James Chase - Tell It to the Birds

“Remember me?” he said, offering his hand. “Why, sure,” Anson said. “It’s Steve Harmas, isn’t it?” He got up and shook hands, “Glad to see you. You’ve come about this shocking murder of Barlowe?”

Harmas was aware of the fat, homely looking girl at the other desk who was staring and listening.

“That’s it,” he said. “Look friend, I’ve just arrived from “Frisco". How’s about you and me going some place for a cup of coffee?”

“Why, sure,” Anson said, “There’s a place right across the road.” To Anna he went on, “I’ll be back in about an hour… if anyone wants me.”

A few minutes later, seated in a quiet comer in a cafe, Anson said, “Maddox on the warpath?” Harmas grinned. “That’s an understatement. He thinks Mrs. Barlowe shot her husband and raped herself!”

Anson dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee. “The man’s pathological. Well, he’ll have to pass this claim! What’s fifty thousand dollars to the National Fidelity? The press know about it. If he tried to block payment, he’s going to get some rank publicity.”

Harmas stroked his nose. He looked thoughtfully at Anson. “How come the press know about it? Did you tell them?”

“Why not?” Anson asked and sat back looking at Harmas, his grey eyes mildly inquiring. “Here we have a front page murder. Everyone in the district knows me. I sold Barlowe the policy. It’s great publicity not only for me but also for the Company. It is this kind of publicity, providing the claim is paid, that sells policies.”

“Maddox didn’t want you to talk to the press,” Harmas said.

“Why not?”

“He thinks the set-up stinks.” Anson smiled as he stirred the coffee.

“You work for him,” he said. “I work for the Company. If I worked the way he wants a salesman to work, the Company would go broke. Come on… you know that’s right. Maddox should have retired years ago. He never gives a salesman a chance.”

“When you turned in that policy,” Harmas said, “Maddox didn’t like it. He got a Tracing Agency to dig up some facts about Barlowe and his wife. He has a dossier on them both. I haven’t seen it, but from what he tells me the wife hasn’t anything to shout about. He told me a woman of her reputation could be capable of anything.”

Anson suddenly slopped his coffee. He put down the cup and looked at Harmas, the grey of his eyes darkening.

“What’s this dossier?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it yet; that’s what he says. He thinks she is capable of anything.”

“He’s crazy!” There was sudden doubt in Ansons voice. “This woman was attacked and raped! Hasn’t he any feelings?”

“Jenson thinks the way you do,” Harmas said quietly, “but I’ve worked with Maddox now for ten years. He has never been wrong when he claims a policy is off colour…”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Anson asked. Harmas winked. “You know, Maddox is something very special. He told me to come out here and look around. He had no idea what I was to look for and nor did I, but he told me to get the feel of the place.” He tapped his pocket. “Believe it, or not, here is an outline for a short story of a woman who swindles an insurance company. She and her lover… he is a ticket officer of an airline company… it’s a nice idea. Maddox will love it. If she wrote it, it shows she has had the idea of swindling an insurance company and when she puts in the claim, we can use this story to show the state of mind she’s in.”

“Look this is ridiculous,” Anson said angrily. “Plenty of people write stories about…” He stopped as he saw Harmas wasn’t listening. Harmas had got to his feet and was now wandering around the room, whistling under his breath. He paused and peered at something hanging on the wall. “Well, seen this?” he said. “Barlowe was a pistol shot champion.

He won first prize at the Pru Town Small Arms and Target Club.”

“So what?” Anson said, an edge to his voice. “We’d look a couple of jerks if someone found us here.”

“Relax,” Harmas said. “Who’s likely to come? Now a guy who is interested in pistol target shooting is likely to have a gun. I wonder if he did own a gun?”

“What does it matter if he did?” Anson said. Harmas began moving around the room. He paused to open cupboards and drawers and finally he came to the ugly heavy, sideboard. He pulled open a drawer.

“Here we are… a gun box.” He took the wooden box from the drawer and opened it. For a long moment there was a heavy silence, then he said “Cartridges, cleaning material, but no gun, and yet here’s a place for the gun. Where’s the gun?”

“Are you asking me or are you talking to yourself?” Anson demanded. Harmas grinned at him.

“I was talking to myself. Look, why not go and admire the garden. I’m going to be here quite some time. This place fascinates me.”

Anson went over to the settee and sat down.. “I’ll stay here. If there is anything I can do…” Harmas, humming under his breath, wasn’t listening. He walked from the room and Anson listened to him climb the stairs.

An hour and a half later, Harmas and Anson drove away from Barlowe’s house and towards Pru Town.

Harmas was silent, for some time during the drive, then as they approached the outskirts of Pru Town, he began to talk.

“Maddox may seem to you to be a deadbeat always looking for trouble,” he said, “but he’s far from that. He’s practically clairvoyant, and I’m not kidding. Here we have a situation: a man working as a small time clerk, insures himself for fifty thousand dollars. Maddox was right to raise his eyebrows. Now I’ve seen this guy’s home, I also ask myself why he should have insured himself for such a sum.”

Anson hunched his shoulders.

“He wanted the policy to raise capital so he could start up on his own as a horticulturist,” he said tonelessly. “I’ve already explained all this to Maddox. I didn’t persuade Barlowe one way or the other if that worries you at all.”

“He must have been planning something big,” Harmas said, noting the irritation in Anson’s voice. “Fifty grand is a hunk of dough for a little man like Barlowe.”

“You’ve seen his garden,” Anson said. “Why shouldn’t he have big ideas? He was able to pay the first premium, so why should I worry?”

“He paid in cash?”

“Yes.”

“From the look of the house, you wouldn’t have thought he had that much money in cash.” Anson shrugged impatiently.

“Okay… go ahead: make a mystery of it. He had the money: he gave it to me: do I have to get worried about a man giving me cash?”

Harmas glanced thoughtfully at the small, blond man at his side and then looked away.

“You’re right,” he said soothingly. “Tell me about Mrs. Barlowe. What kind of woman is she?”

“I don’t know,” Anson said curtly. “I only saw her once… she’s good looking, youngish. I didn’t pay her much attention.”

“Did they get along together?”

“Yes, they did,” Anson said. “They got along very well together.”

“Is that a fact? What makes you say that?”

Anson suddenly stiffened. Careful, he told himself, this guy isn’t flapping with his mouth for the sake of making noises.

He is the top investigator and Maddox’s stooge.

“I don’t know… an impression I got. The way Barlowe spoke about her.”

“He must have been smart to fool you,” Harmas said, putting a cigarette between his lips. “You been upstairs and looked the set-up over?”

Anson’s hands tightened on the steering-wheel.

“Fool me? What do you mean?”

“They didn’t sleep together. You should have seen his room. The sheets hadn’t been changed in months.” Harmas grimaced. “Our little pal was a pervert. I found some books in his room that would make your hair stand on end. There were other things too. Those two didn’t live as husband and wife. I’m ready to bet a hundred bucks.”