“I’m not going to press charges, or anything!”

“You see how stubborn she is?” Charlotte Cotter said, sounding exasperated. “I heard you shout out a name, Inspector. Does that mean you know these thugs? You can arrest them…?”

“I’m not sure it would do any good, Mrs. Cotter.”

“But you saw them!”

Rebus nodded. “And now they’ve been warned. Could be enough to do the trick. Thing is, it’s not just chance that I was here. I wanted a word with Teri.”

“Oh?”

“Come on, then,” Teri said, grabbing him by the arm. “Sorry, Mum, got to go help the police with their inquiries.”

“Hang on, Teri…”

But it was too late. Charlotte Cotter could only watch as her daughter dragged the detective back outside and across the road to where the mood was lightening. Battle scars were being compared. One boy in a black trench coat was sniffing his lapels, wrinkling his nose to acknowledge that the coat would need a good wash. The rubbish from the torn bag had been gathered together-mostly by Siobhan, Rebus guessed. She was trying to elicit help in filling an intact bag, the gift of a neighboring shop.

“Everybody okay?” Teri asked. There were smiles and nods. It looked to Rebus like they were enjoying the moment. Victims again, and happy with their lot. Like the punks and the woman, they had got their reaction. Still a group, but strengthened now: war stories they could share. Other kids-on their slow route home from school, still dressed in uniform-had stopped to listen. Rebus led Miss Teri back up the street and into the nearest watering hole.

“We don’t serve her kind!” the woman behind the bar snapped.

“You do when I’m here,” Rebus snapped back.

“She’s underage,” the woman pressed.

“Then she’ll take a soft drink.” He turned to Teri. “What’ll it be?”

“Vodka tonic.”

Rebus smiled. “Give her a Coke. I’ll have a Laphroaig with a splash of water.” He paid for the drinks, confident enough now to try bringing coins from his pocket as well as notes.

“How are the hands?” Teri Cotter asked.

“Fine,” he said. “You can carry the drinks, though.” They received a few stares as they made their way to a table. Teri seemed pleased with the reception, blowing a kiss at one man, who just sneered and looked away.

“You pick a fight in here,” Rebus warned her, “you’re on your own.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I saw that, the way you ran to your mum’s as soon as the Lost Boys arrived.”

She glowered at him.

“Good plan, by the way,” he added. “Defense the better part of valor and all that. Is it true what your mum says, this sort of thing happens a lot?”

“Not as much as she seems to think.”

“And yet you keep coming to Cockburn Street?”

“Why shouldn’t we?”

He shrugged. “No reason. Bit of masochism never hurt anyone.”

She stared at him, then smiled, gazing down into her glass.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his own.

“You got the quote wrong,” she said. “‘The better part of valor is discretion.’” Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part One.”

“Not that you and your pals could be described as discreet.”

“I try not to be.”

“You do a good job. When I mentioned the Lost Boys, you didn’t seem surprised. Meaning you know them?”

She looked down again, the hair falling over her pale face. Her fingers stroked the glass, nails glossy black. Slender hands and wrists. “Got a cigarette?” she asked.

“Light us a couple,” Rebus said, digging the pack out of his jacket pocket. She placed the lit cigarette between his lips.

“People will start to talk,” she said, exhaling smoke.

“I doubt it, Miss Teri.” He watched the door swing open, Siobhan walk in. She saw him, and nodded towards the toilets, holding up her hands to let him know she was going to wash them.

“You like being an outsider, don’t you?” Rebus asked.

Teri Cotter nodded.

“And that’s why you liked Lee Herdman: he was an outsider, too.” She looked at him. “We found your photo in his flat. From which I assume you knew him.”

“I knew him. Can I see the photo?”

Rebus took it from his pocket. It was held inside a clear polyethylene envelope. “Where was it taken?” he asked.

“Right here,” she said, gesturing towards the street.

“You knew him pretty well, didn’t you?”

“He liked us. Goths, I mean. Never really understood why.”

“He had a few parties, didn’t he?” Rebus was remembering the albums in Herdman’s flat: music for Goths to dance to.

Teri was nodding, blinking back tears. “Some of us used to go to his place.” She held up the photo. “Where did you find this?”

“Inside a book he was reading.”

“Which book?”

“Why do you want to know?”

She shrugged. “Just wondered.”

“It was a biography, I think. Some soldier who ended up doing himself in.”

“You think that’s a clue?”

“A clue?”

She nodded. “To why Lee killed himself.”

“Might be, I suppose. Did you ever meet any of his friends?”

“I don’t think he had many friends.”

“What about Doug Brimson?” The question came from Siobhan. She was sliding onto the banquette.

Teri’s mouth twitched. “Yeah, I know him.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic,” Rebus commented.

“You could say that.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Siobhan wanted to know. Rebus could see her prickling.

Teri just shrugged.

“The two lads who died,” Rebus said, “ever see them at the parties?”

“As if.”

“Meaning what?”

She looked at him. “They weren’t the type. Rugby and jazz music and the Cadets.” As if this explained everything.

“Did Lee ever talk about his time in the army?”

“Not much.”

“But you asked him?” She nodded slowly. “And you knew he had a thing about guns?”

“I knew he kept pictures…” She bit her lip, but too late.

“On the inside of his wardrobe door,” Siobhan added. “It’s not everyone who’d know that, Teri.”

“Doesn’t mean anything!” Teri’s voice had risen. She was playing with her neck chain again.

“Nobody’s on trial here, Teri,” Rebus said. “We just want to know what made him do it.”

“How should I know?”

“Because you knew him, and it seems not many people did.”

Teri was shaking her head. “He never told me anything. That was the thing about him-like he had secrets. But I never thought he’d…”

“No?”

She fixed her eyes on Rebus’s but said nothing.

“He ever show you a gun, Teri?” Siobhan asked.

“No.”

“Ever hint that he had access to one?”

A shake of the head.

“You say he never really opened up to you… what about the other way round?”

“How do you mean?”

“Did he ask about you? Maybe you spoke to him about your family?”

“I might have.”

Rebus leaned forwards. “We were sorry to hear about your brother, Teri.”

Siobhan, too, leaned forwards. “You probably mentioned the crash to Lee Herdman.”

“Or maybe one of your pals did,” Rebus added.

Teri saw that they were hemming her in. No escape from their stares and questions. She had placed the photo on the table, concentrating her attention on it.

“Lee didn’t take this,” she said, as if trying to change the subject.

“Anyone else we should talk to, Teri?” Rebus was asking. “People who went to Lee’s little soirees?”

“I don’t want to answer any more questions.”

“Why not, Teri?” Siobhan asked, frowning as though genuinely puzzled.

“Because I don’t.”

“Other names we can talk to…” Rebus was saying. “Might get us off your back.”

Teri Cotter sat for a moment longer, then rose to her feet and climbed onto the banquette, stepped onto the table and jumped down to the floor at the other side, the gauzy black layers of her skirts billowing out around her. Without looking back, she made for the door, opened it and banged it shut behind her. Rebus looked at Siobhan and gave a grudging smile.

“The girl has a certain style,” he said.