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pint’ll be alright. Don’t panic. It’ll help me sleep.’
    ‘I won’t need any help with that,’ replied Jane. ‘It’s been a bloody long day.’
    ‘Let’s focus on what we know then,’ said Dixon.
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Not the detail, I mean. What it tells us.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Noel was killed by someone who doesn’t know the difference between a standard horse shoe and a racing plate, for starters.’
    ‘Yes, that figures.’
    ‘And in this game that must narrow it down, surely?’
    ‘It must.’
    ‘And yet someone who knew that he’d be out and about on his own at that time in the morning...’
    ‘True.’
    ‘...on a race day.’
    Jane nodded. ‘Someone who thought Noel was about to expose them for something big, if Jon’s right about that,’ she said.
    ‘Good point,’ replied Dixon.
    ‘And that Westbrook Warrior’s an aggressive little devil?’
    ‘Meaning that his stable was the right one to leave the body in so it wouldn’t arouse suspicion.’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Jane.
    ‘So, they know some things but not others...’
    Dixon looked up. A waitress was standing next to their table in the corner of the bar holding two plates of scampi and chips.

Four
     
     
     
    Dixon was asleep before Jane pulled out of the car park at the Lamb Inn. He woke up when they got home but only for as long as it took him to get from the car into bed.
    This time he slept straight through the night, the effect of the Tramadol and beer negated by his tiredness. He had been on the go since 3.00am that morning, almost twenty hours, but it had, at least, taken his mind off the pain in his left shoulder.
    He woke just before 7.00am and made coffee and toast for Jane, which he carried up to her on a tray.
    ‘Breakfast in bed?’ she said, rubbing her eyes. ‘What have I done to deserve this?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Where’s your sling?’
    ‘I’m going to try it without now. It feels a lot better.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘I’m just going to take Monty round the back.’
    Dixon opened the back door and watched as Monty tore around the back of his Land Rover, under the fence and into the field at the back of the cottage. Dixon followed, climbing over the fence with an umbrella in his right hand. He stood in the corner of the field, deep in thought. Who would know not much, but enough? About race day routine and Westbrook Warrior’s aggression but not about his shoes? And what about a motive? Assuming Jon was right and Noel was about to blow the whistle on something, what was it?
    He watched Monty sniffing along the hedge.
    Denials from Georgina Harcourt and Hesp. To be expected and taken with a pinch of salt. But then both would have known a racing plate from a...
    ‘Are you coming in? We have to go in a minute,’ shouted Jane.
    ...standard shoe. He was convinced they were hiding something. There had been something about their denials. A little too rehearsed, perhaps? Certainly, Hesp was unreliable. He wasn’t quite so sure about Georgina Harcourt though.
     
    Louise Willmott was waiting for them when they arrived at Bridgwater Police Station.
    ‘It’s still just us then?’ asked Dixon.
    ‘Looks like it, Sir,’ replied Louise.
    ‘My office. Janice is on a trial in Bristol for the next week or so.’
    Louise sat at Janice Courtenay’s desk and Jane on the chair in front of Dixon’s desk.
    ‘We’ll use this whiteboard,’ he said, turning to the board on the wall behind his desk. He pinned up a photograph of Noel and then turned round to see DCI Lewis standing in the doorway.
    ‘Don’t mind me. Saves you going through it all twice.’
    ‘Yes, Sir.’
    Dixon turned back to the whiteboard. ‘Noel Woodman. We’re supposed to believe that he was kicked to death by Westbrook Warrior, a horse that’s known to be aggressive. He was found in his stable covered in marks made by a horse shoe like this one.’
    Dixon handed the heavy steel shoe to Louise.
    ‘There are three problems with that. Firstly, Westbrook