‘It’s a damn sight more than many people get in this place. But you must bear this in mind. You get one shot at it. If you give evidence and it goes bad, you can’t change your mind afterwards. The clock does not go backwards. If you don’t give evidence and you get done, same thing applies. No third umpire. No stewards’ inquiry. Think on this.

‘You know if you will be telling the truth in the witness box. I’ve only got your word for it. If you’re not telling the truth, the whole truth, you are the one who runs the risk of being caught out. You must do what you think is best.’

‘This is my life we are talking about.’

‘I know.’

‘I could get done – couldn’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘At least that’s honest. You’re the lawyer. Do what you think is best. Just be fucking right!’

‘Are you ready to charge them?’

McAllister looked from the papers in front of him to the Detective Constable.

‘ I think so, Boss. It looks pretty solid to me. They’ve just been interviewed and the story is wonderful.’

‘What’s the background?’

‘Two guys are seen hanging around outside the Bank of Scotland in Anderson Drive. Woman gets suspicious, dials treble nine. Before the cavalry gets there, security firm has arrived and starts carting the money inside. One of the two guys produces an iron bar, whacks a guard on the leg, his mate grabs the money, off they go. Uniforms arrive, see the two running so they chase them up the street. Pair of them jump in a taxi, would you believe, which gets all of fifty yards before it stops at traffic lights. Nicked – money and all.’

‘Pretty solid indeed – more like cast iron. Do we know them?’

‘No, not really. Few minor thefts each, nothing in this league. Looks like a get-rich quick scheme that didn’t quite make it.’

‘It’ll do for six years a-piece.’

‘I would have thought so.’

‘OK, charge them and get them locked up. Do they want a lawyer?’

‘Yes. I’ll call the duty solicitor.’

‘Fair enough. Oh, you said the story was wonderful. Give me the punch-line. I need cheering up.’

‘They accept they were running up the street – but only to get a taxi. When the cab stopped at the lights, two complete strangers run past. One of them stops, turns back, shoves a bag into the back of the cab and says “Here boys, it’s fucking Christmas!” Then, crivvens, jings, help ma Boab, the polis arrive and all this is a terrible misunderstanding.’

McAllister laughed. He actually enjoyed the experience. It was quite some time since he had laughed.

‘Not bad, is it, Boss.’

‘It’s different. You know, it’s just daft enough to take a jury’s fancy. Cut no corners. ID parade for the witnesses. Do the whole bit. Meantime, charge them.’

‘Right, Boss.’