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Helen
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Detective Peeters is sitting in his
office, smoking a cigarette. His sleeves are rolled up and a
cigarette dangles out of his mouth. Detective Rousseau steps into the
room.
Rousseau: “She’s here.”
Peeters stands up and grabs his
jacket. He puts it on and grinds his cigarette out into an ashtray.
Peeters: “Send her in.”
Rousseau steps out of the room and a
moment later he escorts Helen Iadipaola into the room. Rousseau exits
and closes the door. Peeters gestures to a chair and the blonde takes
a seat. She crosses her legs slowly, the slit in her dress revealing
her knees. Taking out a lipstick tube and a small mirror, she puts
some lipstick on. Peeters pretends not to notice.
Helen: “You wanted to talk to me.”
Peeters steps around his desk and
takes a seat on the edge.
Peeters: “Did you know Christian
Ghent?”
Helen: “Who?”
Peeters: “The recently deceased.”
Helen: “You could have asked me
that yesterday at the hotel.”
Peeters takes out a package of
cigarettes. He offers one to the blonde. She takes it. He produces a
lighter from his pocket and leaning over lights her cigarette.
Peeters: “You looked uncomfortable
yesterday.”
She draws on the cigarette and stares
back at Peeters whose face is only inches away from her own. The
smoke slips sensuously out of her mouth.
Helen: “No. Why do you ask?”
Peeters: “A maid saw Ghent with a
blonde just before he died.”
Helen: “And she identified me?”
Peeters draws back. He shakes his
head.
Peeters: “Why are you hanging out
with Schmidt?”
Helen: “He’s got money. And he
spends it. On me.”
Peeters lights up his own cigarette.
Peeters: “Singing doesn’t pay?”
Helen: “Not enough.”
Peeters: “What’s enough?”
Helen smirks: “More than a cop can
afford.”
Peeters steps back behind his desk
and sits down in his chair.
Peeters: “I’ve seen babes like
you before.”
Helen: “Sure you have.”
Peeters: “You’re going to need my
help, Miss Iadipaola. Call me.”
Helen: “Is that it?”
Peeters: “That’s it.”
Helen stands up and turns toward the
door. She turns back to Peeters who remains in his chair.
Helen: “Aren’t you going to show
a lady the door?”
Peeters points to the door.
Peeters: “It’s over there.”
Helen smirks: “You don't much like
women, do you Detective?”
