‘I didn’t think it would be too long for you lot to come sniffing round,’ the man said, beckoning Gillard inside. The caravan had a characteristic bottled gas odour mixed with stale cooking. The detective took off his shoes and left them with the other boots at the door, and followed the man onto the deep pile green carpet. The walls were lined with black and white photos of a boxer, various certificates, and a glass case with newspaper coverage of the triumphs of Rory ‘Typhoon’ Tickett.

‘My name is Detective Chief Inspector—’

‘Got that from the message,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m Chris Tickett, but I’m sure you know that.’ He had the intimidating stance of a nightclub doorman, with pale grey eyes, a florid face and just the hint of an Irish accent. Tickett indicated that Gillard should set himself down on an enormous settee, facing an even larger TV screen which blocked out the light from the biggest window. ‘You want a cuppa? I’m just making one.’

‘No thanks.’ Gillard sat down and waited while Tickett busied himself in the kitchen. Only when the big man had returned with a mug and sat opposite him on a big recliner chair did the detective begin his spiel.

‘Mr Tickett, as you will have heard, a body was found close to the river a few days ago, on a site that was being worked on by your family firm.’

‘I know that, obviously.’

‘And the foreman was your son, Aidan.’

Tickett nodded. ‘And?’

‘I just wondered if you had any ideas who this person might be?’

‘The uniformed coppers already asked me.’

‘I know, but I just thought—’

‘You just thought that, seeing that I was a convicted murderer, you’d come round here and poke your nose in.’

‘I’m just doing my job, Mr Tickett. There’s not much detail on your statement.’

‘That’s because I’ve got nothing to tell you. You know, every time anything happens in the area, a missing person, a stolen car, a pub fight, whatever it is, Hampshire Constabulary are here.’

‘I’m from Surrey Police.’

‘Same difference. My crime, nearly forty years ago, was a crime of passion. Me and Henry were in dispute over Jeannette.’

‘His wife. Who later took her own life.’

‘Yes, poor Jeannette.’ Tickett’s eyes lost focus for a moment. ‘But because I’m from traveller stock, the assumption is that I’m some kind of habitual criminal. It’s just prejudice. We Ticketts get on right enough now with the Willows, and everyone else in the village.’

Gillard could see there might be some truth in that. ‘I think from my point of view you can see it would be remiss of me not to come and talk to you.’

He shrugged. ‘Well, now you’ve met me and had a chat, you can go.’