The largest caravan was aligned in front of the others as if on guard. Its wheels had either disappeared or sunk into the ground, so it looked as if it had sat down. The door squeaked open and a ginger Staffie charged out at us, barking and slavering. Jai and I both took a hasty step back and crashed into one another, demonstrating our smooth professionalism.

A boulder-shaped orange-haired woman emerged from the caravan, lunged forward, and grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck. It carried on barking but at a more strangled pitch.

The woman gave us the same look I’d given the dog turd. ‘What?’

I flashed ID. ‘We’d like a word with Daniel Twigg. Which is his caravan?’

‘Why are you after him?’

‘Which is his caravan please?’

‘How do I know you’re not those animal activists? They’re dangerous, you know.’

I held up my ID again. ‘Because we’re police. Feel free to call and check.’

‘Why aren’t you wearing uniforms? You look too scruffy to be police. Well, you do.’ She pointed at me. ‘He looks okay.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said. ‘Which is his caravan?’

She frowned at us, causing creases in her face which matched her dog’s. After pausing long enough to demonstrate that she was still sceptical about me and was complying out of her good nature and not because she had to, the woman gestured towards a small caravan with trails of green mould drifting down its side. ‘He’s not well. He’s come back from work, so don’t go bothering him.’

‘Thanks.’

We moved gratefully away from the dog, which was baring its teeth and salivating.

‘What on earth …?’ On each side of the caravan door was a pile of rocks. But pile didn’t properly describe it. The rocks were balanced on top of one another in teetering stacks about four feet high, even though the base rocks were smaller than the higher ones.

‘Rock-balancing art,’ Jai said. ‘It’s what constitutes a wild time round here. No glue or cement or anything – just gravity and physics.’

‘I like them.’ I stepped between the rocks, worried about knocking them over.

I tapped on the door. It opened abruptly, causing the entire caravan to wobble and making me fear for the rock art. A man appeared. White-faced, nervous-looking. Mid-thirties. Longish hair. Delicate, unshaven features. Arctic Monkeys T-shirt.

Jai spoke first. ‘Are you Daniel Twigg? This is DI Meg Dalton and I’m DS Jai Sanghera. Can we ask you a few questions?’

‘You’d better come in.’ He stepped back to allow us to climb up.