected, I know, to the rest of a body that had once been Clara Adams.
Hang on! We're coming! We'll get you out!
But now, it doesn't make any difference whether they do or not.
Suspense.
You've been listening to Memorial Bridge, written for suspense by William N. Rogerson.
In a moment, the names of our players and a word about next week's story of suspense.
Hi, this is Dennis James with a longtime favorite.
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Heard in tonight's story were Bob Dryden as Charlie,
Charlotte Manson as Clara, Ralph Bell as Foreman,
Sam Gray as Foran, and Larry Haines as the detective.
Others in the cast included Lawson Zerby, Roger DeKoven, and Pat Hosley.
Listen again next week when we return with Cold Canvas by Water Black.
Another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
The Kingston Trio next, followed by latest CBS News and Have Gun, will travel on CBS Radio.