Where Is Bianca? Read Free Page B

foreground, or even an operator not so slick. Maybe I’m doing the guy an injustice, Corrigan thought. There is such a thing as falling in love. And he still didn’t know what Bianca looked like. He stared hard at Vincent Lessard, and mentally shook his head. If there had been love in the Fielding-Lessard affair, it was on the Fielding side. Lessard wouldn’t know what love was. But he would certainly have a solid appreciation of money. And Bianca Fielding had been loaded.
    â€œDid you argue often?”
    â€œWhat?” said Lessard.
    â€œThe question is plain enough,” Corrigan said. His voice was not so pleasant now. “Were you and your wife in the habit of arguing?”
    For the first time since entering the office, Lessard gave his attention directly to Chuck Baer. It was over in a moment, but for that moment his eyes said that he regretted ever having met Baer.
    â€œNo,” Lessard said cautiously to Corrigan. “Bianca and I got on beautifully.”
    â€œThat’s not what you told me,” said Baer.
    â€œWell, certainly in the beginning.…”
    â€œThere was a change in her?” Corrigan suggested.
    â€œI don’t believe I follow you.”
    â€œI’m trying to interpret you correctly, draw a picture of your wife. You met, you married, you came to live in the Fielding home here in New York. Then differences developed.”
    â€œI didn’t say that!”
    â€œDifferences mean only that something has changed. I assume, from the facts, that the change was in Mrs. Lessard. She’d been exhausted emotionally. Now she was regaining her stability. That means she wasn’t quite the same woman you married.”
    â€œCaptain, I love my wife! Every molecule in her body is precious to me. Do I have to call a lawyer in to make you tell me what’s happened to her?”
    Let him have it, Corrigan thought. “You loved her so much you began to tomcat around,” he said.
    This time the glance Lessard turned on Baer was positively murderous.
    â€œSo a man slips once,” he said sullenly. “I thought a client’s communication with a private detective is privileged, as with a lawyer or a clergyman.”
    â€œThis,” said Corrigan before Baer could say anything, “happens to be a special case, Mr. Lessard. You’ll find out why in due course. How long have you known that woman playwright—Frances Weatherly?”
    â€œSix weeks. Two months. She came to Bianca looking for a theater.”
    â€œNot long after you and Miss Fielding were married?”
    â€œMy God, you make it sound as bad as Bianca did!” The phony British accent was noticeably sloppy now.
    â€œYou mean you wife didn’t share your view that playing with dolls is a harmless pastime?”
    â€œWhat’s this all about? Why am I being treated as if I were a criminal? See here, Captain Corrigan, if you know something about my wife, I want to know it, and I want to know it now!”
    â€œYour wife accused you of tiring of her,” Corrigan said thoughtfully.
    â€œI wasn’t . When she turns up, I’ll convince her of that. Not that it’s any of your business, Captain! Where is she?”
    It was still an act, Corrigan decided. But was it an act to cover up guilt, or simply a way of life so ingrained that it permeated everything he said and did, even innocence?
    â€œI haven’t asked enough questions yet, Mr. Lessard,” Corrigan said, smiling. “Of course, you don’t have to answer any of them. But then I won’t feel any particular inclination to pass out official information. It’s up to you.”
    The sweat drops along Lessard’s hairline fattened visibly. A sudden thought struck Corrigan. Could the man be wearing a top piece? He tried to picture Lessard bald, and failed. He decided it was Lessard’s own hair.
    Lessard lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling slightly. Over the second