Despite the rock and the whirlpool, he found it a beautiful place, this place where his son had died. Ten days ago the boy had been here, he reflected, had viewed this same sea and those same islands. His eyes saw. His ears heard. His heart beat. He lived, and knew he lived. And now he lived no more. He was like rock, like sand, like a broken branch. He was a thing, a buried thing. And Hook did not understand. He had never understood life, the raw pink babies he had held, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood. And he did not understand the death of that life now. Stars and stones and life and death, all was mystery to him.

6

When he returned to the beach house to get his car, Hook saw the familiar maroon Jaguar come up the blacktop lane and turn into the driveway. Elizabeth Madera was behind the wheel. Next to her was the man she had talked with earlier at Jack Douglas’s office. At first, as they struggled out of the low-slung car, neither noticed him; they were both looking in the direction of his parked Galaxie. Then Miss Madera turned and saw him. And in the seaside quiet her voice carried clear and cold.

“It’s him.”

Douglas—and Hook did not doubt that was who the man was—turned easily, loosely, even smiling slightly as Hook approached them.

“Mr. Hook—I’m Jack Douglas.” He put out his hand.

Hook took hold of it, a strong hand but soft as calfskin. “How do you do?”

“Fine, thank you. Liz here was telling me about your meeting at the sheriff’s this morning. I want you to know you have my sympathy. I’m a father myself. I think I can understand a little of what you’re going through.”

The words came too easily, too glibly, yet Hook could not fault the man’s expression, which had no trace of cheeriness or false goodwill. His face was strong and squarish, with small even teeth that looked almost phosphorescent against his dark tan. And Hook saw that his hair, which had appeared shaggy from the half-block distance of Hook’s parked car that morning, was simply fashionably long and razor-cut. But the sport coat and trousers looked just as rumpled as they had earlier, rumpled and expensive.

Hook thanked him for his expression of sympathy.

“Were you waiting here for Liz?” Douglas asked. “Was there something else you wanted to see her about?”

“I’m not sure. I just got in the car and came out here.”

Douglas’s eyes flicked from Hook to the cliff edge and then back again. “Well, I think we can understand that. And I’m sure you’re welcome here. In fact, why don’t you come in and have a drink? I know I could use one. I’ve had one hell of a busy day so far.”

Hook looked at Liz Madera. “If it’s all right with you,” he said.

Douglas smiled. “Of course it’s all right with Liz. Come on, let’s go in.”