'I wanted to tell you about who I saw in the local pub the night the girl was killed. As I say, I meant to tell you before—'
'And who might that be?' Rafferty interrupted.
'Simple Simon.'
'Dr. Simon Smythe do you mean?'
'That's right. Simple Simon. Only he didn't meet a pie man.' Gilbert sniggered at his own wit.
Rafferty smiled obligingly and waited for him to elaborate.
'He met a girl. And 'im meant to be on duty, too.' He sniffed, adopting the self-righteous tones of a man who knew his duty and did it, come what may.
'You're sure it was the night of the murder?'
'Course I'm sure. He was in the small, private bar; knocking back whisky like it was going out of fashion. He didn't see me as the angle was awkward, but I saw 'im all right. I only caught a glimpse of the girl, though.'
