Properties, have you thought of trying Charlestonâs? Theyâre a big outfit, with branches all over the place. Theyâll even help you move home.â
âSorry, Iâm not with you.â
âTheyâve all sorts of additional services to offer. Not the sort Helen Tate has in mind for you,â Clara added with a wicked grin, âbut equally useful. Charlestonâs have a removal company, a firm of solicitors, mortgage brokers, the lot. They even own the firm that puts up the FOR SALE signs. Theyâd be my first port of call. But then, I donât fancy Helen Tate.â
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The Home Office didnât consider their part of North Yorkshire warranted a full-time pathology department, so post-mortem examinations in the area were carried out by Pedro Ramirez, Professor of Pathology from York University. At some stage, an officer with a better than nodding acquaintance with The Ballad of Eskimo Nell had nicknamed him âMexican Peteâ. Despite the fact that he hailed from Madrid!
Nash got a call regarding the post-mortem. The conversation was brief to the point of curtness: âI viewed the body yesterday. I have lectures all day. Be at Netherdale Hospital at 6 p.m.â Before Nash could reply the line went dead. He stared at the phone for a bemused second.
Mironova was watching, a smile on her face. âMexican Pete?â
Nash nodded.
âTalkative was he?â
âAs ever,â Nash agreed.
âHeâs a damned good pathologist, even though he is a pervert. He tries to feel my backside every time he sees me.â
âThatâs not perverted. Thatâs good taste. Iâm off to see Rawlings again. Want to come?â
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Predictably, Rawlings was studying the morningâs racing paper. He was sitting on a bar stool, a mug of coffee and an overflowing
ashtray in front of him. He looked up as they entered. âWhat is it this time?â His tone was resigned, but Nash guessed this was more habit than genuine resentment.
âSome questions, Iâm afraid.â
âAs long as youâre quick. Itâs the barmanâs day off and I want to phone the bookies before the pub gets busy.â
âWeâll keep it as short as we can.â
âFire away then,â Rawlings lit another cigarette and looked at them directly for the first time. âWhat do you want to know?â
âThe lists of customers that were in the bar yesterday lunchtime. Was there anyone on, or not on them for that matter, that Lizzie might have been seeing on a regular basis over, say, the last year?â
Rawlings thought about it. âNot to my knowledge, not the last twelve months, and I reckon Iâd know.â
âHow, Mr Rawlings?â Clara asked.
He gave her an amused smile. âItâs a landlordâs business to notice things like that. Comes in very handy: especially in a place like this. Knowing who to keep apart, stop a fight breaking out.â
Nash persisted. âThe way you said it, sounded as if you knew something outside that time limit.â
Rawlings grunted. âYou donât miss much, do you? Lizzie and Alec Jennings were going at it hammer and tongs a while back. Alec wasnât in yesterday; thatâs why heâs not on your lists. I teased Lizzie about toy boys, because Alecâs ten years younger.â
âHowâd you find out about it?â
âUsual way,â Rawlings grinned. âCaught them at it. Had to change a barrel one night and when I took the empty outside, I found him giving her a knee trembler in the yard. His girlfriend had just walked out, so I suppose it was a case of any port in a storm. Anyway, I said, âDonât mind me, carry onâ, and you know what, they did. It went on for a few months, then fizzled out about a year back when Cindy, thatâs Alecâs girlfriend, moved back in. Alec didnât waste any time, maybe he wasnât prepared to risk