Glasgow 1967 PC McLeod entered the close in one of Govan’s less salubrious corners, noting the graffiti penned on the wall by some wag, as he did so; ‘If pigs could fly Orkney Street would be an airport.’ ‘Very good, ‘ he mumbled to himself, ‘no one likes the cops until you need them.’ He walked to the first-floor landing and knocked on the door he was looking for. A pale-faced boy of around ten who wore a Celtic shirt and navy-blue shorts, opened the door slightly and regarded him in silence...
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