RANSVESTI

"I want to see each of them," said Hamilton, turning to the other policemen. "You'll have to keep them in here, while I go into the Cabaret. Send the doctor in first."

The cabaret room was empty at that time, the dancing classes that would normally have been going on, had not yet resumed. Hamilton found himself a comfortable seat at one of the tables closest to the stage. Bobbi-Jean came in very hesitatingly from the stage area. Buchanan pushed the transvestite ahead of him, but the doctor stopped still as soon as he spied the detective-sergeant.

"Come in," said Hamilton, rising. "I'd like you to show me where you were sitting on the night that Darlene Draper was killed."

Bobbi-Jean came forward hesitatingly. He stopped again, and looked at a table in the second row from the stag, but the closest in fact to the passageway that led to the dressing rooms and to the courtyard. A dense curtain of strings of beads blocked off the passageway. A white-gloved hand gestured at the table. Hamilton walked over to it. "Sit where you did the night of the murder," he said flatly.

Bobbi-Jean's gait was quite stiff as he moved over to sit at the table. Beneath the pancake make-up and bright rouge coloring, his flesh was beginning to sag with age. The tight shining brunette curls of his wig and his bright, yellow dress were incongruous to his years. He looked like an old woman trying to recapture her youth by dressing in very modern clothes.

"At what time did you leave here on the night Darlene was killed?" asked Hamilton bluntly, fixing the nervous brunette with a steady glare.

"At the very end," the doctor was trying not to fidget. And to keep his voice soft though not ridiculous.

"Do you remember the Sisters leaving the stage?" asked Hamilton. There was just a nod in response. "Did they all leave together, or what?"

The doctor's painted face creased as he thought. "Darlene left first," he said huskily. "She fairly rushed past us. Someone was waiting for her, I think."

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