Rebus nodded slowly. `In the early days.’

Chief Inspector Lauderdale placed his mug carefully on the desktop. `But they normally wouldn't then kill the person?’

'Not normally.’

The three men sat in silence-for a moment. The Farmer broke the spell. 'An IRA punishment gang? Here?’

Rebus shrugged. `A copycat maybe. Gangs aping what they've seen in the papers or on TV.’

`But using serious guns.’

`Very serious,' said Lauderdale. `Could be a tie-in with these bomb threats.’

The Farmer nodded. `That's the line the media are taking. Maybe our would-be bomber had gone rogue, and they caught up with him.’

`There's something else, sir,' said Rebus. He'd phoned Dr Curt first thing, just to check. 'They did the knees from behind. Maximum damage. You sever the arteries before smashing kneecaps.’

'What's your point?’

'Two points, sir. One, they knew exactly what they were doing. Two, why bother when you're going to kill him anyway? Maybe whoever did it changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe the victim was meant to live. The probable handgun was a revolver. Six shots. Whoever did it must have stopped to reload before putting that final bullet in the head.’

Eyes were avoided as the three men considered this, putting themselves in the victim's place. You've been sixpacked. You think it's over. Then you hear the gun being reloaded…

'Sweet Jesus,' said the Farmer.

'There are too many guns around,' Lauderdale said matter-of-factly. It was true: over the past few years there had been a steady increase in the number of firearms on the street.

`Why Mary King's Close?’ asked the Farmer.

`You're not likely to be disturbed there,' Rebus guessed. `Plus it's virtually soundproof.’

`You could say the same about a lot of places, most of them a long way from the High Street in the middle of the Festival. They were taking a big risk. Why bother?’