“I feel for them.”

Rider met Hook’s eyes for a moment longer and then looked down at his drink. In his jaw a muscle tightened, relaxed, tightened again. He was not enjoying himself.

“Isn’t it a fundamental right to face one’s accuser?” Hook asked him.

“They’re not accusing you of anything. Or your son.”

“Just of killing himself.”

The sergeant wearily shook his head. “Again—one of them claims to have witnessed the act—that’s all.”

“And the other neatly supplies the motive.”

Rider put his face in his hands and rubbed it, mauled it, like an infant waking. He sighed. “Mr. Hook, please try to understand this. The death happened a few minutes after midnight on this very day. So there’s still a heckuva lot of investigating to be done, questions that will undoubtedly come up—and be answered. In our book right now the cause of death is listed as undetermined. And that’s just what it is. It appears to be a suicide at this point, and that’s about all we can say. If new facts come up, and those facts indicate something besides suicide—don’t worry, an inquest will be held. And if anybody seems to be guilty of anything, they will be indicted. It’s that simple. We’re not in the business of covering things up. Or protecting anybody. And I mean anybody.”

Hook nodded understanding, concurrence. But nothing had changed as far as he was concerned. “I still want to talk to them.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Rider repeated. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Tonight, Sergeant.”

Rider shook his head again. “No chance.”

Hook lit a cigarette. He wanted to be rid of the sergeant now. He had heard all he needed or cared to hear—from him. Rider asked him if he had had anything to eat all day. Had he checked into a motel yet? Did he want to collapse?

“I’ll be all right, Sergeant. I can take care of myself.”

Rider looked at his watch. “It’s seven. Can I drop you anywhere? Come on, let me drive you to a motel. You need rest. You gotta be worn out.”

“I’ll be all right,” Hook repeated. “Thank you for your trouble.”

The sergeant looked exasperated. “I just can’t leave you here like this,” he protested. “At least let me drive you to a motel. Get you checked in.”

“I think I’ll stay here, Sergeant. Have a few drinks, eat something, then take a cab to a motel. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Hook said it calmly, easily, and he saw in the sergeant’s eyes, in the sudden resignation there, that his words had done the job. Shrugging agreement, Rider squeezed out of the booth and stood up, taking the bar check with him.

“Okay then. Suit yourself,” he said. “You give me a call in the morning, though, all right? I’ll pick you up and we’ll go out to the scene—whether the ladies feel like talking or not.” And suddenly his hand was on Hook’s shoulder, in a brief impulsive contact that seemed to surprise him as much as it did Hook. “You take it easy, now,” he said.