18
‘I’m pretty sure I had nothing to do with that,’ Michael said, leaning on a spade, his exposed arms slick with sweat despite the February cold. ‘Although it crossed my mind the other night.’
‘I had a meeting with a concrete slab,’ Slim said. ‘It wasn’t pleased to see me.’
‘I’m not pleased to see you either. What do you want?’
Slim gazed out across the field toward the bump of Rough Tor in the distance.
‘This is going to sound pretty intrusive, but I want to ask you about Amos Birch.’
‘Pretty intrusive? Who do you think you are?’
‘I’m a private investigator, and I’m investigating the disappearance of Mr. Birch.’ As soon as the words were out, Slim felt a surge of embarrassment at his attempt to sound authoritative. Michael, clearly not falling for the trick, shook his head.
‘Priv
