‘Back to police procedures then. When you take a statement from a witness, is it important to find out what that person actually knows? To avoid putting ideas into his head? Not to pressure him into saying what the police believe the evidence to be? What the police want the evidence to be?’

He knows!

‘Well?’

‘Mr Muirhead, which of these questions do you want answered?’

Oh, Jesus Christ, he knows!

‘Your father would know. Wouldn’t he?’

‘Mr Muirhead!’

His Lordship’s voice was raised, but Taylor was almost screaming.

‘I just wanted the wino to tell the truth!’

Taylor slumped onto the seat in the witness box. With his head in his hands he continued to talk, but not to the court. This was a very private conversation. It could only be heard because of the silence which had descended around him. Every listener felt as if he was an interloper intruding into private grief.

‘I had to keep an eye on him. I knew he wouldn’t turn up. If he did – drunk probably. Weak. Say anything. Anything. Dirty. Smelly. Not believe him. Just cleaned him up. He saw him. He must have seen him. Evil. Evil. Do what they like. Dad said they deserved what they got. Dad would have done it too. Arrogant bastards, think they can get away with anything. Walk around the streets as if they owned them. Gallagher did it. Killed him. Even if he was rubbish. No loss, really. But a chance to put Gallagher away. For good. I just wanted him to tell the truth.’

Without prompting, Taylor rose to his feet. His expression disclosed that only part of his mind was still in the court room. Muirhead continued.

‘You wanted him to say what you thought was the truth. Isn’t that right?’

‘He must have seen him.’

‘You had been a uniformed constable, had you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you were given a chance to work with the CID, by your father, and you decided to make a name for yourself?’

‘No.’

‘You threatened Mr McPhee?’

‘He’s weak. He’s nothing. A nobody. An old drunk. Why would I waste my career on the likes of him?’

‘Did your father ask you that?’

‘Leave him out of it.’

‘Your father found out that you had tried to pervert the course of justice.’

‘Lies.’

‘Did he confront you with it?’

‘No.’

‘What was he going to do? An honest cop. Forget what he knew or report that his son, a policeman, a policeman’s son, had committed a serious crime?’

‘Liar. You think you’re clever. What do you know about the streets? What goes on out there? If I was trying to make a name for myself, as you imply, why would I care if anyone found out? You deny that Mr Muirhead.’

Muirhead had been firing questions at the witness. His voice now slowed right down. So calm, it was almost matter of fact.