Double Indemnity

Why, hello there, Mr. Neff.

Working pretty late, aren't you, Mr. Neff? Late enough. Let's ride.

You look kind of all in, at that. I'm fine.

How is the insurance business, Mr. Neff? Okay.

They wouldn't ever sell me any.

They said I have something loose in my heart.

I say it's rheumatism. Yeah?

Twelve.

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.

35 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.

And 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 10 or 15 years ago.

This one must've cost somebody about $30,000.

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 15th.

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.

Or in auto renewals, or 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.

With 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 30 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 8:00.

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 50% retention feature...

in the collision coverage.

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

Well, I've been at it 11 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.

Wish you'd tell me what's engraved on that anklet.

Just my name. As, for instance?

Phyllis. Phyllis, huh?

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 around 8:30?

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. 45 miles an hour.

How fast was I going, officer? I'd say around 90.

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.

8:30 tomorrow evening then. That's what I suggested.

Will you 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.

I went back to the office to see if I had any mail.

It was the day you had that truck driver from Inglewood on the carpet.

Remember, Keyes?

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?

Park this for me, will you, sweetheart?

Hello, Walter. Hi, George.

Come on. Come on, Garlopis.

You're not kidding anybody with that line of bull.

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

All I want is my money. Says you.

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

This is Sam Garlopis from Inglewood. Sure, I know Mr. Garlopis.

Wrote a policy on his truck. How are you, Mr. Garlopis?

I ain't so good. My truck burned down. Yeah. Now look, Garlopis.

Every month hundreds of claims come to this desk.

Some of them are phonies, and I know which ones.

How do I know? Because my little man tells me.

What little man? The little man in here.

Every time one of these phonies comes along, it ties knots in my stomach.

I can't eat.

Yours is one of them, Garlopis. That's how I knew your claim was crooked.

So what did I do?

I sent a tow car over to your garage this afternoon...

and they jacked up that burned-out truck of yours.

And what did they find?

They found what was left of a neat pile of shavings.

What shavings?

The ones you soaked with kerosene and dropped a match on.

Look, Mister, I'm just a poor guy. Maybe I made a mistake.

That's one way of putting it.

I ain't feeling so good, Mr. Keyes.

Here. Just a minute. Sign this and you'll feel fine.

Sign what? It's a waiver on your claim. Right here.

Here? Here.

Now you're an honest man again. Goodbye, Garlopis.

But I ain't got no more truck.

$2,600 is lot of dough where I live.

What's the matter, Garlopis, don't you know how to open the door?