Where Is Bianca? by Ellery Queen Page B

unprofessional. She was an item in a case. A police officer on duty could hardly afford to lose himself in a pair of hazel eyes. But he had picked a bad place to keep his mind off his gonads. It was a hideaway restaurant with soft lights and self-effacing waiters and an excellent pianist in the background who was playing Mozart.
    Jean smiled at him as she drew back from the lighter.
    â€œWell, Captain?”
    â€œOh, the hell with it,” he said. “I’ll have to admit something to you. You’re far and away the unlikeliest lady executive I ever met. Certainly not what I pictured when I first heard about you.”
    â€œReally?” Jean murmured. “Then I’ll admit something to you . I have to keep reminding myself that you’re a policeman. But I must, mustn’t I?”
    â€œWe both must.”
    â€œThat sounds interesting,” she said. “Why do people always think of policemen in terms of big feet and brutality?”
    â€œBecause we’re in the middle. If we don’t do a job we’re corrupt. If we do do it, we’re brutal. We’re damned either way.”
    â€œNow you’re feeling sorry for yourself,” she laughed.
    â€œYou’d better know it now,” Corrigan said, twirling his brandy by the stem. “My motives in asking you to dinner weren’t entirely official.”
    â€œYou sound as if you really mean that.”
    â€œI mean it.”
    She looked at him steadily over her cigarette. He looked back. It was she who turned away, flushing. “Hadn’t we better keep this official until the Bianca thing is settled?”
    He kept looking at her. She’s in trouble, he thought. Or troubled. He caught a flash of Carlton Ainsley and wondered what having a father like that must mean to a girl like this. Ainsley was enough to trouble any daughter. Or did it go deeper? Was it tied up with this Bianca Lessard business? But here his mood balked.
    He said, “Bianca might well turn up safe, you know.”
    She glanced back at him quickly. “But the girl in that morgue.…”
    â€œI’d get a coarse dressing down if my superiors heard about this,” Corrigan said, “but I’m going to tell you anyway. Don’t ask me why, but I trust you.”
    â€œIf you think you shouldn’t.…”
    â€œIn my racket you play hunches.” And pray, he thought.
    â€œAll right, Tim,” she said.
    Tim.
    â€œWe’ve identified the body. I don’t want the papers getting it just yet A lot of questions remain unanswered. It’s like war. What the enemy doesn’t know we know can hurt him.”
    â€œSo the girl isn’t Bianca,” Jean said, drawing a breath. “Thank God for that. Who is she, Tim? Can you tell me?”
    â€œIn confidence, Noreen Gardner. An actress.”
    Jean looked a little sick.
    Corrigan said quickly, “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing. It’s just that I thought some pretty drastic thoughts about that girl. Now, hearing she’s dead, I suppose I feel guilty.”
    â€œI had a brother whose wife died,” Corrigan said. “She was a bitch. It was a long time ago. But I still remember. My mother bawled me out for not ‘grieving’ at the funeral. I said to her, ‘Ma, I didn’t like her when she was alive, and I can’t see why her death ought to make me like her any better.” I got smacked in the face for it; I had a tough mama. I still feel that way. What were the thoughts?”
    â€œNoreen always seemed to me to be greedy and sly,” Jean said. “I hope you won’t think me a snob if I characterize her as an alley brat. A pure slum product that never straightened out. Is that awful of me?”
    â€œAlong with the sweet-smelling roses,” Corrigan said, “a lot of garbage comes out of the slums. I’ll accept the characterization; it only confirms what I’ve heard from other sources.