Джордж Хиггинс - The New Black Mask (No 4)

That was unusual. Insurance companies rarely offered to pay a daily rate for recovery investigations. I said, “What’s the catch, Del? I know you guys don’t work that way.”

Delbert’s face became flushed. “Yes, well, the pendant is worth over $500,000, so naturally the insurance company is very concerned about recovering it for our client. We are offering you the rate of $100 a day even if you don’t recover the pendant to insure that you will be motivated.”

I still wasn’t buying. Delbert was too cheap to offer more money than he had to. I rode him some with my stare.

“Ahem, of course,” Delbert sputtered on, “if it should turn out that the pendant has not been stolen at all, that our client still has it, then you could not really claim to have recovered it.”

“And I wouldn’t be entitled to the 10 percent fee, right? I get it now. You guys think your client has faked the robbery to get hold of the insurance money and still keep the pendant. But it’s cheaper to hire me at $100 a day to prove it than to pay me fifty grand.”

“Ah, yes, something like that,” said Delbert. “Will you take the case?”

Normally I didn’t like insurance jobs, but my bank balance was so low it would fit under a lizard. I said, “Okay, make it 125 and give me the details.”

Delbert smiled with relief. “$125 it is, August. Our client’s name is Pamela Dyer. She is the widow of a wealthy real estate developer. The pendant was stolen a week ago from the apartment of a friend of hers, Robert Grey. Mrs. Dyer and Grey had gone to the apartment after eating dinner in a restaurant. Shortly after they arrived, two men with guns burst through the door and demanded they turn over all the valuables on their person. The men had stockings over their faces. Grey lost a gold watch and a hundred dollars in cash; Mrs. Dyer lost two diamond rings and the pendant. The gunmen tied up Mrs. Dyer and Grey before they left and pulled out the phone for good measure: Grey said he managed to free himself after an hour of struggling, and then he released Mrs. Dyer and went to a neighbor’s apartment to phone the police.”

The waitress came up with our drinks and scurried off. I took a few sips from mine before I said anything. Finally: “I can see why you would think the robbery was a fake, Del. The gunmen knowing Mrs. Dyer would be in Grey’s apartment with the pendant at that particular time does seem unlikely. But they could have spotted the pendant in the restaurant and then followed Grey and Dyer home to make the heist.”

Delbert looked disappointed. “Do you really think so?” he asked.

“No, I’m not sure. I just wanted to show you that there were two ways of looking at it. Do you know what the police think about the robbery?”

“They seem altogether satisfied that Mrs. Dyer and Grey are telling the truth. However, they don’t seem to be doing much in the way of investigation. That’s why we are hiring you.”

I nodded in sympathetic agreement and pumped Delbert for a few more details, like the addresses of Robert Grey and Mrs. Dyer. We finished our drinks then, and I left Delbert in the bar to do whatever it is insurance salesmen do by themselves in bars.

This was Phoenix in the summertime and it was hot. I drove in my Ford Galaxy with all four windows down because the air conditioner had given out two summers ago. I was heading up Central Avenue from the bar downtown to see Pamela Dyers boyfriend, Robert Grey. Grey was a big-wheel lawyer in Phoenix, and the firm he worked for had its offices in the posh Weckler Building on Highland.

When I came to Highland, I turned left off Central and drove a block or so until I reached the underground garage that served the cluster of office buildings in the vicinity. I parked in a cramped space on the third level, rode the elevator back upstairs, and crossed the street to the Weckler Building.

The Ringling Brothers could have fit their circus in the lobby, elephants and all. Right then it was populated by flashy, overweight business types who still wore their three-piece suits, even though it was 105 degrees outside. I walked to the elevators, losing sight of my feet a number of times in the pasture of wool they used for carpet. At the directory, I checked the number of Grey’s office, and then I caught a ride on an ascending elevator to the fifth floor.

Grey’s office was a short way down the hall on the right. Inside I found a cute secretary making noise with an electric typewriter. She had long blond hair and a deeply tanned oval face. She wore a cream pantsuit over a figure that would make an accountant snap his pencils. I introduced myself by giving her one of the smudged business cards I carried around in my wallet and asked if I might see Mr. Grey about the theft of Mrs. Dyer’s pendant. She walked distractingly back to a dark-grained wooden door, knocked lightly, went in.

When she returned, I was told Mr. Grey would allow me ten minutes of his time. Grey was a fat man, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He waltzed around his desk to greet me like someone who weighed seventy pounds less. The grip he clamped on my hand was very firm. The light brown hair on his head was beginning to thin out, and he had a pleasant face that would have been handsome except for his extra chins. He wore a lightweight navy blue suit.

After we exchanged pleasantries and sat down, I said, “Mr. Grey, I’ve been hired by the insurance company to investigate the theft of Mrs. Dyer’s pendant, and I was wondering if you could give me some information about it.”

Grey smiled faintly and formed a bridge with his hands. “You must realize that I have already given all the information I know about the theft to the police, Mr. Hammond. There is no need for anyone to question me further. I think the insurance company is stalling, and you are merely part of that stall. How much longer will Pamela have to wait before they give her the money she is entitled to?”

“Ask them. They think you two faked the robbery,” I said just to rattle him.

Grey looked about as rattled as a granite headstone. He frowned and pushed his real chin down into the other ones. “You can’t be serious. Mrs. Dyer and I were robbed and tied up in my apartment by two very real thugs. There was no duplicity involved.”

“What did the men look like?”

“They wore stockings over their faces.”

“So I’ve been told. But can you describe the rest of them?”

“They were both moderately tall with strong builds. And they both wore Levi’s and T-shirts. I can’t tell you anything more.”

“Okay,” I said. “Did you notice anyone like them following you from the restaurant after dinner?”

“No, I did not. Of course, I wasn’t really looking.”

“How often did Mrs. Dyer wear her pendant?”

Grey let out a big long sigh like he was tired of talking about the whole thing. “She wore it occasionally,” he said. “She did not wear it all the time like some women do with expensive jewelry. Pamela has very good taste.”

“Yeah, in some things.”

Grey’s face reddened. “What is that supposed to mean, Hammond?”

“I forgot. When was the—”

Grey cut me off. He said, “I don’t care to discuss this any further. If you want more information, then go ask the police. Perhaps they have time to waste with cretins.”

“Lots. They talked to you, didn’t they?”

I was a real friendly guy that afternoon. I got up and went through the door. Grey’s secretary was still typing in the outer office. She looked up from her work and addressed me in a cheery tone:

“Did you get what you came for?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I got what I came for. But now that I’m here, I see something else I might like too.” I smiled a cute smile and waited for her to catch on. I didn’t wait much.