‘Are you going to find McGarry?’

‘I am in possession of some good information. I believe he is still in Glasgow but is likely to try to leave and go, over the water. When he does, we will get him.’

‘And then?’

‘And then I will interview him?’

‘What good do you think that will do ?’

‘I won’t know till I try.’

‘I do not believe that Charlie Gallagher killed Kevin.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘What will happen to Gallagher if you discover he did not shoot Kevin?’

‘It would depend on how good the evidence was and when I found it. The closing speeches start tomorrow. There may be a verdict on Monday; Tuesday at the latest. There isn’t much time left.’

‘What will happen if he is convicted of the murder?’

‘This is all a bit hypothetical for me, I’m afraid.’

‘Then speculate, Superintendent. Surely as a policeman you know how to do that?’

‘He could appeal on the basis of new evidence or perhaps seek a pardon. It would be better if I could do something before the trial is over. But it’s getting very late.’

The ensuing pause stretched on interminably. Again McAllister fought to remain calm. Again his companion stared straight ahead – deep in thought. If there were demons battling within, there were no outward manifestations.

‘If I give you some information, will you treat it as confidential?’

‘If I can.’

‘And what does that mean?’

‘It means that if you tell me something which discloses you may have committed a crime, I cannot just ignore that.’

‘I have done nothing wrong. Certainly nothing illegal. I may speak to you. I will speak to no one else. If you report this conversation to anyone else, I will deny it ever took place and produce a string of witnesses to prove it could never have taken place.’

This statement had a depressingly familiar ring to it.

McAllister had one more gamble to take.

‘Obviously, I may have to act upon what you tell me, but the source of the information will remain confidential to me – alone. You have my word on it.’

‘Then, Superintendent, perhaps I can help you with your inquiries.’

The next few minutes were to prove among the most extraordinary McAllister had ever known. It was a story he could have dined out on for years. And he had promised to tell no one!

Chapter Twelve

Muirhead prowled around his garden puffing on his pipe and nursing an empty mug. His wife came out of the house and without comment, removed the mug from his hand replacing it with another filled with scalding hot liquid. She received no word of thanks. Muirhead continued with his peregrination.