‘Power to the people!’, muttered Anderson.

‘It may be my elbow which needs the power,’ came his senior’s surly response.

He deponed that he was a musician, a drummer, with a Glasgow rock band which rejoiced in the name of the Culture Vultures.

‘The who?,’ inquired the Advocate Depute.

The reply, ‘No, the Culture Vultures’, caused much mirth amongst the jurors, especially as it sailed above the heads of both counsel and judge.

His manner of speech disclosed he was not uneducated as he confirmed when questioned on the subject. He parents were professional people and he had attended Glasgow Academy before graduating from the London School of Economics with a BA degree in Politics and Economics. The Depute was setting this man up as a sane, sensible witness, despite his singular appearance. Instinctively, the jury knew something was about to happen.

After describing where he lived and confirming that from his lounge window he had had a clear view of the BMW, he was asked about the critical matters.

‘I write songs and I was working at my keyboard. I had been at it all night but nothing was happening for me. The room was smoky and I went to the window to get a breath of fresh air, and it all just happened. Like, man, I thought to begin with it must be the telly, making something like Taggart. It looked seriously real.’

‘What did you see when you looked from the window?’

‘Nothing much at first, just parked cars, not many people about. I saw a man with a dog. Local, I think. Then something caught my eye.’

‘What?’

‘I saw this guy walking along the street and all of a sudden he pulled at this woolly hat and it just became a balaclava mask. He walked up to a car, the BMW, briskly, then pulled something out of his pocket and there was a series of bangs.’

‘How many bangs?’

‘I can’t be sure, but four, five or six.’

‘More than two?’

‘For sure. For sure.’

‘Did there seem to be anyone in the BMW?’

‘Yes. There was someone sitting in the driver’s seat.’

‘What did the gunman do next?’

‘He turned on his heels and ran along the road for about fifty yards. As he got to a parked car, he pulled off the mask and literally jumped into the rear passenger seat. The car shot off along the street and then turned right as if heading to the town centre.

‘It was then I realised that there was something very wrong. Nothing happened. There was no camera. No people. Just a kind of a weird stillness. My phone wasn’t working. I ran downstairs to a phone box. I had to pass the BMW. There was blood everywhere. I dialled 999 then went back to my flat.’

‘Can you tell us about the getaway car?’

‘It was grey. Hatchback. I’m not very good at makes. The number did not register at all.’

‘Can you describe the gunman?’