A Box Full of Darkness (Wilson Book 5) by Fee Derek Page B

passed over another £10 note. He could see from the barman’s face that the second tip was graciously received.
    McDevitt raised his glass. ‘We’ve already done your work life, and your private life.’ He touched his glass to Wilson’s and sipped the white head on the black liquid. ‘Have I told you that my ex-wife is trying to drag me through the courts again?’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
     
     
     
    Wilson woke with a screaming headache, and looked around the room. For an instant, he had no idea where he was. Slowly the outlines of his apartment appeared and he realised that he had somehow managed to make his way home. He was in the living room and there was a smell of curry in his nose. He looked at the coffee table and saw the remains of an Indian takeaway. He had no recollection of either ordering or consuming the meal. His mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. He needed to rehydrate and quickly. He tried to remember the last time he had tied one on. It was a hell of a long time ago. Jock McDevitt really was becoming his best friend, or maybe just his best new drinking buddy. Another nuclear explosion went off in his head. He looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes past seven. He wasn’t due in Dunmurry until nine, so he had the best part of an hour and a half to get himself into reasonable shape. It would require hot and cold alternating showers and a litre of coffee, but he would get there. He had been obliged to leave his car in town. He tried to remember exactly how many drinks he’d had but his brain had taken a holiday. He remembered McDevitt earnestly warning him to watch out for himself. Gradually, the details of the evening came back to him and he pushed himself up from his couch. The smell of curry was overpowering and he felt his stomach lurch. He moved as quickly as he could in the direction of the bathroom.
     
    He arrived in Dunmurry at five minutes to nine and had performed a miracle by getting himself into a state that could loosely be described as semi-human. It was going to be a difficult day in more ways than one. He parked his car and made his way to his office. Once inside, he removed a plastic cylinder containing painkillers from his pocket and dropped two down his throat followed by a slug from a take-out coffee he had procured on his way. He wanted to blame Kate for what happened the previous evening but he was old enough to realise that what had been done to him had been done by himself. No one had poured the drink down his throat. He took out a pad of paper. There were several things he would need in order to proceed. One was someone to front for him with the FSNI in order to have a ballistics test carried out on the bullet and shell. He wrote down the names of everyone that would fit that particular bill. He put a line through the names of his former colleagues in the murder squad.  Then he crossed out McDevitt. He was left with two names: Kate McCann and Laurence Gold. Both might have a legitimate reason for requesting FSNI to analyse the projectiles. Neither would have to explain the basis of their request. And assuredly, Sinclair and Jackson wouldn’t hear a word about it. He would prefer to use Gold, but in reality he knew that he was going to have to ask Kate for her help. He wasn’t sure how she would respond but he would have to give it a try. He took out his mobile phone and composed a simply message “I need your help, please”, and sent it.  The trial didn’t begin until ten o’clock but he knew that Kate was probably already at court changing into her wig and gown. He prayed that she wouldn’t just cancel his message sight unseen. There really wasn’t an alternative. The bullet and shell would be useless without the analysis. He knew he had just spoiled his day. He would now sit around wondering if and when Kate would reply. He looked at the page and crossed out Gold’s name. He looked up when he heard a knock at the door and saw Jackson’s head appear