Lubo Miksic is dead and his former best friend Eddie Zamporini is sitting in a jail cell and sitting at the top of the suspect list. Could he really have killed the man that was almost a brother to him? Zamporini needs a lawyer and a good one. Perhaps there is only one man that can help to clear his name this time.

Eddie Zamporini sat confused and alone in a cold cell in what was colloquially known as ‘the crypt’ at Cranhill Police Station. The crypt because the cells were tiny, dark and usually full of scarred bodies. Tonight, however, the only scarred body in the place was his.
That didn’t bother Eddie of course. He’d been in these cells before, although not for some time and not in such ominous circumstances. There were his youthful indiscretions, the extortion charge, the arrest for money laundering and that odd vehicle offence where traffic cops had arrested him for driving along the Expressway with a bright yellow wheel-clamp affixed to the front wheel of his four-by-four. It was different this time though. This was serious. It was no episode of Hart to Hart, but this was murder.
Eddie had been arrested on suspicion of killing his close friend, Lubomir Matiasevich Moravcik Miksic. Lubo to his buddys. He had known Lubo for years. They’d started school together at Whitehill in Dennistoun, two foreign kids in an alien city. They’d taken their first steps in crime together selling dodgy Manfred Mann LPs down the Barras. They\'d played football together as teenagers and poker every Friday night. They’d got drunk together, regularly. Lubo had even married Ella, Eddie’s first squeeze at school. They were bonded. Brothers, just from other mothers.
It was implausible that he had killed Lubo, but that was what was being alleged. In the cold silent darkness of the police cell Eddie’s mind turned to the events of last night.
He had arrived at the Club, in the bowels of the Merchant City, about 7pm. His father, Mario, had summoned the Family to a meeting and he had been the last to arrive. Already there were his brothers Giovanni and Franco, and his cousins Romano, Lamberto and Silvio, and Silvio’s dog, Baggio, who dribbled all night. Fatboy Franky hung around too, like a bad smell. They’d all been ordained to attend for one reason alone – to discuss why the Family was in decline. Well, that and to eat bolognese.
Times were tough for the Zamporinis. Money was tight and the old illegal gambling schemes and protection rackets that they had profited from before had foundered. Online gambling was the way of the future and the new East European gangs had invaded their territory. The Club barely broke even. To make matters worse the Inland Revenue had finally caught up with Eddie’s wayward accounting and they’d received a six-figure tax bill. Things were bleak and they’d get worse too until they found that bastard Billy Noble.
The meeting itself had been a typical Family affair. Franco had pointed fingers at Eddie, Eddie had gesticulated at Giovanni, Giovanni had sworn at Silvio, Silvio had remonstrated with Romano, Romano had laughed at Lamberto, and Baggio had choked on his own drool. Chilled and relaxed things had not been, but that wasn’t the Italian way. It had been left to Mario to take control of events. Waving his arms the olive-skinned patriarch had pronounced \"Is always up to mia to sorta things out. While you guys play I getta things done!”. With a swig of his Peroni he’d grabbed the revolver that Fatboy was pawing and stormed out. For a 78 year old he still packed a dramatic punch. Where he\'d gone and why he’d taken a revolver though God only knew.
Eddie had left the Club about two hours later. He would usually have asked Fatboy to run him home to his faux-Georgian mansion on the south-side, but Fatboy was drunk. So he had walked south, through the town and the throngs of partygoers, hoping to pick-up a taxi on Clyde Street or maybe Carlton Place. As he\'d approached the small shop that sold those garish wedding dresses he’d noticed a large heavy-set figure lurking in the doorway. It was a man, about six foot four, with a moustache that challenged Marcel Wave’s in its absurdity. He had a massive Cuban cigar in his mouth too and enormous hands, quite out of proportion to the rest of bulging frame. Their eyes had connected briefly, the man evaluating him, searching his features, and then averted again. Eddie smiled. He’d recognised the man. It was Bismarck Pryce.
Looking for a cab Eddie had crossed Clyde Street and the footbridge over the river. As he’d got to Carlton Place he’d felt a vibration in his trousers. It was his mobile. He\'d had three missed calls and a voicemail message from Anna, Billy Noble’s ex-squeeze, whom he still had a soft spot for. He’d punched 901 into the handset and heard Anna’s imploring voice. “A client of Billy’s has just called. Phone me when you get this. I think Billy may be in trouble…”.
Before the message had ended a scream punctured the Winter air. Eddie had spun round to detect its source, scanning the horizon and peering back across the footbridge where it had emanated from. Through the darkness he had made out two figures on the bridge, or was it three. They were dancing. Or were they struggling? He saw a glint, a flash maybe. Then heard a muffled shout. And then something toppled over the railings into the murky depths of the river below. He heard a distant splash and then silence. Eddie wasn’t sure what he had witnessed. Was it drunkards? Was it a mugging? Was Bismarck involved? Concerned he had begun to run.
And run he had. All the way along Carlton Place and into Bridge Street. Straight into the hands of Strathclyde\'s finest. And twenty minutes later he was locked-up in Cranhill, none the wiser as to what had occurred.
At that moment the door of his cell was thrust open. In strode DI Cat Hackett, legs right up to her waist, and then some. ‘Your lawyer’s here Mr Zamporini’, she announced. Momentarily disarmed by her elegant limbs he didn’t quite hear what she said. ‘Your lawyer’s here Mr Zamporini’ she repeated. ‘My lawyer?’, Eddie said quizzically, knowing that he’d spoken to her not two hours ago. ‘Yeah, a Mr Noble is here for you Eddie. Do you want to see him now?…