Some rebel.

Miss Teri disappeared around the bend, and Rebus headed for the Boatman’s, where Siobhan was waiting with the drinks.

“Thought I was going to have to drink yours,” she said by way of complaint.

“Sorry.” He cupped the glass in both hands and lifted it. Siobhan had found them a corner table, nobody close by. Two piles of paperwork sat in front of her, alongside her lime soda and an open packet of peanuts.

“How are the hands?” she asked.

“I’m worried I may never play the piano again.”

“A tragic loss to the world of popular music.”

“You ever listen to heavy metal, Siobhan?”

“Not if I can help it.” She paused. “Maybe a bit of Motorhead to get the party started.”

“I was thinking of the newer stuff.”

She shook her head. “You really think we’re all right here?”

He looked around. “Locals don’t seem interested. It’s not like we’re going to be flashing autopsy photos or anything.”

“There are pictures of the crime scene, though.”

“Keep them tucked away for now.” Rebus swallowed another mouthful of beer.

“You sure you can drink with those tablets you’re taking?”

He ignored her, nodded towards one of the piles instead. “So,” he said, “what have we got, and how long can we stretch this assignment out for?”

She smiled. “Not keen on another meeting with the boss?”

“Don’t tell me you’re looking forward to it?”

She seemed to give this some thought, then offered a shrug.

“You glad Fairstone’s dead?” Rebus asked.

She glared at him.

“Just curious,” he said, thinking again of Miss Teri. He made a show of trying to slide one of the top sheets towards him, until Siobhan took the hint and did it for him. Then the two of them sat side by side, not noticing the light outside waning as the afternoon slurred towards evening.