"Office memorandum. Walter Neff to Barton Keyes, Claims Manager. Los Angeles, July 16, 1938."

"Dear Keyes, I suppose you'll call this a confession when you hear it. Well, I don't like the word confession. I just want to set you right about something you couldn't see because it was smack up against your nose."

"You think you're such a hot potato as a claims manager, such a wolf on a phony claim. Maybe you are. But let's take a look at that Dietrichson claim. Accident and double indemnity."

"You were pretty good in there for a while, Keyes. You said it wasn't an accident. Check. You said it wasn't suicide. Check. You said it was murder. Check."

"You thought you had it cold, didn't you? All wrapped up in tissue paper with pink ribbons around it. It was perfect. Except it wasn't, because you made one mistake. Just one little mistake."

"When it came to picking the killer, you picked the wrong guy. You want to know who killed Dietrichson? Hold tight to that cheap cigar of yours, Keyes. I killed Dietrichson."

"Me, Walter Neff, insurance salesman. Thirty-five years old, unmarried, no visible scars—until a while ago, that is. Yes, I killed him. I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn't get the money and I didn't get the woman. Pretty, isn't it?"

"It all began last May. Around the end of May, it was. I'd been out to Glendale to deliver a policy on some dairy trucks. On the way back I remembered this auto renewal near Los Feliz Boulevard. So I drove over there."

"It was one of those California Spanish houses—everyone was nuts about ten or fifteen years ago. This one must've cost somebody about thirty thousand dollars. That is, if he ever finished paying for it."

"Is Mr. Dietrichson in?"

"Who wants to see him?"

"My name is Neff. Walter Neff."

"If you're selling something—"

"Look, it's Mr. Dietrichson I want to talk to, and it's not magazine subscriptions."

"Listen, Mr. Dietrichson is not in."

"How soon do you expect him?"

"He'll be home when he gets here, if that's any help to you."

"What is it, Nettie? Who is it?"

"It's for Mr. Dietrichson."

"I'm Mrs. Dietrichson. What is it?"

"How do you do, Mrs. Dietrichson? I'm Walter Neff, Pacific All Risk."

"Pacific all what?"

"The Pacific All Risk Insurance Company. It's about some renewals on the automobiles. I've been trying to contact your husband for the past two weeks, but he's never in his office."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"The insurance ran out on the fifteenth. I'd hate to think of your having a smashed fender or something while you're not fully covered."

"Perhaps I know what you mean, Mr. Neff. I've just been taking a sunbath."

"No pigeons around, I hope."

"About those policies, Mrs. Dietrichson, I hate to take up your time, but—"

"Oh, that's all right. If you'll wait till I put something on, I'll be right down."

"Nettie, show Mr. Neff into the living room."

"Where would the living room be?"

"In there, but they keep the liquor locked up."

"It's all right. I always carry my own keys."

"The living room was still stuffy from last night's cigars. The windows were closed and the sunshine coming in through the Venetian blinds showed up the dust in the air."

"On the piano in a couple of fancy frames were Mr. Dietrichson and Lola, his daughter by his first wife. They had a bowl of those little red goldfish on the table behind the big davenport."

"But to tell you the truth, Keyes, I wasn't a whole lot interested in goldfish right then, not in auto renewals, nor in Mr. Dietrichson and his daughter Lola. I was thinking about that dame upstairs and the way she had looked at me, and I wanted to see her again, close, without that silly staircase between us."

"I wasn't long, was I?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Dietrichson."

"Hope I've got my face on straight."

"It's perfect, for my money."

"Neff is the name, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Two 'F's, like in Philadelphia, if you know the story."

"What story?"

"The Philadelphia Story."

"Suppose we sit down and you tell me about the insurance. My husband never tells me anything."

"Well, it's on your two cars, the LaSalle and the Plymouth. We've been handling this insurance for Mr. Dietrichson for three years and we'd hate to see the policies lapse."

"That's a honey of an anklet you're wearing, Mrs. Dietrichson."

"As I was saying, we'd hate to see the policies lapse. Of course, we give them thirty days. That's all we're allowed to give."

"I guess he's been too busy down at Long Beach in the oil fields. Couldn't I catch him at home some evening for a few minutes?"

"I suppose so. But he's never home much before eight."

"That's fine with me."

"You're not connected with the Automobile Club, are you?"

"No, the All Risk, Mrs. Dietrichson. Why?"

"Somebody from the Automobile Club has been trying to get him. Do they have a better rate?"

"If your husband's a member. No, he isn't. Well, then he'd have to join the club and pay the membership fee to start with."

"I never knock the other fellow's merchandise, Mrs. Dietrichson. The Automobile Club's fine. I can do just as well for you, though."

"I have a very attractive policy here. It wouldn't take me two minutes to put it in front of your husband. For instance, we're writing a new kind of fifty percent retention feature in the collision coverage."

"You're a smart insurance man, aren't you, Mr. Neff?"

"Well, I've been at it eleven years."

"Doing pretty well?"

"It's a living."

"You handle just automobile insurance, or all kinds?"

"All kinds. Fire, earthquake, theft, public liability, group insurance, industrial stuff and so on, right down the line."

"Accident insurance?"

"Accident insurance? Sure, Mrs. Dietrichson."

"I wish you'd tell me what's engraved on that anklet."

"Just my name."

"As, for instance?"

"Phyllis."

"Phyllis. I think I like that."

"But you're not sure?"

"I'd have to drive it around the block a couple of times."

"Mr. Neff, why don't you drop by tomorrow evening about eight-thirty. He'll be in then."

"Who?"

"My husband. You were anxious to talk to him, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was, but I'm sort of getting over the idea, if you know what I mean."

"There's a speed limit in this state, Mr. Neff. Forty-five miles an hour."

"How fast was I going, officer?"

"I'd say around ninety."

"Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket."

"Suppose I let you off with a warning this time."

"Suppose it doesn't take."

"Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles."

"Suppose I bust out crying and put my head on your shoulder."

"Suppose you try putting it on my husband's shoulder."

"That tears it. Eight-thirty tomorrow evening, then."

"That's what I suggested."

"You'll be here too?"

"I guess so. I usually am."

"Same chair, same perfume, same anklet?"

"I wonder if I know what you mean."

"I wonder if you wonder."

"It was a hot afternoon, and I can still remember the smell of honeysuckle all along that street. How could I have known that murder can sometimes smell like honeysuckle?"

"Maybe you would have known, Keyes, the minute she mentioned accident insurance, but I didn't. I felt like a million."

"Mr. Neff, Mr. Keyes wants to see you. He's been yelling for you all afternoon."

"Is he sore, or just frothing at the mouth a little?"

"Come on. Come on, Garlopis. You're not kidding anybody with that line of bull."

"You're in a jam and you know it."

"All I want is my money."

"All you're gonna get is the cops. Hello, Walter."