‘I repeat, you idiot, the problem is that you perverted the course of justice. The problem is, it all came out in court thanks to that smart bastard Muirhead. The problem is, you have been found out. The problem is, you fucked up. You may have fucked up the whole case. The problem is, McAllister wants answers. The real problem is, I’ve got the answers he wants. Don’t ask me what the problem is. I know what the problem is. The problem is, what am I going to do about it?’

There are moments when the mind seems to go into free fall. Ideas flash before the eyes at a rate which defies comprehension let alone analysis. David Taylor was a skydiver whose parachute would not open. The downward spiral of his altitude was mirrored by a corresponding increase in his level of panic. If he had an emergency chute, he forgot all about it. He hit the ground with a bone-shattering thump. He had survived the fall but was terrified to move lest the extent of the damage was revealed to him. Only his eyes were capable of independent movement and they found themselves locked onto his father’s withering stare. This was a look he had not seen before, a chilling mixture of anger, anxiety, sadness and something he struggled to identify as he had not seen it before. The realisation hit him harder than the fall itself. Contempt!

When there is no available means of escape, the cornered animal will attack.

‘Problem, dad. You’re the one with the problem. We, I, OK, we, we picked up this drunk, cleaned him up a bit, took him through his statement, and that was it. Don’t tell me you’ve never gone over a witness statement before someone gave evidence? As I see it, there is no fucking problem. Why are you giving me all this pious, holier than thou crap? All my life I’ve heard you talking about villains. How they deserved all they got. How they were scum. How it was your job to make the streets safer. How it was a war between the good guys and the bad guys. All I did was to try to make sure one of the bad guys goes away for a long time. Now, tell me straight. What is so wrong with that? What is so fucking wrong with that?’

‘You told him he was to say he was sure when you knew perfectly well he wasn’t. You leant on him. You threatened him, damn it. You told him to lie for Christ’s sake!’

‘If, if he lied, that was his decision. I just wanted to make sure he was clear about his story. I repeat, this bastard Gallagher deserves to be put away, does he not?’