“My name’s Ferguson,” he said. “Richard Ferguson. Mrs. Rubin and I work for the same company. I thought I’d stop by tonight and see if I could help. It’s been a real trauma—a real shock for both of them.”

So he was not expected to know the word trauma. It was a good sign. “Both?” Hook asked.

“Miss Madera. She lives here with Mrs. Rubin. She was here when the—when the accident occurred.”

Hook nodded comprehension, then turned, looking for the women, but neither of them was in evidence. The house was a split-level. He and Ferguson were on the upper level now; to his right was a kitchenette and dining bar, to his left a hallway, probably leading to a bedroom and bath. In front was a balustrade overlooking a handsomely furnished living room with a stone fireplace, beamed ceiling, and a front glass wall looking out on a broad redwood deck and, beyond, in darkness, the cliffs and the ocean. A wood fire hissed in the fireplace.

He followed Ferguson down the carpeted stairway to the living room. The young man headed for the bar across the room.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Hook?”

“No thank you. I had a couple on the plane. I flew in this afternoon.” It sounded stupid. It would do.

Ferguson poured a few fingers of Black Label scotch into a glass and sipped at it.

“I admire your strength,” he told Hook. “I mean, how you can come here tonight. I don’t think that I——”

“I’d like to talk with the women.”

“Of course. Mrs. Rubin will be right back out. But she is upset. She can’t talk long. You do understand, I hope. I mean, the poor woman—” At Hook’s glance, he fell abruptly silent.

“I’d like to talk with Miss Madera too.”

“Oh, she’s not here. She’s not in yet.”

“There are three cars in back.”

In Ferguson’s alert eyes Hook saw that his words had been a mistake. The young man was on guard now, warned.

“I mean she’s outside,” he said. “Walking. She’s a great walker, Liz is.”

“Maybe we could find her.”

“I wouldn’t know where to look in the dark. She walks on the beach. She could be anywhere.”

“She wasn’t a witness anyway. She didn’t see anything.” It was the woman again, Mrs. Rubin, coming down from the upper level. She was dressed as before, but with the addition of a scarf over her hair and rollers.

“But you did,” Hook said.

“Yes, I did.”

“Sergeant Rider told me about it. What happened. What you saw.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I don’t know. Just to see where it happened, I guess. See if you could add anything.”

Mrs. Rubin sat down on the davenport and, flipping open a box on the coffee table, took out a cigarette and lit it, her movements those of a man, a big man, rough, careless. Watching her, Hook wondered if that was why she had a younger woman living with her, as a mate, a lover, someone to play female to her tough ballsy male.