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Office memorandum.
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Walter Neff to Barton Keyes, Claims Manager.
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Los Angeles, July 16, 1938.
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Dear Keyes...
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I suppose you'll call this a confession when you hear it.
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Well, I don't like the word confession.
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I just want to set you right about something you couldn't see...
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because it was smack up against your nose.
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You think you're such a hot potato as a Claims Manager...
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such a wolf on a phony claim.
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Maybe you are, but let's take a look at that Dietrichson claim.
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Accident and double indemnity.
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You were pretty good in there for a while, Keyes.
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You said it wasn't an accident. Check.
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You said it wasn't suicide. Check.
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You said it was murder. Check.
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You thought you had it cold, didn't you?
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All wrapped up in tissue paper, with pink ribbons around it.
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It was perfect.
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Except it wasn't, because you made one mistake...
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just one little mistake.
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When it came to picking the killer, you picked the wrong guy.
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You want to know who killed Dietrichson?
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Hold tight to that cheap cigar of yours, Keyes.
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I killed Dietrichson.
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Me, Walter Neff, insurance salesman.
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35 years old, unmarried, no visible scars...
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until a while ago, that is.
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Yes, I killed him.
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I killed him for money...
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and for a woman.
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And I didn't get the money and I didn't get the woman.
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Pretty, isn't it?
