27
After Nick had left, leaving Slim a handwritten note with his phone number and a couple of email addresses, Slim found a printing shop on the high street to print out the photos he had taken of the farmyard at Worth Farm. With the ones he had taken of Amos Birch’s old workshop, he first enlarged them until the door and its padlock filled the screen, so that if such things had brand markings, an expert in the field would know.
Using the shop’s fax, he sent them to a London number then went outside to make a call.
‘Alan, it’s Slim,’ he said, when the voice of an old friend came on the line. ‘I need a favour.’
Alan Coaker, an old roommate during their training days at Harrogate, coughed a punctured laugh. The gravelly sound of his voice suggested he was yet to quit the twenty-a-day hab
