It was a semi-detached house at the end of a cul-de-sac on a modern development. From this part of South Queensferry there was no view of the bridges, and no inkling of the ancient streets only a quarter of a mile away. Cars sat in their driveways-middle-management models: Rovers and BMWs and Audis. No fences separating the homes, just lawn leading to path leading to more lawn. Siobhan had parked curbside. She stood a couple of feet behind Rebus as he managed to ring the doorbell. A dazed-looking girl answered. Her hair needed washing and brushing, and her eyes were bloodshot.

“Your mum or dad in?”

“They’re not talking,” she said, making to close the door again.

“We’re not reporters.” Rebus fumbled with his ID. “I’m Detective Inspector Rebus.”

She looked at the ID, then stared at him.

“Rebus?” she said.

He nodded. “You know the name?”

“I think so…” Suddenly there was a man behind her. He held out a hand to Rebus.

“John. It’s been a while.”

Rebus nodded at Allan Renshaw. “Probably thirty years, Allan.”

The two men were studying each other, trying to fit faces to their memories. “You took me to the football once,” Renshaw said.

“Raith Rovers, wasn’t it? Can’t remember who they were playing.”

“Well, you better come in.”

“You understand, Allan, I’m here in an official capacity.”

“I heard you were in the police. Funny how things turn out.” As Rebus followed his cousin down the hall, Siobhan introduced herself to the young woman, who in turn said she was Kate, “Derek’s sister.”

Siobhan remembered the name from the case information. “You’re at university, Kate?”