As the two men got out of their chairs, another detective appeared at the doorway. ‘Hang on, boss, you might make Italy yet. We’ve just had a phone call – no name – but the caller said he lives near the scene of the shooting and can identify the killer.’ Alan McNab, one of the squad Detective Constables was sporting a grin as he imparted this piece of information. His senior colleagues sat back down in their chairs as if they were readying themselves to receive bad news.

‘Who?’ The question was asked in stereo.

‘No less a man than Mr Charles Gallagher, villain of the parish.’

‘Charlie Gallagher?’ again as a twosome.

‘Are you two joined at the lip?’ McNab responded.

‘Very funny. The call’s been recorded, I take it?’ McAllister continued.

‘Of course.’

‘Right. Priority now is to find our mystery caller, then find out everything you can about…’, McAllister hesitated and looked directly at McNab, ‘…him.’

‘Him.’ McNab repeated. ‘Glasgow accent, nothing distinctive to me, but I’m going to arrange for all the guys to have a listen, just in case they recognise something. I’m checking with BT to see if they can help to trace the call. Long shot. Even tried 1471, but because the call came through the main switchboard, nothing registered.’

‘OK’, McAllister said, ‘but no stone unturned. Find him.’

‘What about young Master Gallagher?’ McNab added.

‘Leave him alone just now. Anything we might have found on him that would have been of evidential value will be long since disposed of.’

‘What about searching the Gallaghers’ houses, just in case? We could get a warrant under the Misuse of Drugs Act. Even get the Drug Squad boys to do it for us. They will be expecting us after all. They’re bound to know we’ll come calling, even on the off chance. We might get lucky.’

‘Exactly, and that’s why we do nothing just now. Whether Gallagher turns out to be our man or not, he’ll be expecting a visitation. Let him wonder and sweat a bit. If we’re going to do him, I want to have enough to be able to charge him with the murder, first time of asking. I don’t want some smart-assed lawyer accusing us of jumping to conclusions without the evidence to back it up.’

‘Fair enough, boss. But I would still be inclined to rattle his cage a bit. Your call, though.’

‘And I’ve made it, Alan, and find me this voice, yesterday. Bob, you and I will try again. Post-mortem time.’ McAllister stood up ready to leave.

A shout of, ‘Call, Skip’, from the outer office, caused Taylor to pick up the nearest phone. McAllister watched his colleague as he listened, nodding regularly but saying nothing apart from, ‘I’ll tell my boss. He’ll love this one.’

‘What am I going to love? Don’t tell me, someone just shot Charlie Gallagher?’