Tell It To The Birds

"He wanted it that way. He keeps money in his house. Anything wrong about it?"

Maddox grimaced.

"I don't know. Twelve hundred is a lot of dough to keep in your house. Hasn't he a banking account?"

"I guess so. I didn't ask him."

Maddox blew a stream of tobacco smoke down his thick nostrils. His red rubbery face was screwed up in an expression of thought.

"So he wants to use this policy to raise capital ... that it?"

"That's what he told me."

"To set up as a gardener?"

"Well, more than that... to buy land, greenhouses, machines and so on."

"How much capital does he want?"

Anson shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't ask him. He said he wanted to insure his life and he told me why. I didn't argue with him."

"That's right," Maddox said and put the policy down on his desk, "So long as you make a sale, you don't have to worry, do you?"

"It's my job to make a sale," Anson said quietly. "That's what / get paid for." He stood up. "Is there anything else?"

"No, I guess that's about it," Maddox said, without looking at Anson.

"Then I'll get back. Will see you."

Maddox nodded absently. He still didn't look at Anson. He was staring at the Barlowe policy. He was still staring at it, lost in thought, several minutes after Anson had gone. Then, suddenly coming to life, he flicked down a key on the intercom and said, "Harmas around?"

"Yes, Mr. Maddox," Patty said. "I'll call him."

Three minutes later, Steve Harmas, Maddox's chief investigator, wandered in. He was a tall broad-shouldered man; dark around thirty-three with a deeply tanned ugly but humorous face. He had married Maddox's favourite secretary, something that Maddox had never got over, but as Harmas was by far his best investigator, Maddox had been forced to accept the fact.

"You wanted me?" Harmas asked as he folded his long lean body into the client's chair.

Maddox tossed him the Barlowe policy.

"Look at that," he said, then spilling ash over his papers he selected yet another policy and began to examine it suspiciously.

Harmas looked through the policy handed to him, then he put it on the desk.

"Nice work," he said. "Anson is a smart cookie."

Maddox bent his chair back until it creaked under the weight of his massive shoulders.

"I'm not so sure he is so smart," he said. "Take this policy. Barlowe is a ten-a-dime salesman at Framley's stores, Pru Town. What's he doing taking out a life policy for fifty thousand dollars?"

Harmas shrugged.

"I don't know .... you tell me."

"I'd like to," Maddox said. "If Barlowe suddenly drops dead, we're in the hole for fifty thousand bucks. The story is he has taken out this policy so he can raise enough capital to set up as a gardener. What would he want fifty thousand for to set up as a gardener?"

Harmas scratched the back of his neck. He knew Maddox. He knew Maddox wasn't asking for information. He was talking to himself.

"Go ahead ... I'm here to listen," he said.

"That's about all you're good for," Maddox said bitterly. "I have hunches. I don't like this policy. I have a hunch about it.

It gives off a smell."

Harmas grinned.

"Is there any policy that comes to you that doesn't give off a smell?"

"A few do ... but not many. Here's what you do. I want to know everything there is to know about Barlowe and his wife: repeat his wife. Get a Tracing Agency on to them and have them send everything they can dig up direct to me.

Understand?"

"Okay," Harmas said, getting to his feet. "If that's what you want, that's what you'll get."

"Why didn't this guy take out a five thousand dollar insurance?" Maddox asked. "Why fifty thousand? Why did he pay the first premium in cash?"

"I wouldn't know," Harmas said, "but if you're all that interested, I guess, I'll have to find out."

Maddox nodded.

"That's it... find out," and reaching for another policy, he settled down to examine it.

Late back from his trip to San Francisco, Anson was thinking about going to bed when his door bell rang. Wondering who could be calling at this hour, he went to the door.

A woman, wearing a black coat and a green and yellow scarf over her head, hiding her face, moved quickly past him into the room.

"Shut the door!" she said sharply.

"Meg!"

Anson hurriedly shut and locked the door as Meg Barlowe took off the scarf.

"What are you doing here?" Anson asked, alarmed.

"I had to come." She took off her coat and tossed it on a chair. "I've been trying to contact you all day."

"Did anyone see you come in?" Anson asked. "Don't you realize if we are seen together..."

"I was careful. No one saw me. Anyway, even if they did see me they wouldn't recognize me." She came over to him and slid her arms around him. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

The feel of her body as she pressed herself against him lessened Anson's alarm. He kissed her with mounting passion until she broke away.

"Where have you been?" she asked, moving away and sitting on the arm of an armchair. "I tried to telephone you."