They went over. It was drizzling and slippery where they walked. The hedge, ground, sky were a grey-brown wash. Only the Caterpillars, the hard hats and orange coveralls splashed brightness.

Arron scrambled down, steadying himself by holding the tough roots and lower branches.

‘What the hell’s that doing?’

Ollie joined him to look at the caravan which had slipped and rolled sideways, landing half in, half out of the ditch and verge on the side of the road beyond.

‘Lucky it didn’t stay upright and end up in the middle of the road.’

They went round to the other side and tried to see in. The door and steps leading to it were wedged, but by clambering Arron could lie on the caravan and look through the window.

‘We need to make sure it’s safe, nothing inside that could catch fire – they have paraffin heaters and Calor gas in these things, though that’s when people are living in them. Shouldn’t think anyone was, so we can call in the heavy lifters, get it upright and then find out who it belongs to. As if. It’s been dumped.’

Arron turned, squatting on the toppled caravan. ‘I think there’s someone inside.’

‘How can you see? The windows are all grimed up.’

‘OK, you look.’

Ollie rolled his eyes. But there was something about Arron’s expression that made him edge his way on hands and knees, until he could just see through the dirt.

A leg. A body half over on its side. One arm.

‘Jesus.’

Ollie slid fast down the wet metal side, tearing at his overalls to reach his phone.

Half an hour later, ambulance, fire engine and two patrol cars were on site, passing vehicles which had slowed down were being moved on, and Serrailler, wearing borrowed overalls which was too short for him, hard hat and boots, was edging his way up the sloping caravan.

He always tried not to jump to conclusions before he had at least had a preliminary look at anything, even to guess whether it was a crime scene, and never to speculate about a body, even as to whether it was dead or alive. He had been caught out in the past, assuming the man found lying in a back alley was the same one they had been chasing in the area earlier, deciding that a woman had been murdered only for the pathologist to see a natural cause immediately. Why had the caravan overturned, who was inside and why? Was it even a human being? Light played tricks and dummies had been planted before today.

Simon crouched and pressed his face against the caravan window. The figure was no trick of light but a dead man with his head bashed in, the thick stains on the linoleum were dried clotted blood. No dummy had been planted.

He slid back down to the ground.

Sixty-One