12
‘So, where is it now, that clock you found?’
Slim sat across from Geoff Bunce in a café on the corner of Tavistock market. He sipped weak coffee out of a Styrofoam cup and said, ‘I hid it.’
‘Where?’
Slim smiled. ‘Somewhere I’m sure it’ll be safe.’
Bunce nodded quickly. ‘Right, right. Good idea. So, do you have any idea what happened to Amos?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘But you’re a private investigator, right?’
‘I deal mostly with extra-marital affairs and disability frauds,’ Slim said. ‘Nothing too exciting. I’m not making any money off this investigation, so when the trail runs cold I’ll likely disappear back up country and find a case that pays.’
‘Don’t you have any clues?’
‘What I have is a mental list of possibilities, and the more I can cross off, the closer I’ll get to figurin
