‘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?’

‘Tall, about six feet. Quite thin. Fair hair. He was wearing dark clothing. Black bomber jacket perhaps.’

‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’

‘Yes. For sure.’

‘Do you see him here in court?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you point him out?’

Thomson turned immediately to the dock, raised his right arm and pronounced, ‘There. Charles Gallagher.’

There was considerable agitation in the public gallery. A number of jurors scribbled notes. Lord Cowden was ostentatiously marking his notebook with a red pencil. Muirhead tried to exude an air of outward calm.

‘How sure are you, Mr Thomson?’

‘As sure as I can be.’

‘Why?’

‘I went to school with him. I knew him. I recognised him.’

‘ “I knew him. I recognised him,” ’ repeated the Advocate Depute, slowly and deliberately.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you very much.’

His Lordship adjourned for lunch and left the bench to a rising level of noise emanating from every corner of the court. There was much to discuss, for players and spectators alike.

Muirhead confined himself to a single pertinent question: ‘Why the hell didn’t I know that was coming?’

The blank looks on the faces of his solicitor and junior told him the question would prove to be rhetorical.

One person did not join in the chattering as the spectators walked down the stairs from the public gallery and into the street. Annie Boyle’s mind was racing.