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“I don’t suppose these come in black,” she mused.
“Otherwise, Teri would have them,” Cotter agreed.
“When I was her age,” Rebus said, “only Goths I knew of were pubs.”
Cotter laughed. “Yes, Gothenburgs. They were community pubs, weren’t they?”
Rebus nodded. “Unless she’s under the bed, I’m guessing she’s not here. Any idea where we might find her?”
“I could try her mobile…”
“Would that be this one?” Siobhan said, holding up a small glossy black phone.
“That’s it,” Cotter agreed.
“Not like a teenager to leave her phone at home,” Siobhan mused.
“No, well… Teri’s mum can be…” He twitched his shoulders, as if feeling a sudden discomfort.
“Can be what, sir?” Rebus prodded.
“She likes to keep tabs on Teri, is that it?” Siobhan guessed. Cotter nodded, relieved that she’d saved him the trouble of spelling it out.
“Teri should be home later,” he said, “if it can wait.”
“We’d rather get it over and done with, Mr. Cotter,” Rebus explained.
“Well…”
“Time being money and all that, as I’m sure you’d agree.”
Cotter nodded. “You could try Cockburn Street. A few of her friends sometimes congregate there.”
Rebus looked at Siobhan. “We should have thought of that,” he said. Siobhan’s mouth gave a twitch of agreement. Cockburn Street, a winding conduit between the Royal Mile and Waverley Station, had always enjoyed a louche reputation. Decades back, it had been the haunt of hippies and dropouts, selling cheesecloth shirts, tie-dye and cigarette papers. Rebus had frequented a good secondhand record stall, without ever bothering with the clothes. These days, the new alternative cultures lionized the place. A good street for browsing, if your tastes inclined towards the macabre or the stoned.
As they walked back along the hallway, Rebus noticed that one door had a small porcelain plaque stating that this was “Stuart’s Room.” Rebus paused in front of it.
“Your son?”
Cotter nodded slowly. “Charlotte… my wife… she wants it kept the way it was before the accident.”
“No shame in that, sir,” Siobhan offered, sensing Cotter’s embarrassment.
“I suppose not.”
“Tell me,” Rebus said, “did Teri’s Goth phase start before or after her brother’s death?”
Cotter looked at him. “Soon after.”
“The pair of them were close?” Rebus guessed.
“I suppose so… But I don’t see what any of this has to do with…”
Rebus shrugged. “Just curious, that’s all. Sorry: it’s one of the pitfalls of the job.”
Cotter seemed to accept this, and led them back down the staircase.
“I buy CDs there,” Siobhan said. They were back in the car, heading for Cockburn Street.
“Ditto,” Rebus told her. And he’d often seen the Goths, taking up more than their fair share of sidewalk, spilling down the flight of steps to the side of the old Scotsman building, sharing cigarettes and trading tips on the latest bands. They started to appear as soon as school had finished for the day, maybe changing out of their uniforms and into the regulation black. Makeup and baubles, hoping to fit in and stand out at the same time. Thing was, people were harder to shock these days. Once upon a time, collar-length hair would have done it. Then glam came along, followed by its bastard offspring, punk. Rebus still remembered one Saturday when he’d been out buying records. Starting the long climb up Cockburn Street and passing his first punks: all slouches and spiky hair, chains and sneers. It had been too much for the middle-aged woman behind him, who’d spluttered out the words “Can’t you walk like human beings?” probably making the punks’ day in the process.
“We could park at the bottom of the road and walk up,” Siobhan suggested as they neared Cockburn Street.
“I’d rather park at the top and walk down,” Rebus countered.
They were in luck: a space opened up just as they approached, and they were able to park on Cockburn Street itself, only a few yards from where a bunch of Goths were milling around.
“Bingo,” Rebus said, spotting Miss Teri in animated conversation with two friends.
“You’ll need to get out first,” Siobhan told him. Rebus saw the problem: there were bags of rubbish sitting curbside, awaiting collection and blocking the driver’s-side door. He got out, holding the door open so Siobhan could slide across and make her exit. Feet were ru
The fighting was spilling across the street, bodies pushed against windows, hands clawing at necks. Only five attackers to a dozen Goths, but the five were strong and vicious. Siobhan had run forward to tackle one of them. Rebus saw Miss Teri diving through a shop doorway, slamming the door after her. The door was glass, and her pursuer was looking around for something to throw through it. Rebus took a deep breath and hollered.
“Rab Fisher! Hey, Rab! Over here!” The pursuer stopped, looked in Rebus’s direction. Rebus was waving a gloved hand. “Remember me, Rab?”
Fisher’s mouth twisted in a sneer. Another of his gang had recognized Rebus. “Polis!” he yelled, the other Lost Boys heeding his call. They gathered in the middle of the road, chests pumping, breathing hard.
“Ready for that trip to Saughton, lads?” Rebus asked loudly, taking a step forwards. Four of them turned and ran, jogging downhill. Rab Fisher lingered, then gave the glass door a final stubborn kick before sauntering off to join his friends. Siobhan was helping a couple of the Goths to their feet, checking for injuries. There had been no knives or missiles; mostly it was only pride that had taken a beating. Rebus walked over to the glass door. Behind it, Miss Teri had been joined by a woman in a white coat, the kind worn by doctors and pharmacists. Rebus saw a row of gleaming cubicles; it was a ta
“Remember me, Teri?” he said.
She studied him, then nodded. “You’re the policeman I met.” Rebus held out a hand towards the woman.
“You must be Teri’s mother. I’m DI Rebus.”
“Charlotte Cotter,” the woman said, taking his hand. She was in her late thirties, with lots of wavy ash-blond hair. Her face was lightly ta
“What was all that about?” he asked Teri.
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“You get a lot of hassle?”
“They’re always getting hassle,” her mother answered for her, receiving a glare for her trouble. “Verbal abuse, sometimes more.”
“Like you’d know,” her daughter argued.
“I see things.”
“Is that why you opened this place? To keep an eye on me?” Teri had started playing with the gold chain around her neck. Rebus could see a diamond hanging from it.
“Teri,” Charlotte Cotter said with a sigh, “all I’m saying is -”
“I’m going outside,” Teri muttered.
“Before you do,” Rebus interrupted, “any chance I could have a word?”