Muirhead struggled into the back of the car. He felt something land lightly on the back of his hand. The back door was slammed shut, then the front door was opened and he heard a ripping noise. He was not going to be able to use the car phone. Footsteps headed away from him. An engine fired into life and a car drove off.

Muirhead hauled himself up and looked out of the back window. Tail-lights disappearing into the distance. Nothing else. He slumped down into the back seat and forced himself to breathe deeply until he regained some self-control.

He had spent all his working life dealing with violence: people committing acts of violence, victims of violence, photographs of injuries and death, weapons and blood stained clothing. This was the first time he had stared violence in the face, experienced the terror and horror of it, been the victim of it. He fought to clear his mind. Gradually his sense of shock and fear was replaced by one of anger and disbelief.

He opened the car door and vomited, violently. An object fluttered to the ground. He picked it up and in the interior light he saw a Polaroid photograph of his wife and daughter leaving his house.

Who was this guy? Whoever he was, he was serious about what he had said. He had just had a gun pointed at his head. It couldn’t be much more serious than that. The phone calls, the car, now this. But why him? Terrorising a witness was one thing, common enough, after all. But to threaten the defence lawyer! This was sheer insanity, but the threat was very real, not just to him but to his family.

He had tried to ignore what had gone on. Put it down to some crank. Brushed aside the police when they offered help. Now someone had threatened to kill him and his family. And yet he was still gripped by the unreality of it all. Trying to get at him for some crazy purpose was one thing, even threatening him with a gun, but to actually use it. No way would that be allowed to happen.