Chapter Eleven

Muirhead was a solitary creature. He seldom socialised with his colleagues. He had many acquaintances but very few friends. Social niceties bored him, polite conversation irritated him, enforced gaiety annoyed him. Normally, he was perfectly at ease with his own company. And yet? And yet he was gripped by a wholly unfamiliar sensation. He felt alone. No, he felt lonely.

This case was getting to him as no other he had ever experienced. He had been threatened. His family had been threatened. He had had a gun pointed at his head. He had fallen out with his solicitor. He was fighting a running battle with the prosecutor, the judge and even his client. If he had given the wrong advice, Charlie Gallagher could go down for murder – a murder he may not have committed.

He thought of Gallagher in his cell. Solitary. Isolated. What thoughts were going through his mind? He would have to sit in the dock, his future entrusted to a man he hardly knew and fifteen strangers who owed him nothing. Fear and uncertainty eating in to him. Powerless. Impotent.

He, the lawyer, had decided Gallagher, the accused, would not give evidence. He had made sure that the man could not give evidence. Charlie would never have a more difficult choice to make, and Muirhead had taken the decision for him. Now he would have to live with it. They would both have to live with it. But for only one of them were the consequences very real.

He thought of Gallagher and shivered.

Two men from opposite backgrounds, with different lifestyles, linked together and sharing one common bond. At this moment in time, they were each very much alone.

The metallic voice – again.

‘Thank you for calling 0686 174 582. Please leave your message after the tone.’

‘Look, I’m getting seriously pissed off leaving messages on this damned thing. Will you make contact with me – like yesterday? I have to talk to you. Things can be sorted out. Just give me a call. Eh, please.’

The caller banged down the handset.

‘Where are you, you bastard, and what the fuck are you up to?’

The phone was snatched up and a number angrily dialled.

‘Any sign of him?’

‘Nothing. All the boys have been out looking. We’ve left word everywhere we can think of. He’s gone to ground and is staying there.’

‘I want him underground and the sooner the better.’

‘He’ll surface soon. When he does, we’ll get him. He’s not going anywhere.’

‘He has gone somewhere. Somewhere you can’t find him, apparently.’

‘Relax. He’s no threat. He can’t get to you with the boys around you and he’s hardly likely to run to the polis, is he? If he stays hidden – no problem. When he surfaces – problem solved.’

‘I don’t want the problem solved. I want it and him eliminated – as in permanently.’

‘Who do you want eliminated?’

‘What?’

‘I asked you who you want eliminated?’