Chapter 9
THE inscription on the pebbled glass door read: “Chief of Detectives,” and below that: “Enter.”
Entering, McCord was impressed, as always, with what a nice job Inspector Regan had. Closing the door effectively shut out the world of noise and confusion, cigar smoke and sweat that was the Detective Bureau. The anteroom was big enough for two desks and half a dozen comfortable leather chairs, with plenty of room left over for pacing, if you felt like pacing. Deep-piled green carpet covered the floor, and there were opulently full drapes at the tall windows. There were no cuspidors in evidence. One of the broad, flat-topped desks was empty.
At the companion desk a neat, middle-aged woman with iron-gray hair typed precisely, efficiently, though without any great speed.
“Hello, Jul
