Nothing but Memories (DCI Wilson Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

time."
                  He poured himself another glass of the golden coloured liquid and drank it in one swallow. The bottle of Bushmills had become part of his `after-kill' ritual. To-morrow morning he'd feel dreadful but, at that moment, having succeeded yet again, he needed to let off steam. What he would really like to have done was to pick up some brasser in Royal Avenue and screw her brains out. But that would involve a risk. And Case wasn't taking any risks.
                  Only three more, he thought as he downed another whiskey. It was so easy. Belfast had changed since Case had served with the Paras there. There was a time when the streets were littered with the bodies of those caught up in the 'Troubles'. Then there had been the killings when the turf battles had broken out. Now the 'Troubles' were a thing of the past and the Loyalist and Republican gangs were either involved in real politics or in criminal activities. The guy he had offed might be considered as the result of a drugs turf war rather than a sectarian killing. That's why Case was going to have to muddy the waters. What the politicians and the people feared most was a return to the bad old days. He needed time to complete his mission and he didn't need the fuzz up his arse while he was at it. So the obvious ploy was to make them think it was sectarian. That would send them on a wild goose chase and he would be out of Belfast  before you could say Jack Robinson. By the time they copped on he would be on a beach somewhere.
    He wondered what his old pals in the SAS would say if they saw him now. “Bastards,” he chanted again and again as though he were standing on the terrace of a football ground. Too bloody violent for them, was he? Well there were people who were willing to pay good money for the kind of violence he had perfected. He took another slug of the whiskey. “Bloody bitch, bloody bitch, bloody bitch.” He chanted at the television screen. He’d loved the Regiment and she’d had him drummed out. He emptied his glass and then re-filled it. He should have killed the slag. He remembered the pleasure he had derived from beating her and her lover to a pulp.
                  “Should have killed them both,” he said drunkenly. “Should have killed both the slags.”
                  Wonder where his bitch of an ex-wife was now, he thought. Probably giving her best in some knocking shop or other. He laughed out loud at the thought. It was about all she was good for. Wherever she was he didn't give a bollocks. When this job was finished he'd have twenty grand of spending money in his back pocket. Then maybe off to Spain. Rent a villa on the Costa and live easy for a while. Until the money runs out. Then back to work again. Since he started working for the spooks there had been continuous work on offer. It almost made up for being dumped out of the SAS. He needed the buzz. If he hadn’t been picked up by the spooks he would have gone back to villainy or maybe he would have joined the Oakley Brigade in Iraq. He'd already put his name on the list for Blackwater. The buzz was everything, he thought re-filling his glass. Without the buzz he’d put a bullet through his head.
                  The Bushmills was beginning to bite. His eyes started to glaze over. Gotta report to the boss to-morrow, he thought, as he slowly sank into unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 5
     
     
    The rain of the previous night had turned into a light mist by morning. 'Soft rain' meant that the population of the island would spend the day gazing at a constant cover of clouds which would only vary in colour between light grey and black.
    Wilson had slept poorly for all his tiredness. His legs moved leadenly as he entered the PSNI station which was responsible for what had been the most dangerous fifteen square miles of city in the United Kingdom - Belfast `C' Division operating out of Tennent Street. During Wilson's ten