Calypso by Ed McBain Page B

would become even more mysterious later on when Carella revealed that Barragan hadn't once mentioned her), if indeed Bones had even the faintest suspicion that Santo and the blonde had vanished into the stormy night together, under the same umbrella perhaps, why wouldn't he have mentioned this to the late George C. Chadderton? And wouldn't this noble gentleman (a prick, according to Barragan and Bones alike) then have limited his search to only those ladies of California-type, long-legged, big-breasted persuasion? Of course. Even recognizing this, Meyer waited breathlessly for Bones's answer.
        "Yes," Bones said, "I think that's exactly what happened."
        "Would you elaborate on that?" Meyer said.
        "I think he split with her."
        "And then what?"
        "I don't know what," Bones said.
        "When's the last time you saw him?" Meyer said.
        "During the last set."
        "Then what?"
        "He went down the hall with Vinnie."
        "Vinnie?"
        "Vinnie Barragan."
        "By down the hall…"
        "To take a leak," Bones said.
        "Then what?"
        "Georgie and me packed up and went downstairs to wait for them."
        "Where'd you wait?"
        "Under the canopy there. The hotel canopy."
        "Yeah, go ahead."
        "We saw Vinnie coming out of the elevator, so we started running for the van. Coupla minutes later, Vinnie came over to the van, but there was no Santo with him. So we go back in the hotel looking for him, but he's gone."
        "And you think he left with the blonde, is that it?"
        "Isn't that what you'da done, man?"
        "Well," Meyer said, and let the word dangle. He frankly did not know what he might have done had a beautiful blonde in a slinky white gown come around casting spells on him, but he sure as hell knew what his wife Sarah would have done if ever she'd spotted him leaving the Hotel Shalimar or any hotel with such a blonde on his arm. Within minutes, the cops of Mid-town North would have been investigating the strange and baffling death of a bald-headed detective whose skull had been crushed by a stale bagel. "Did you mention this to George?" he said. "That his brother might have left with the blonde?"
        "Nope," Bones said.
        "How come?"
        "Fuck him," Bones said, summing up quite simply how he'd felt about the late George C. Chadderton.
        "This blonde," Meyer said, "I wonder if you can describe her a bit more fully."
        "Gorgeous," Bones said.
        "How tall would you say she was?"
        "Five ten at least," Bones said.
        "How old was she?"
        "At first I'd have said her twenties, but I think she may have been older than that. Her early thirties, I'd say."
        "What makes you say that?"
        "You can tell by the way a chick carries herself, you dig? This one was older. Maybe thirty, maybe even a little older than that. Healthy, you understand, all these California types are healthy as hell, man, they can fool you with all that healthiness, you can think they're twenty when they're really fifty."
        "But this woman looked to be in her thirties, is that right?"
        "No, she carried herself that way."
        "I don't understand," Meyer said, puzzled. "Did she look thirty, or did she…?"
        "Well, how would I know how she looked, man?" Meyer blinked. "What do you mean?" he said.
        "She was wearing a mask," Bones said.
        "A mask?" Meyer said, and blinked again. "At a wedding?"
        "Oh," Bones said. "Yeah." He blinked, too. "Maybe I got something mixed up, huh?" he said.
        
***
        
        Carella and Meyer, on the telephone together at eight-thirty that night, agreed that somebody-either Barragan or Bones- had sure as hell got something mixed up. It was Meyer's guess that Bones was the man with the faulty memory, and Carella agreed that perhaps the tall slinky blonde had indeed been a figment of the