Free Nothing but Memories (DCI Wilson Book 1) by Derek Fee Page B

Whitehouse,” the smile had faded from Wilson’s face. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”
                  Whitehouse pulled in air noisily through his nose. “No, Sir,” he said barely opening his mouth. “There's no criminal record. And he's not on the terrorist database. So it seems that he doesn't have any connection with a paramilitary organisation. But we’re still checking.”
                  Wilson turned to Davidson.
                  “Did you check his movements?”
                  Davidson shot a sideways glance at Whitehouse before answering. “Shortly before the killing he was in The Auld Sash on the Woodvale Road. It appears that he dropped in regular as clockwork for an evening pint.”
                  “There’s a mob that hangs out in The Auld Sash, isn’t there?” Wilson said. “Maybe he was part of it. You’re the expert on this kind of thing, George. Who do the mob from The Auld Sash belong to? UVF, UFF, LFF?”
                  Whitehouse stared at Moira. “I have no idea, boss. I didn’t even know that a mob hung out there.”
                  Wilson sighed. So it was going to be like that, was it. He really didn’t need the additional aggravation. If Whitehouse was going to continue acting coy around McElvaney, then the investigation might be compromised. He wasn’t going to let that happen.
                  “Eric,” he said. ‘Any news from the lab boys on Patterson’s bed sit?”
                  “Nothing, boss.” Again the sideways glance at Whitehouse. “No sign of visitors. No fingerprints other than the dead man’s. I checked with vice and they’ve never run across Patterson. It all a big zero.”
                  “Nothing from the neighbours either,” McIver offered without being asked. “Patterson was a solitary bloke. Kept himself to himself. Nobody remembers him having a visitor of either sex. The only sound they ever heard from his room was the television or radio. The walls of that house are so thin that you could hear a budgie shit in the room next door. Sorry, boss, but we seem to be drawing blanks all over.”
                  "Okay, boys," Wilson said. "I want the bloke who topped this Patterson character and I want him yesterday. I want every shred of evidence looked at again and again until we find something that links this guy to politics or religion or sex or whatever the hell reason got him killed."
                  “Wrong place, wrong time,” Whitehouse said through clenched lips.
                  “We’re all aware of your theory, George. Now can it. Moira will be the ‘receiver’ on this case.” He turned towards her. “In case you don’t know the jargon that means that you’ve got the shit job of sifting everything that comes in relating to this case. And I mean everything. Neither George or myself will have time to go over all the bits and pieces that come via the public but we need to see what’s important. It’s your job to know what’s important and what’s not. So get working on the statements that Eric collected last night, review the pathology evidence and go through the photographs. I want you operational as soon as possible.”
                  “Thank you, sir,” Moira said enthusiastically.
                  Wilson turned and walked towards his glass walled den. In the reflection of the glass, he saw Whitehouse glaring at Moira who was installing herself at the only empty desk in the room.
                  “George, you, in my office now,” Wilson said from the door of his office.
                  Whitehouse moved reluctantly after his chief.
                  "Come in and close the door," Wilson took his place behind the desk.
                  Whitehouse squeezed into the tiny office and searched for a