‘Mr Muirhead, will you instruct your client that if there are any further outbursts I will have him removed from the court. I will not have the Depute being interrupted in the course of his address.’

Muirhead did not move from his chair and made no effort to acknowledge Lord Cowden’s instruction and warning. He nodded to his junior who strolled casually to the dock to have a whispered conversation with Gallagher. That the Depute had been interrupted in full flow did not bother him one whit, although he was nonetheless angry at Gallagher. Such outbursts could have an unpredictable impact on a jury.

‘He’s OK now, James. He thinks our learned brother is a prize James Hunt!’

‘At least he’s got something right!’

Order having been restored, Matthews returned to his theme.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I turn now to the evidence which, in my submission, demonstrates the guilt of the accused.’

Everything was in place. McGarry’s flat was completely surrounded. He was going nowhere unless handcuffed to a policeman. One of McAllister’s many talents was the ability to plan an operation to the nth degree.

Officers of the Tactical Firearms Unit were stationed on rooftops overlooking the front and back entrances to the close of the tenement which housed McGarry’s bolt hole.

Two units of armed officers would simultaneously enter the close from the front and rear. The target flat was on the first floor and, if all went according to plan, the first group would take up position on the stairwell above and below it. The second group would approach the flat and force entry. No warnings would be given. The aim was to catch the occupant completely unaware and deny him access to the weapons he was believed to have in his possession. McAllister had no intention of turning this into Glasgow’s version of the OK Corral.

Time to get it done.

McAllister issued the command, ‘Go! Go! Go!’

From his vantage point, McAllister could see four officers, wearing police baseball caps and bullet proof vests, hurrying into the building, handguns at the ready. Now he would have to wait.

When the four officers securing the stairwell were in position, the attack team battered the front door from its hinges with a single blow from a sledgehammer and poured into the flat.

In the command car, McAllister waited, and waited.

‘What the hell’s going on in there?’

‘At least there’s no shooting, boss.’

McAllister stared at the radio willing it to come to life. Suddenly it responded.

‘I think you better get up here, sir.’

McAllister banged his fist on the dashboard in frustration.

‘Get going, damn it!’

The car braked hard to stop outside the tenement. McAllister and two other officers hurried up the stairs. At the door of the flat he was waved straight in.

‘Nothing, sir. Someone has been here, all right, but they’ve made a good attempt at clearing up.’