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duty was the reason he was murdered?’
    Wullie was looking at me with raised eyebrows, Sheridan with suspicion. Then he started to nod.
    ‘Aye, could be, could be. That would fit with Alec Morton. Is that what you’ll write – Brodie, was it?’
    ‘We’d like to. We just need your help. Let me ask a particular question.’
    ‘Fire away.’
    ‘What’s the biggest project currently before your Planning Committee?’
    The look of suspicion was back. ‘Ah’m no’ sure where you’re going with this. But everybody kens we’ve got the Bruce plan under review.’
    ‘I’ve been away, Mr Sheridan. The war and all that. Can you sum it up for me?’
    ‘In a word, visionary ! We’re going to turn this city into a working man’s paradise. We’ll clear the tenement slums and build modern apartments. Like the French. They’ll have inside toilets and bathrooms. Every one! There will be areas set aside for industry and business, and great parks for the workers. Regeneration, Brodie! That’s what we’re doing.’
    I could see how he could sway the masses. But then so could Adolf.
    ‘It sounds like a huge job, Mr Sheridan.’
    ‘It’s Jimmie.’
    ‘A huge project, Jimmie. What will it cost?’
    A crafty look flitted over his face. ‘The budget isnae set yet. But in truth, Brodie, there is no choice. We have to do this. For the people!’
    ‘Have you signed any of the contracts, yet, Jimmie?’
    He drew himself up in his chair. ‘Look, boys, this isnae the time to be talking about paperwork and such stuff. A man died yesterday. A good friend of mine. Ah don’t feel like pursuing this line of questioning just at the moment. I’m sure you’ll understand . . .’
    Nancy was summoned and Wullie and I were given the sweetest bum’s rush ever. Out on the pavement we looked at each other.
    ‘Nice try, Brodie, but he was never going to tell us anything.’
    ‘So why did we bother?’
    ‘To let him know we’re here, laddie. And to get a column out of it.’
    ‘Do you want me to have a go?’
    ‘No, no. This one’s mine. I just wanted to give you a bit of exposure to our political classes. For future use.’
    I glanced at Wullie. He’d said it lightly but I could see he’d smelt something big and wanted it for himself. Hard to blame him. I asked, ‘And this Bruce plan? I’d heard the name. Saw something about it in the papers last year.’
    ‘Robert Bruce, city engineer and master of works of this fair toon, came out with a plan last year. You’ll have missed it, Brodie, being otherwise tied up gi’ing the Huns a bashing. In his dystopian vision, Bruce proposed to rip the guts out of the city centre and turn it into a wasteland of commerce. He wanted to knock down the likes of the School of Art, the City Chambers – maybe no’ such a bad thing, as long as all the cooncillors are inside – and Central Station. In short, anything with style and grace had to go. And any citizens living in the centre to be cast into the wilderness of Castlemilk. Factories and office blocks to be installed in their place. Altars to Mammon.’
    ‘I thought it had all been rejected.’
    ‘It was. But Jimmie Sheridan’s not the sort of man to take no for an answer, not when his livelihood’s at stake. And I don’t mean his council wage. Sheridan is going to push through Bruce’s mad ideas by hook or by crook. Probably the latter.’

FOUR
     
    I got to the imposing and colonnaded Sheriff Court in Brunswick Street just in time for Johnson’s appearance. I took a pew at the back of the sparse public gallery. Ishmael was in the front row, gripping the wooden barrier. In front, to the right, in two tiered rows, were fifteen honest men and women, plucked from the streets to dispense justice to their fellow man.
    The said man was brought in between two wardens. Ishmael sat up and almost rose to his feet. Johnson saw his pal and lifted his shoulders as if to say, Here I am, what a carry-on. His shirt was creased and dirty like his