‘So you chose to ignore – procedure?’

‘I just didn’t make a note of it. I didn’t think it was necessary.’

‘Have you ever ignored any other police procedures?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Your father was a policeman, a senior policeman.’

‘My father is dead.’

‘I know that. I knew him. He was a fine officer. It was a tragedy he killed himself. Why did he kill himself?’

‘I’ve heard you were hard Mr Muirhead. I didn’t know you were ruthless. Is there nothing you won’t do to win? We haven’t been able to bury my father yet and you drag his memory into this just to upset me, soften me up...’

Cowden intervened. ‘Calm yourself, Constable Taylor. Mr Muirhead, this line of questioning is disgraceful. What is the relevance, if any, of this and think before you answer. I intend to note it carefully – very carefully indeed.’

‘I won’t pursue it.’

‘What?’

‘I won’t pursue it – for the time being.’

Lord Cowden was seething with rage. Not because of the questions or their nature. Not because there was a compassionate side to his nature. Not even because he thought that the evidence of a policeman should simply be accepted. He knew Muirhead was up to something and, yet again, he did not know what.

During the lull occasioned by this exchange, Taylor had taken the opportunity to suck in a few calming breaths. This bastard couldn’t know – could he?

‘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.