drove back to Carter City, and just as he got to suicide curve he witnessed a peach of an accident. Or maybe he came along just after it happened. Anyway, it was a peculiar accident. According to witnesses, the car made no attempt to go around the curve. It went straight ahead, crashed through the guard railing, rolled down the embankment, and wrapped itself around a tree. The driver had her chest crushed and was probably killed instantly. Her face wasn’t injured, and when Frank stopped and went over to the wreck, he recognized her as Betty Parnet.
“He knew something was wrong. The girl claimed she hadn’t applied for any insurance, but somebody had, thirty-five thousand dollars’ worth on her life, and she was dead. He drove a quarter of a mile toward town, and stopped at Bill’s Place. Know it? Combination gas station and hamburger joint. Frank didn’t drive into the station. He parked along the highway, and went in to make a phone call.
“Now get this. I’ve known Frank Milford all my life. We went through school together, and he went to work for National Credit about the same time I joined the force. We haven’t been in close contact the past few years, but several times Frank has run into things he thought peculiar, and given me leads on them. His leads were always good.
“He had a lead for me today, Ron. As soon as he recognized Betty Parnet, he stopped at the first public telephone he saw and called me. Maybe he knew more about the case than what he wrote down. I think so—but unfortunately I was out. He left word that he was on his way down to see me, and then he ran out to get into his car. Just as he got the door open, a car veered off the road, ran him down, and kept on going. Witnesses said it had been parked up the road waiting. And they got the license number.”
Hendricks paused, and puffed nervously on his cigarette. “We found the hit-and-run car abandoned. It was a stolen car, and the plates had been switched. Odd, the number of stolen cars we’ve had all of a sudden.”
“You found the report on Betty Parnet in Frank’s briefcase, and started to add one and one,” Webber suggested.
“Yes. We couldn’t read Frank’s shorthand, but of course the girl’s name and address, and the information about the insurance policy, were typewritten at the top of the sheet. The fact that he stopped to call just after he passed the scene of the Parnet accident, and the fact that thirty-five grand is a fair amount of money, made us look into the Parnet death very carefully. The steering mechanism on her car had been tampered with. The poor kid didn’t have a chance on that curve. She was murdered just as certainly as if someone had pointed a gun and pulled the trigger.”
“Then there was that license number on Frank’s memo pad. We already had the number of the hit-and-run car from witnesses, and they matched. When you find a hit-and-run victim who has already taken down the number of the car that killed him, you stop calling it an accident. Did Frank say anything at lunch about being tailed?”
“Not a thing.”
“Either those men—there were two of them in the car—were following Parnet to see how things went, or they were still tailing Frank. They knew he’d talked to Parnet this morning, and the moment he walked over to the wreck to see the girl’s body, he knew too much. Or maybe he knew too much anyway. They killed him the first chance they got. Total score: Two damned clever murders. If luck hadn’t been on our side, both of them could have slipped through as accidents. Is that enough gruesome detail?”
“Plenty,” Webber said.
“We have one more piece of highly interesting information. The car Betty Parnet was driving—that was a stolen car, too.”
“You’re kidding!”
Hendricks raised his right hand. “Fact.”
“I’ve never seen a more unlikely-looking car thief.”
“The whole situation is unlikely. The car she was driving was reported stolen at one-thirty this afternoon. The owner is one William J. Howard, who just happens to be Betty Parnet’s uncle—and the man named as beneficiary on that insurance application. Before you start working that one over, I need some help. Betty Parnet said she didn’t apply for an insurance policy. I have to know whether she was telling the truth, and if she was, the key problem is this investigation will be to find out who did. I’ve been trying to get in touch with the Star Mutual manager for the last two hours. No luck. How can I get ahold of that insurance agent tonight?”
“Just a moment,” Webber said. “Can I have Frank’s reports? I might as well type them up. If I don’t, someone will have to go over the same ground again.”
“Eventually they’ll be evidence—I hope. I’ve already had them duplicated. Will the copies do?”
“I suppose.”
“Take the copies, then. What about the insurance agent?”
“Your boys brought me down here,” Webber said. “Will you drive?”
* * * *
There was no moving traffic on Front Street, and few parked cars. Webber directed Hendricks into a parking place, they jumped out and quickly climbed a flight of stairs to the National Credit Company office.
Webber produced a key, fumbled, turned it over, fumbled again, and got the door open. “First time I’ve ever had to use it,” he said.
Hendricks was studying the row of desks. “Did Frank have a desk here?”
Webber had a filing drawer open, fingering the contents. “Over there,” he said, nodding. “The second one.”
“Any chance that he got back here during the day, and left something in his desk?”
“No chance at all. He typed all of his reports at the apartment. Brought them in every morning, picked up his new assignments, and left for the day. If anything came up—here it is, Jones.”
“Jones? Any first name?”
“No. Probably not necessary. Star Mutual probably has only one Jones.”
“Carter City has more than one,” Hendricks said. He flipped open a telephone book, and shook his head. “Carter City has about four columns of them. Can I make an outside call on this phone?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Put a man to work on the City Directory.”
“We have six copies of it here.”
Well down the list of Joneses, they located Raymond F., insurance agent. Hendricks telephoned, found him home, and promised to call on him within the next twenty minutes. He kept his voice down and spoke politely and somehow conveyed the impression that the consequences would be dire indeed if Mr. Jones did not see fit to wait.
He slammed the phone down. “Want to come along?”
“No,” Webber said. Funeral arrangements, relatives—he wondered if Frank had left a will.
“I’m not just asking to be sociable. I might need you again.”
Insurance policies. Bank accounts. Gloria. “All right. How could the police get along without conscientious citizens like me?”
When they reached the street they found a patrol
