Ian Rankin - A Question of Blood

Siobhan plugged everything in and rebooted the computer. The laptop was on a chair-not enough cable to stretch from Rebus’s telephone jack to his dining table.

“All very mysterious,” he said, bringing in a tray-mugs of coffee for the pair of them. She could smell vinegar: a fish supper probably. Thinking of the chow mein waiting for her at home, she realized how similar they were-takeaway food, no one to go home to… He’d been drinking beer, an empty bottle of Deuchars on the floor by his chair. And listening to music: the Hawkwind anthology she’d bought him last birthday. Maybe he’d put it on specially, to make her think he hadn’t forgotten.

“Almost there,” she said now. Rebus had turned off the CD and was rubbing his eyes with his ungloved, hot-looking hands. Nearly ten o’clock. He’d been asleep in his chair when she’d phoned, quite content to stay there till morning. Easier than getting undressed. Easier than untying shoelaces, fiddling with buttons. He hadn’t bothered tidying up. Siobhan knew him too well. But he’d closed the kitchen door so she wouldn’t see the dirty dishes. If she saw them, she’d offer to wash up for him, and he didn’t want that.

“Just need to connect…”

Rebus had brought one of the dining chairs over to sit on. Siobhan was kneeling on the floor in front of the laptop. She angled its screen a little, and he nodded to let her know he could see it.

WELCOME TO MY DARKNESS!

“Alice Cooper fan club?” he guessed.

“Just wait.”

“Royal Society for the Blind?”

“If I so much as smile, you have permission to hit me over the head with the tray.” She sat back a little. “There… now take a look.”

The room was no longer completely dark. Candles had been lit. Black candles.

“Teri Cotter’s bedroom,” Rebus stated. Siobhan nodded. Rebus watched the candles flicker.

“This is a film?”

“It’s a live feed, as far as I know.”

“Meaning?”

“There was a webcam attached to her computer. That’s where the picture’s coming from. When I first watched, the room was dark. She must be home now.”

“Is this supposed to be interesting?” Rebus asked.

“Some people like it. Some of them pay to watch stuff like this.”

“But we’re getting a show for free?”

“Seems like.”

“You reckon she switches it off when she comes in?”

“Where would the fun be in that?”

“She keeps it on all the time?”

Siobhan shrugged. “Maybe we’re going to find out.”

Teri Cotter had entered the frame, moving jerkily, the camera presenting a series of stills broken up by momentary delays.

“No sound?” Rebus inquired.

Siobhan didn’t think so, but she tried turning up the volume anyway. “No sound,” she acknowledged.

Teri had seated herself cross-legged on her bed. She was dressed in the same clothes as when they’d met. She seemed to be looking towards the camera. She leaned forwards and stretched out on her bed, supporting her chin on her cupped hands, face close to the camera now.

“Like one of those old silent films,” Rebus said. Siobhan didn’t know if he was referring to the picture quality or the lack of sound. “What exactly are we supposed to be doing?”

“We’re her audience.”

“She knows we’re here?”

Siobhan shook her head. “Probably no way of knowing who’s watching-if anyone.”

“But Derek Renshaw used to watch?”

“Yes.”

“You think she knows?”

Siobhan shrugged, sipped the bitter-tasting coffee. It wasn’t decaf, and she might suffer for it later, but she didn’t care.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

“It’s not so unusual for young girls to be exhibitionists.” She paused. “Not that I’ve come across anything like this before.”

“I wonder who else knows about this.”

“I doubt her parents do. Is it something we need to ask her?”

Rebus was thoughtful. “How would people get here?” He pointed towards the screen.

“There are lists of home pages. She’d just have to provide a link, maybe a description.”

“Let’s take a look.”

So Siobhan quit the page and went hunting through cyberspace, typing in the words “Miss” and “Teri.” Page after page of links came up, mostly for porn sites and people called Terry, Terri, and Teri.

“This could take a while,” she said.

“So this is what I’ve been missing out on, not having a modem?”

“All human life is here, most of it ever so slightly depressing.”

“Just what’s needed after a day at the coal mines.”

Her face creased in what could almost have passed for a smile. Rebus made a show of reaching for the tea tray.

“Here we go, I think,” Siobhan said a couple of minutes later. Rebus looked at where she was underlining some words with her finger.

Myss Teri-visit my 100% non-pornographic (sorry, guys!) home page! “Why ‘Myss’?” Rebus asked.

“Could be all the other spellings were already taken. My e-mail’s ‘66Siobhan.’”

“Because sixty-five Siobhans got there ahead of you?”

She nodded. “And I thought I had an uncommon name.” Siobhan had clicked on the link. Teri Cotter’s home page started to load. There was a photo of her in full Goth mode, palms held to either side of her face.

“She’s drawn pentagrams on her hands,” Siobhan noted. Rebus was looking: five-pointed stars enclosed by circles. There were no other photos, just some text outlining Teri’s interests, which school she attended, and an invitation to “come worship me, Cockburn Street most Saturday afternoons…” There was an option of sending her an e-mail, adding comments to her guest book, or clicking on various links, most of which would send the visitor to other Goth sites, one of which was marked “Dark Entry.”

“That’ll be the webcam,” Siobhan said. She tried the link, just to be sure. The screen changed back to the same red words: WELCOME TO MY DARKNESS! Another click and they were in Teri Cotter’s bedroom again. She’d changed position so that she had her head against the headboard, knees tucked in front of her. She was writing something in a loose-leaf binder.

“Looks like homework,” Siobhan said.

“Could be her potions book,” Rebus suggested. “Anyone accessing her home page would know her age, which school she goes to, and what she looks like.”

Siobhan was nodding. “And where to find her on a Saturday afternoon.”

“A dangerous pastime,” Rebus muttered. He was thinking of her potential as prey to any of the hunters out there.

“Maybe that’s why she likes it.”

Rebus rubbed his eyes again. He was remembering his first meeting with her. The way she’d said she was jealous of Derek and Anthony… and her parting remark: You can see me whenever you like… He knew now what those words had been hinting at.

“Seen enough?” Siobhan asked, tapping the screen.

He nodded. “Initial thoughts, DS Clarke?”

“Well… if she and Herdman were lovers, and if he was the jealous type…”

“That only works if Anthony Jarvies knew about the site.”

“Jarvies and Derek were best friends: what are the chances Derek didn’t let him in on it?”

“Good point. We’ll need to check.”

“And talk to Teri again?”

Rebus nodded slowly. “Can we open the visitors’ book?”

They could, but it didn’t have much to say. No obvious notes from either Derek Renshaw or Anthony Jarvies, just twaddle from some of Miss Teri’s admirers, the majority of whom seemed to be based abroad, if their English was anything to go by. Rebus watched Siobhan as she shut the laptop down.

“Did you run that license plate?” he asked.