man with the hay fever, was also on Plimasine, yet no one touched a hair on his head—Wait a moment.”
I sat there with gaping mouth like a moron. Barth stared at me in silence.
“They all showed signs of baldness,” I said at last. “Baldness?”
“The beginning stages, at least. Wait a minute. Right, Decker had a bald spot, too… at the back of the head. But that still doesn’t… oh, never mind.”
“But you’re not exactly bald,” observed Barth.
“Sorry? Oh, right—I’m not. That was an oversight. But if Decker escaped injury… even though he showed signs of baldness… But what connection could there be between baldness and insanity?”
“Or between insanity and diabetes?”
“You’re right, doctor, that’s not a valid question.”
“Was the question of baldness completely overlooked?”
“The situation was like this. We compared those who died with those who left Naples unharmed. The question of baldness certainly came up. The problem was that verification was possible only in the case of the victims, since most of the survivors would have been reluctant to admit they were wearing a toupee. Human pride being what it is, this is one area where people tend to be extremely sensitive, and getting people to submit willingly to an on-the-spot examination would have been tricky. Also, it would have meant trying to locate the place where the wig or hair transplant had been ordered, and we simply had neither the time nor the staff for that.”
“Wasn’t it considered very relevant?”
“People were divided. Some thought it was a waste of time trying to establish whether any of the survivors was anxious to conceal his baldness, and didn’t see what connection that would have with the tragic fates of the others.”
“Well, then, if you had taken the hair factor into consideration, why did you act so startled a moment ago?”
“It was a negative correlation, I’m afraid. What startled me was that none of the deceased had tried to conceal his baldness. Not one of them had worn a toupee or undergone a hair transplant. There are such operations, you know.”
“So I’ve heard. Anything else?”
“Nothing—except that all the victims were in the process of going bald and made no effort to conceal it, whereas the survivors included both those who were balding and those with a normal head of hair. A minute ago I was reminded of Decker’s bald spot, that’s all. For a moment I thought I’d stumbled onto something. It wouldn’t have been the first time, either. You see, I’ve been at this for so long that now and then I begin seeing things, phantoms…”
“Oh, that smacks of magic spells, spirits from the other world… But maybe there’s something to it.”
“Do you believe in the existence of spirits?” A long and hard stare.
“It’s probably enough if
“All right. Supposing there was such a person,” I said, sitting up in my chair, “what then?”
“Let’s assume this fortuneteller tries to win people’s confidence through various kinds of tricks and seances, gives away samples of some miraculous elixir imported from Tibet, some type of narcotic that makes the client totally dependent on him or is passed off as a cure-all for every conceivable ailment… Now let’s suppose that out of a hundred such cases there are some ten or eleven who rashly consume an overdose of the stuff…”
“Right!” I exclaimed. “But in that case wouldn’t the Italians have been wise to his little game? The Italian police, I mean? The fact is that in some cases we were so familiar with the victim’s routine we knew exactly when he left the hotel, what he liked to wear, which were his favorite newsstands and even which papers he bought, which cabin he used for changing clothes at the beach, what and where he ate, which opera performances he saw… Now we might have missed such a quack or guru in one or two instances, but not in every single case. No, there never was any such person. Besides, the whole thing sounds too far-fetched. It’s not just that none of them knew Italian; but would a Swede with a university education, a rare-book dealer, and a respectable businessman be likely to visit an Italian fortuneteller? Besides, none of them would have had the time…”
“Refuted but not defeated. Here goes another wild shot.” He sat up in his chair. “If something had them hooked, then it must have strung them along gently and without leaving a trace. Right?”
“Right.”
“No what else could have hooked them in a purely private, intimate, and casual sort of way but—sex!”
I hesitated before answering.
“No. Granted, there were a few brief erotic encounters, but that’s hardly the same thing. Believe me, we did such a thorough background check we couldn’t possibly have overlooked anything as ‘big’ as a woman, a sex orgy, or a brothel. No, it must have been something else, something utterly banal…”
I was a little surprised by these last words of mine, since I’d never thought of it in such terms before. But it turned out to be grist for Barth’s mill.
“Banal but lethal… Yes, why not! Some shameful and hidden desire, some secret lust that had to be satisfied… Not shameful to us, perhaps, but something that might have meant a horrible scandal for others if it were ever made public…”
“The circle has closed,” I said. “Because now you’ve come around to the very same position you forced me to abandon a while ago, namely, psychology…”
Someone honked outside. Looking very young at that moment, the doctor stood up, peered down below, and shook his finger threateningly. The honking stopped. I was surprised to notice it had already grown dark. I consulted my watch and was shocked to discover that I’d taken up three hours of Barth’s time. I stood up to say good-bye, but he refused to hear anything of the sort.
“Oh, no, you don’t. First of all, you’ll stay with us for dinner. Second, we didn’t settle anything. And third, or, rather, first and foremost, I’d like to apologize for reversing the roles and grilling you like some examining magistrate. I’ll admit I had an ulterior motive, one not exactly worthy of a host… I wanted to find out certain things—both about you and from you—things I couldn’t get from the files. It’s always been my feeling that only a person can convey the atmosphere of a case. At times I was even out to provoke you a little, to needle you, but I must say you took it very well, though you haven’t nearly as good a poker face as you imagine you do… If there’s any thing that can redeem me in your eyes, then let it be my good intentions, because I’m ready to offer you my services. But let’s sit down until dinner’s served. They’ll ring when it’s ready.”
We sat down again. I felt enormously relieved.
“I’ll work on the case,” he continued, “though I don’t believe we’ll have much luck… May I ask exactly how you envision my role?”
“This is a case lending itself to a multifactorial analysis,” I began cautiously, selecting my words with care. “I’m not familiar with your program but I am familiar with a number of GPSS-type programs, and I assume your computer is somewhat analogous. The problem is not so much a criminal as an intellectual one. Obviously the computer won’t be able to identify the culprit, but it might be able to eliminate the culprit as an unknown factor. Solving the case would mean positing a theory to account for the fatalities, a law governing these deaths…”
Dr, Barth looked at me almost with sympathy. Or perhaps is was only the way the light fell from above, gently modulating his features every time he made the slightest movement.
“When I said
“Why not?”
“Very simple. The computer won’t work without hard data.” He spread out his arms. “And what are we supposed to use as hard data in this case? Let’s suppose a new narcotics ring is operating in Naples, that a hotel is being used as a drop, and they are delivering the stuff by substituting it for the salt in certain salt shakers. Now isn’t it possible for the salt shakers to get switched around occasionally on the dining-room tables? In that case wouldn’t only those who like salt on their food run the risk of getting drugged? And how, may I ask, is a computer supposed to process this if the processing data include nothing about the salt shakers, the drugs, or the culinary habits of the victims?”
I looked at him with admiration. How adept he was at manipulating such ideas. The dinner bell rang, louder
