office worker. It might cost half of her salary. At first I thought it was a typing error. I had a case myself, a couple of months ago, where a young fellow had applied for five thousand. The typist made it fifty thousand.”
Hendricks shifted his gaze to the ceiling, and his fingers resumed their silent tapping. The Old Man turned slowly in his chair, and sat looking out of the window at the darkened parking lot.
“You say at first you thought it was a typing error,” Hendricks said. “What changed your mind?”
“I did after I talked with Frank at lunch. He’d checked with the Star Mutual Office. The amount was correct. But when he began his investigation—here, I’ll read it.” He read from Frank Milford’s scribbled notes, filling out sentences to put it into presentable English. “Called at applicant’s employers, Ronson and Wilcox. Receptionist stated applicant worked previous Saturday and had day off. Receptionist uncooperative. Called on applicant. She shares apartment with a Marilyn Andrews at address noted. Applicant Betty Parnet claimed to know nothing about a life insurance application. Stated flatly she had not applied for insurance. At one point slammed door. Acknowledged named beneficiary her uncle, stated she did not know him, wouldn’t name him beneficiary if she did buy insurance. Application data confirmed. Identification positive.”
Hendricks transferred his gaze from the ceiling to the floor. “What does he mean, ‘Identification positive’?”
“He means he was satisfied that the person he talked with is the person described in the life insurance application—in other words, that he talked with Betty Parnet.”
“All right. Would you mind reading that off again, for a Dictaphone?”
Webber read the notes a second time. The Old Man played it back when he’d finished, and Hendricks made scribbles in his notebook. “Will that do?” he asked.
“It’ll do,” the Old Man said.
Hendricks took a slip of paper from his pocket. “Does this mean anything to you?”
“Frank’s writing,” Webber said. “It looks like a license number, but I don’t recognize it.”
“He didn’t say anything about it when you had lunch with him?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you anything about this Parnet business that he doesn’t have written down here?”
Webber shook his head. “No. We talked about it, and about what he ought to do. He thought he should talk it over with the boss, and have the boss check with the insurance company, before he went any further.”
“Would you say Frank was a good investigator?”
“He was the best in our office. By far.”
Hendricks took the report form, and carefully attached it to the clipboard. He sat back, his hands folded on the desk, his face thoughtful, as if he were phrasing and rephrasing a question in his head. “Just how do you interpret Frank’s notes?” he asked finally.
Webber jerked erect. “The girl at the hospital!”
The Old Man got noisily to his feet. “He’s real bright—a real credit to his family. If you dangle it in front of him carefully enough, and give him time enough, and finally hit him over the head with it, he’s bound to get it. Real bright.”
He strode toward the door.
Webber felt bruised and short of breath, as though he’d just received an unexpected kick in the stomach. He was still fighting to control himself when the Old Man growled, “I’ll be home if anything turns up,” reached for his hat, and left without a backward glance. He did not close the door gently.
CHAPTER TWO
Webber got up and walked over to the window. He stood looking down at the parking lot as the Old Man strode briskly over to his car, got in, and drove away.
Hendricks said quietly, “You two ought to bury the hatchet. You always used to be great pals.”
Webber shrugged wearily, and returned to his chair. “The girl at the hospital,” he said.
“Yes. The girl at the hospital was Betty Parnet. Now how do you interpret Frank’s notes?”
“There’s only one possible way to interpret them. Someone applied for an insurance policy on the life of Betty Parnet without her knowing about it.”
“Is that possible?”
“It’s possible to try. Obviously. I don’t think it would be possible to get a policy issued. Certainly not one that large, with the investigating we do. In some circumstances I suppose a small one might slip through.”
“I see.”
Webber realized suddenly that Hendricks was an angry man. Fury throbbed in the scowl that twisted his lean face, and flashed dangerously in his dark eyes.
“How was Betty Parnet killed?” Webber asked.
“Automobile accident.”
“Sure. Now I want you to draw me a nice, pretty picture, and don’t spare the gruesome details.”
“What sort of picture?”
“We have two people killed in two separate automobile accidents. You’re behaving as if they’re both murder cases. Start drawing.”
Hendricks lit a cigarette, and tossed the match at an ash tray. He missed, and perched on the edge of the desk shaking his head. “Nerves. You and Frank were close friends, I suppose.”
“He was like a big brother to me. A darned close big brother.”
“He was a wonderful guy. I always wondered why he didn’t marry. Some woman missed getting a first rate husband.
“Some woman missed being a young widow. Let’s have it.”
“We don’t have any answers, yet,” Hendricks said. “But I think I know what the questions are.” He sent a smoke ring whirling across the room. “I have it figured out something like this. Frank had this Parnet investigation to do, and sometime this morning he went to the Ronson and Wilcox offices looking for her. She wasn’t in. He tried to get some information from the receptionist, and she wouldn’t talk. Is that unusual?”
“It happens,” Webber said.
“Then Frank called on Betty Parnet at her home address, which is 974 Sunset Boulevard. He wrote up a summary of what happened and let the matter drop. I suppose he figured if Betty Parnet didn’t apply for any insurance, of course the company wouldn’t issue the policy, and he’d have been wasting time and money to go into it any further. He had plenty of other work to do, se he went ahead with his other investigations. Three of them concern people living in Rossville. Sometime late this afternoon he drove to Rossville, and when he’d finished he came back to Carter City on Ridge Road.
“From this point I’m guessing, but I think it happened this way. Earlier in the day, Frank noticed that he was being tailed. He wrote down the car’s license number on his memo pad, probably
