streets.
Hendricks drove staring moodily straight ahead. Webber leaned back and closed his eyes, and did his thinking aloud.
“There are other angles to this thing,” he said. “You have an insurance application for a thirty-five thousand dollar policy, and there’s only one person on this planet who could possibly benefit from such a policy. The beneficiary. William J. Howard, wasn’t it? The girl’s uncle? And if she was driving his car, and the steering mechanism had been tampered with—”
Hendricks made no comment.
“Wonder if there was a double indemnity clause,” Webber mused. “That would double the amount of insurance in event of accidental death, which would make the policy worth seventy thousand. Few uncles have nieces who do as well for them. Have you done any checking on the beneficiary?”
Hendricks did not answer.
“Who is this guy Howard?”
“Like you say, there are other angles. Some of them are peculiar. How will the insurance company handle it?”
“That’s hard to say. If no money was paid with the application, they’ll just forget about it. But if money was paid, most companies consider the insurance in force when the examining doctor approves the applicant, if it’s a large policy. Whether the company could legally avoid a payment on the basis of Frank’s notes, I couldn’t say, but you can count on a thorough investigation before Mr. Howard gets his thirty-five thousand dollars. Or his seventy thousand dollars.”
“Was money paid with this application?”
“You’ll have to ask agent Jones about that. Anyway, if Betty Parnet didn’t apply for this insurance, she certainly didn’t have a medical examination.”
“But whoever did apply might have had an examination.”
Webber whistled. “That wouldn’t have occurred to my innocent mind. It takes a policeman to think up angles like that.”
Hendricks spoke savagely. “A policeman—or a crook.”
They had reached the outskirts of town, and Hendricks started checking the names of streets in a new subdivision. He found the one he wanted, and turned. He flashed his spotlight on a couple of house numbers, and drove slowly.
Webber made out outlines of a few of the houses and said dryly, “Insurance agents must do pretty well.”
“This one seems to, if he can sell insurance to people without their knowing about it.”
Hendricks checked again with his spotlight and parked. Webber followed him up the walk to a sprawling brick house. Chimes sounded as Hendricks raised the door knocker, and the door swung open immediately. The short, stocky insurance agent greeted them with a grin. It was a broad grin, a permanently-installed grin, a typical salesman grin. Webber had the feeling that he could meet such a grin on the street in Carter City, or in Moscow, or Timbuktu, and know a sales pitch was moving right behind it.
“Raymond F. Jones?” Hendricks said. “Hendricks is my name. I talked to you on the telephone. This is Ron Webber.”
Webber handed him a card, and he glanced at it, and nodded. “Oh, yes. You do our inspection reports. Come in, won’t you?”
They followed him into the living room, and caught a fleeting glimpse of Mrs. Jones disappearing into the kitchen. Jones flipped off the television set, and they arranged themselves on sleek, modernistic chairs that looked and felt as if they were folded for storage.
“What can I do for you?” Jones asked. He held onto the grin, but his feet were shifting at much too frequent intervals, and beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. His thick glasses gave his eyes a comically-bulging appearance. Webber felt sorry for him. He hoped that the agent hadn’t already spent his commission on Betty Parnet’s application.
“We’d like some information,” Hendricks said. “Recently you sold some insurance to a Miss Betty Parnet. Do you remember her?”
Jones relaxed visibly. He guffawed, and slapped his leg. “Remember her? I won’t forget her in a hurry. I don’t write a thirty-five thousand dollar case every day. In fact, that’s the biggest one in a couple of months.”
“An investigator talked with Miss Parnet this morning,” Hendricks said. “She told him she hadn’t applied for any insurance.”
That wiped away the grin. “Hadn’t applied—is this a gag?”
Hendricks shook his head slowly. Jones turned appealingly to Webber, who also shook his head slowly.
“The gal gave me an annual premium in advance,” Jones said. “One thousand, five hundred and fifty-seven dollars and eighty-five cents. I won’t forget that right away, either. You must have talked to the wrong person.”
“Are you personally acquainted with her?” Hendricks asked.
“Never saw her before in my life. Some of us insurance agents have coffee together at the Carter Restaurant every morning at ten-thirty. I got there early, last Saturday, and the others hadn’t come in yet. The waitress said to me, “How’s the insurance business?’ and I said, ‘Fine’ and then this gal came over to my table and said she wanted some insurance.”
Webber glanced at Hendricks, and found him studying the polished brass trim around the fireplace.
“What’s wrong with that?” Jones demanded. “There’s no law against selling insurance to strangers.”
“There doesn’t have to be,” Webber told him, “as long as we investigators do our job. What did she look like?”
“Blonde, average height, not bad looking.”
Webber and Hendricks exchanged puzzled glances. It sounded like Betty Parnet.
“She didn’t look particularly wealthy,” Jones went on. “I thought she probably wanted a thousand dollars or two at the most. She said she wanted a savings plan, so I told her what five thousand would cost—just to sound her out, you know. Darned if she didn’t ask me what thirty-five thousand would come to, and ten minutes later I had the application. Retirement plan at age sixty, with an annual premium.”
“Was she carrying all that money around with her?” Hendricks asked.
“No. We went over to the First National Bank. I waited while she drew out the money, and she paid me, and I gave her a receipt.”
“What about the medical examination?” Webber asked.
“The company requires two examinations for that much insurance, and they have to be on different days. I made an appointment for her for two o’clock Saturday, and another for nine o’clock Monday. Yesterday.”
“Did she keep them?”
“I don’t know. I suppose she did. Neither of the doctors has said anything. I offered to chauffeur her around, but she said she could manage all right by herself. Wait.”
He bounded across the room to the telephone. It took him some time to locate both of his doctors, but he had recovered at least the front edge
