The clock repairer’s workshop was sandwiched between a Chinese takeaway and a shop offering cut price mobiles and unlocking services. The street was home to a ragbag of such businesses: a couple of takeaways, a betting shop, a newsagents and a funeral parlour complete with purple plastic irises gathering dust in the sombre window. The word ‘dignitie’ was misspelled, leading her to worry how many gravestones in the town might present idiosyncratic messages to the living, cryptic comments about the deceased.

Inside the shop window, a selection of wrist watches shared space with a carriage clock whilst, further back in the dim recesses, she could just make out a grandfather clock. Every timepiece displayed a different time, none of which agreed with her phone’s clock. For some reason Pink Floyd’s track Time started playing in her head and she dismissed it with irritation as she pushed the door open. A bell attached to the door on a coil of brass rang in tuneless urgency to announce a customer, and a humpbacked figure eventually appeared behind the counter, peering up at her through pebble glasses as if a customer was indeed a rarity.

“I’m DC Frankie McKenzie. I was wondering if you may be able to help me?”

“Have you brought it with you?”

“I’m sorry. Have I brought what with me?”

“What’s that? You’ll have to speak up. Oh, one moment.” He fumbled with his ears, retrieving two hearing aids and took them over to a large magnifying glass attached to the end of the counter. “I’ll just be a minute,” he advised, turning on a light and concentrating on replacing two small button batteries. Satisfied his hearing aids were working, he inserted them back into his ears and smiled beatifically up at Frankie.

“Sorry, my dear. What was that again?”

Frankie took a deep breath and started again. “My name is DC Frankie McKenzie. I’m a detective at the local police station. We’re looking for someone to help us with one of our cases, someone who understands clockwork mechanisms.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I’m a horologist. Been working with clocks for nigh on sixty years. What’s wrong with the police station clock, is it running slow?”

She wondered if the only clockmaker in the town was going to be of any help. “It’s not the police station clock.” She said each word with emphasis, speaking slowly to avoid misunderstanding. “We have a crime which we believe involves a clockwork mechanism. Would you be able to look at what we’ve found and advise us?”

“Clockwork mechanisms?” He said the words as if he doubted her sanity. “You say the crime involved a clockwork mechanism?”