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Dalziel and Pascoe investigate the death of a jockey at a racetrack, only to find he was poisoned with a blood-thinning drug. This investigation leads them to a mysterious vet and the racecourse's biggest client, a gambling lottery winner.

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      • Pascoe: What's up Posh? You've got a face like a smacked arse. Spicer: I'm not being funny sir, but I'm just doing the same boring stuff I was doing before. Phone this, file that. I wouldn't mind but this is something I actually know about. I could help. Pascoe: What do you mean? Spicer: Well, let's just say, as a kid, I spent more time in the bookies than I did in school. Pascoe: I never had you down as a gambler. Spicer: Not me..me mum.

      • (Watching the horseracing on TV) Dalziel: Yeah! (Ecstatic) Pascoe: What you bet Andy, 50p each way? Dalziel: Yankee bet, Peter. If me next horse comes in, I'll be up three grand! PC Baines: Then you won't bother putting a quid in the sweep then, sir. Dalziel: Yeah I will. I'll have a flutter. Tell you what, I'll even go first. There you are...let's have a look...Silver Soda! That's me next horse. It's gotta be an omen a'n'it hey? Pascoe: (To Spicer) Typical, he's picked the bloody favourite.

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