To Dwell in Darkness by Deborah Crombie

cause; and they had never meant to hurt anyone, least of all Ryan.
    All, except for Trish Hollingsworth, were former or current university students. Dean Gilbert, the young man with the glasses and the goatee who had carried the placards, had been studying advertising. Lee Sutton, the bearded boy, computer science. They all lived in Matthew’s flat, apparently on his generosity, as none of them seemed to have regular jobs.
    Nor, apparently, did Matthew. When Kincaid and Sidana had settled across the table from him in the interview room, Kincaid asked, “How did you manage to get the flat in the Caledonian Road? It’s not exactly a squat.”
    Quinn shrugged his bony shoulders. “I don’t have to tell you.”
    Kincaid kept his tone conversational. “You feed that lot, too? Must be pretty expensive.”
    â€œI have some money,” Quinn said grudgingly after a moment. “And they get a bit here and there from their families, most of them. Not that it’s any of your business.”
    Kincaid noticed that, contrary to his earlier belligerence, Quinn hadn’t asked for a solicitor. He wondered why.
    â€œSo, tell me about the smoke bomb,” he said. “Whose idea was it?”
    â€œMine.” There was a hint of pride there, even after the day’s consequences.
    â€œBut you must have got the idea from somewhere.”
    Quinn shrugged again. “Lots of protests use smoke bombs.”
    â€œSo somebody suggested it to you.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWas it Ryan Marsh?”
    â€œNo. I told you.” Quinn shifted, as if trying to adjust his large frame to the ordinary-size chair. His knees bumped the underside of the table. “We might have talked about it. I don’t remember. Ryan’s done lots of cool stuff.”
    â€œWere you trying to impress him, then?”
    â€œNo,” Quinn barked at him. “He thought it was stupid. But I was—I thought—” For the first time, Matthew Quinn looked near tears. “I said we should do it anyway. I don’t understand how this could have happened.”
    â€œYou were absolutely sure the grenade was just smoke?”
    â€œOf course I was sure,” he spat at them. “Why would I have thought otherwise? It was labeled, and I’d seen videos . . .”
    Sidana leaned forward, managing, with the slightest twitch of her mouth, to convey utter disbelief. “How could you be certain that what you saw on a video was what you bought?”
    Quinn didn’t answer.
    â€œWhere did you get it?” Kincaid asked.
    Quinn looked like he might balk again, then he muttered, “Just from some bloke.”
    Kincaid raised an eyebrow. “Name?”
    â€œMan, I don’t remember. It was just some guy I met at a demo. I had no idea what I was going to do with it at the time.”
    â€œIt was just something to keep around the house, like a blender?” Sidana’s sarcasm was cutting.
    â€œNo. No— It was— I’d seen them used in protests. I just wasn’t sure when would be the right time.”
    Happy enough to let Sidana play bad cop for the moment, Kincaid made an effort to keep his tone neutral. “What made you decide that today was the right time?”
    â€œThe band. It was the band. We knew there would be media there.”
    â€œChrist,” Kincaid muttered under his breath, earning him a surprised glance from Sidana. If Andy ever heard this, he’d take the responsibility for Tam’s injury on himself.
    â€œI read something online about how to deploy a smoke bomb,” Quinn added, sounding pleased with himself.
    â€œSo that will be in your browser history?”
    Quinn looked at Kincaid as if he’d said something incomprehensible. “But you can’t look at my computer—”
    â€œOh, yes, we can.” Kincaid couldn’t help feeling satisfaction at Quinn’s obvious dismay. “It’s part of