Calypso by Ed McBain Page A

asked.
        "Dragging him around the floor like he was hypnotized."
        "Uh-huh," Meyer said, and looked up from his notebook. "Did he ever leave the ballroom with her? Where was this, anyway?"
        "The Hotel Shalimar, I told you."
        "Yes, I know, but any particular ballroom?"
        "The Moonglow Ballroom."
        "Did he ever leave with her? Did you see him leaving with her?"
        "Once. Well, let me correct that, man. I didn't see him leaving with her, but I saw him outside with her."
        "Outside where?"
        "In the hallway outside. I was going to the men's room, and I saw Santo and the blonde coming up the stairs."
        "From where?"
        "From the floor downstairs, I guess," Bones said, and shrugged.
        "When you say he looked hypnotized-"
        "That was just an expression."
        "You weren't suggesting-"
        "Dope?" Bones said. "Dope, yes."
        "I don't think Santo was doing dope."
        "Not even a little pot every now and then?"
        "No," Bones said, "I don't think so. Not Santo. No, definitely not. He respected his body too much. Whenever we had a rehearsal-we used to rehearse in the basement of the First Episcopal in Diamondback-Santo used to go in the ladies' room and-"
        "The ladies' room?"
        "Yeah, cause there was a mirror in there, a full-length mirror. There were mirrors in the men's room, too, you understand, but they were over the sinks, and Santo wanted to see his gorgeous body in full living color, you dig?"
        "Yes, mm, I dig," Meyer said. "So he went in the ladies' room, right?"
        "Well, there was no danger of anybody walking in on him. I mean, we were down there all alone, rehearsing. This was in the basement of the church, you fathom, man?"
        "I fathom. What was he, a weight lifter or something?"
        "How'd you guess? Wait a minute, you done some lifting yourself, didn't you?"
        "Once upon a time," Meyer said.
        "Did you used to go in the ladies' room and admire yourself?"
        "No, not the ladies' room."
        "You look pretty good for a man your age," Bones said. "How old are you, anyway?"
        Meyer was reluctant to tell Bones how old he really was because then he'd have to explain further that bald-headed men sometimes took on an appearance that belied their true youthfulness, sometimes in fact appeared stodgy and stuffy when their hearts were really in the highlands-and then he remembered that he had not taken off his Professor Higgins hat. It was still sitting there on top of his head, hiding his baldness and causing him to wonder what else there was about him that might prompt a casual observer to refer to him as "a man your age."
        He decided to ignore Bones's question, decided also to sidestep any further discussion of those days when he was but a mere lad pumping iron in his bedroom, lest some inadvertent clue-like mentioning the emperor's name, for example, or making reference to the chariot races that week-would enable Bones to pinpoint his decrepitude more precisely. Instead, and solely because a femme fatale now seemed to have entered the picture in a very healthy, long-legged, full-breasted California-type way, and seemed to have cast a spell upon Santo the moment she slithered across the floor of the Moonglow Ballroom to perch herself upon his shoulder as he bonged his bongos, Meyer asked the question that-properly answered- might at least have brought up the curtain on the three-act drama known as Santo's Disappearance (to be retitled Rashomon as soon as Meyer compared notes with Carella), and the question was this:
        "Tell me, Mr. Bones, is it possible that Santo left the hotel with this woman? After the job, I mean? Is it possible he simply left with her?"
        Anything was possible, of course, but the question-on the face of it-was patently absurd. If Bones had seen Santo leaving the hotel with the mysterious blonde (who