I drove while Frank sat in the front passenger seat, and one of the uniformed coppers sat with Harry in the back. He was as quiet and calm as a sleepy cat.
Back at the station we read him his rights but we weren’t recording anything yet. Just having a chat.
Harry had been thinking though. ‘Look mate,’ he said to Frank. ‘I don’t want to make this hard for you, but shouldn’t I have a lawyer?’
‘Is there a particular one you want?’
‘Don’t know any.’
‘Okay, we’ll go through Legal Aid.’
We took him to a cell to wait. Even though it was Saturday morning, the solicitor arrived an hour later. It was Tom McCauley, an affable man in his early seventies, a veteran of the criminal court and well known in police and legal circles.
Frank and I met with McCauley first and outlined our case against
