Brett Halliday - Too Friendly, Too Dead

“Oh, Mr. Shayne. Isn’t it terrible? I can hardly realize it yet. Jerome… Mr. Fitzgilpin was such a wonderful man. Always so kind and considerate to everyone. Who would do such a dastardly thing as that?”

Shayne said, “I hope you can help me find out, Miss…”

“Mrs. Ella Perkins. That is, I’m a widow. Have been for ten years. Ever since I came to work for Mr. Fitzgilpin. I never had a better employer or a position that I enjoyed more. It was positively a pleasure to work for Mr. Fitzgilpin and do things for him. Is it true, Mr. Shayne, that he was poisoned?”

Shayne said, “I’m afraid it is. Have the police been here?”

“Yes. An hour ago. They asked all sorts of the most outrageous personal questions. About Mr. Fitzgilpin and the intimate details of his family life. Did they quarrel, and did he have women friends… and did he ever date me.” She clasped her plump fingers together in front of her and gulped back a sob. “I got the distinct impression that they… they can’t suspect her, can they, Mr. Shayne? I didn’t know her well, but she seemed such a nice person. And I know he was devoted to her and the children. Just an old-fashioned family man… I always felt he was. He didn’t have an enemy in the world, and I told those policemen so.”

“That’s what everyone says about him,” agreed Shayne. “Do you always work on Saturdays, Mrs. Perkins?”

“I come down every Saturday morning to bring the records up to date for the week-end. He stays late on Friday nights, you know, and I like to have everything entered and filed and fresh for Monday morning.”

“I understand he collects a certain amount of cash every Friday night. Do you know how much it was last night?”

“Yes. The police asked me that. Two hundred and sixty-two dollars and forty cents.”

“And he always took it home with him?”

“Always. You see we have no safe here in the office and he felt it was safer that way. He’d stop by the bank to deposit it on Monday morning.”

“How many people do you suppose knew this was his habit?”

“I simply don’t know. It’s not the sort of thing he’d mention casually, is it? On the other hand, he was always so friendly. Even with complete strangers. He’d never think it was something he should conceal. He was so confiding. So full of goodwill himself that he would never suspect anyone else of having an ulterior motive.”

“Do you know who his last client was last night?”

“Yes. The police asked me that and I checked the record. A man named Julian Summerville. He paid a nineteen dollar premium and that’s the last entry for the night.”

“You don’t know what time that was?”

“No. Mr. Fitzgilpin generally stayed until nine or ten o’clock on Fridays.”

“This Summerville,” probed Shayne. “Was he an old client? Particularly friendly? Would your employer have been likely to ask him out for a drink?”

“I don’t believe so. I know the police took his name and address, so I assume they’re checking with him.”

“All right, Mrs. Perkins. What’s your opinion of this? You were probably closer to Mr. Fitzgilpin than anyone else in the world… excluding his wife. And I know lots of secretaries who are actually much closer to their employers than their wives are. No offense intended,” he went on hastily, seeing a hurt, protesting look on her face. “Certainly you know a great deal more about his business… his daily associates. How was his business, by the way? Would you say it was thriving?” Shayne let her see him glance disparagingly about the small and shabby reception room.

“I don’t know what you mean by thriving,” she responded with more spirit than she had shown before. “His income was adequate for his needs, and the business has grown steadily every year since I’ve been here. Actually…” and her face began to glow with pride. “… just recently Mr. Fitzgilpin was honored with an award that is given annually by an insurance association in the United States for being among the top ten brokers in the country showing an increase in policies sold during the year. He was interviewed by a reporter for the Miami paper and had a real nice write-up. He didn’t want to expand too much,” she went on earnestly. “He liked having a one-man office and maintaining a direct personal contact with every one of his clients. He wanted to know them… about their personal lives and their problems. He felt strongly that every insurance policy he sold should be tailored to each individual’s particular situation and needs… that he was performing an important service to his clients rather than just sitting back and collecting money from them. He was such a good man…” She broke down at this point and began crying helplessly, rocking forward over her typewriter with her hands over her face.

Shayne lit a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully, letting her cry herself out. She accomplished this in a couple of minutes, straightened up and blew her nose loudly with Kleenex, wiped her eyes and told him tremulously, “I wish I could be more help to you, Mr. Shayne, but I just can’t think of anyone who wanted Mr. Fitzgilpin dead or who would benefit by it.”

“Yet, someone did,” Shayne reminded her. “His wife mentioned one peculiar thing this morning,” he went on. “About an incident some weeks ago when a woman came in and wanted him to break the rules by issuing a large policy on her husband’s life without his knowledge. Do you recall that?”

“Oh, yes. Very well. It was most peculiar. It wasn’t as long ago as that. Not more than ten days. I remember she telephoned for an appointment the day after the interview appeared in the paper and I thought maybe she’d read it and got his name from that. Because she was a complete stranger and wouldn’t say who had recommended him… you know, the way most people do if they come to an insurance office. And she acted funny when she did come in the next day. He was busy with another client when she arrived, and she sat and talked to me for fifteen minutes at least. I tried to be nice to her because she had mentioned a quarter-million dollar policy when she telephoned and we never had anything near that big in this office before. But she seemed more interested in Mr. Fitzgilpin than she did in getting a policy. She sat right in that same chair you’re sitting in and asked all sorts of funny questions. Like, how long had I worked here, and did he go out of town very often, and did he enjoy going to New York and when was the last trip he’d made, and all like that. It just seemed so funny.”

“What was her name?” Shayne interposed.

“Mrs. Kelly. That’s the only name she ever gave. And not even any address or anything. Because after she did go in and talk to Mr. Fitzgilpin and told him what she wanted him to do, he gave her short shrift. I never saw him so vexed before. He was quite insulted to think anyone would come to him with a proposition like that. Like he said to me, a rich woman like that must certainly have a lot of insurance business of one sort or another, yet here she was coming to him to buy a huge policy like that. You see, she pretended to him that she didn’t know it was against the law to do that, but he was sure she did know, and that’s why she didn’t go to her regular broker.”

“Do you think she was a rich woman?” Shayne probed.

“Oh, I guess she was, all right. Great big diamonds on her fingers and a mink jacket that must have cost a fortune. Poor thing, though, I felt sorry for her before I found out what she was trying to get Mr. Fitzgilpin to do. She was pathetic with all her jewelry and mink. She was a woman who looked dowdy no matter what she wore. She was tall and awkward with big hands and feet, and a great, big nose and a thin mouth. You could just imagine her as a young debutante sitting on the sidelines and never getting asked to dance no matter how much money her family had.”