“So what’s it got to do with the shooting?” Rebus asked.

She shrugged. “Nothing at all. It’s just that when I heard… when Dad phoned me… I suddenly remembered something Derek told me a few months after the crash. He said the dead boy’s family hated him. And that’s why I thought what I did. Soon as I remembered that, the word that jumped into my head was… revenge.” She rose from her chair, holding on to Boethius, placing the cat on the vacant seat. “I think I should check on Dad. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Siobhan got up, too. “Kate,” she said, “how are you coping?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Don’t be. Her and Dad used to fight all the time. At least we don’t have that anymore…” And with another forced smile, Kate left the kitchen. Rebus looked at Siobhan, a slight raising of the eyebrows the only indication that he’d heard anything of interest in the past ten minutes. He followed Siobhan into the living room. It was dark outside now, and he switched on one of the lamps.

“Think I should close the curtains?” Siobhan asked.

“Reckon anyone would open them again come morning?”

“Maybe not.”

“Then leave them open.” Rebus switched on another lamp. “This place needs all the light it can get.” He sifted through some of the photos. Blurred faces, backdrops he recognized. Siobhan was studying the family portraits lining the room.

“The mother’s been erased from history,” she commented.

“Something else,” Rebus said casually. She looked at him.

“What?”

He waved an arm towards the shelf units. “It may be my imagination, but seems like there are more photos of Derek than there are of Kate.”

Siobhan saw what he meant. “What do we make of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe some of the photos of Kate had her mother in them, too.”

“Then again, they sometimes say the youngest child becomes the parents’ favorite.”