How did the caller know he was defending Gallagher? Who would know he was defending Gallagher? The client, the family, his solicitor and his staff, some of his colleagues, the prosecution, the police, even some journalists. He began to realise that the list was endless. So, who would have a motive to want him out of the case?

What to do? Call the police? And what could they do about it? Get an intercept put on the phone? Sledgehammer to crack a nut. Anyway, there was no guarantee he would call back. No reason to suppose he would call back.

Muirhead was getting nowhere. He stared at the phone, half expecting it to ring. Nothing.

‘Nutter, James, probably a nutter. Forget it, my son. More than enough to worry about.’

As he switched off the study lights for the second time, Muirhead shivered again. This was becoming a habit, and he didn’t like it. More to the point, he didn’t know why.

Had he taken the trouble to look out of the window he might have discovered part of the reason for his agitation. The figure hurrying down the driveway had left behind a message, scratched into the paintwork on the boot of Muirhead’s Jaguar. It was as clear as it was unequivocal.

R I P

Chapter Five

Barlinnie prison sits in the East End of Glasgow in a district known as Riddrie. The area is dull, drab and totally without charm. It provides an ideal backdrop for its most infamous architectural structure.

Barlinnie, the Bar-L, the Big House, is a Victorian jail whose halls leave even the casual observer in no doubt whatsoever as to their purpose. It is surrounded by a high wall topped with razor wire. Video cameras observe its every nook and cranny. It is an easy place to get into. Getting out again is the tricky bit.

C Hall in Barlinnie is the most depressing of all. It contains those who have been convicted of nothing, but have been remanded in custody to await trial. Charlie Gallagher was one such inmate.

He sat across the table from Muirhead who sat quietly, exuding calm tinged with concern. Gallagher was slowly running out of steam. He had delivered himself of a peroration, railing against the Boyles, the police, judges, jurors, prosecutors, justice, injustice, and anyone or anything else he could think of or take a swipe at.

The three lawyers had spent two hours with their client going over the evidence at the heart of the Crown case. Every time they tried to explain the difficulties and sought answers to some pertinent questions, they were greeted with a stream of invective. Gallagher was not prepared to face the realities of the situation. His final outburst had been prompted by Muirhead’s attempt to encourage him to face up to some potentially awkward issues.