McAllister returned to the file of papers on his desk. He read them because he had to, not because they held any real interest for him.

‘Vin ordinaire!’

Castlemilk in Glasgow. Apache country. Two drunks had been wending their way home after a night’s refreshing. They came upon the house of a man who had once allegedly offended the relative of a friend of a pal of one or other of them – it was not clear which. Probably didn’t matter. They proceeded to demonstrate their disapproval of this perceived slight by throwing bricks through a window.

The householder, not surprisingly, took offence and left his abode to discuss the issue. Unfortunately, to emphasise any point he wished to make, he took with him a machete and a butcher’s cleaver, the kind of implements everyone in Castlemilk seems to have readily to hand. During the ensuing debate, one of the two brick chuckers sustained a wound to his neck which severed his carotid artery. He died – of course.

‘Windows,’ muttered McAllister. ‘Single biggest cause of serious crime in the West of Scotland. If they boarded up all the windows you would cut the crime rate by half. Waste! Total bloody waste! One dead, one going down for murder, and all because of a window.’

‘Call for you, Boss, line two.’

‘Superintendent McAllister.’

‘Mr McAllister, I assume that you’re still looking for Tom McGarry?’

‘Who is this please?’

‘I’m sure if you think about it you will remember my voice.’

‘Yes… I apologise. I did not really expect you to be telephoning me.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘Are you still looking for Tom McGarry? No games please.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I can tell you how to find him.’

‘Where?’

‘Patience, Superintendent. Certainly not over the telephone.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘I have things I want to say to you, to discuss with you. If you meet me, I’ll tell you how to find McGarry.’

‘Where and when?’

‘I’ll come alone. I expect you to do likewise. No tape recorders. No cameras in the distance with telescopic lenses. No gasvans with people pretending to be working. Come alone or not at all.’

‘How do I know I can trust you?’

‘Please, Superintendent. I’m prepared to trust you. Don’t hardly imagine that I’m going to attack you in some way. Nor am I likely to pull down my knickers and scream rape. For all I know, you may be recording this conversation. If I wanted to do you harm, I’m sure you don’t doubt that I could arrange it without giving you advance notice.’

‘That sounds like a threat.’

‘Not at all.’

Sharper tone.

‘I repeat – no games, please. I need an answer.’