There was the roar of an engine, and a large black car rumbled past the window and came to a halt in the yard. Gillard, who had been preparing to leave, decided to hang around for a moment or two. Tickett stood up, looking slightly nervous. There were some heavy approaching footsteps, shouts to the dogs to shut up, and the caravan door flew open to be filled by a tall and muscular young man with a shaven head, carrying a cardboard box in his arms. The lad had started speaking before he’d even looked around.

‘Pa, the bastards have disappeared—’

‘Hold your horses, Rory,’ Tickett said. ‘This fella here is from Surrey Police.’ He gestured a thumb at Gillard, who introduced himself.

The young man scowled, and shouldered his way into a back room. In there he must have dropped the box, for the clatter it made, and then he emerged back into the lounge, seeming to fill it with a disruptive energy. He was wearing a dark blue T-shirt embroidered with the Tickett company initials, a pair of brick red canvas shorts and yellow construction boots. There was no sign of dirt or builders’ dust on him.

‘Rory’s been looking for some missing equipment,’ Tickett explained, smiling for the first time since Gillard arrived. The detective knew he was lying. He really wasn’t very good at it.

‘You’re Typhoon Tickett, aren’t you?’ Gillard said, as a conversational gambit.

‘What’s it to you?’ he replied, looking him up and down.

‘So who is it you couldn’t find?’ Gillard said.

The two Ticketts started speaking over each other. Rory mentioned Aidan, while his father talked about generators.

‘If you had something stolen, please let us know,’ Gillard said. The two men exchanged dark glances; clearly they had plenty to say to each other once Gillard had left.

‘Are either of you aware of anyone going missing in the village in recent years?’

The Ticketts again looked at each other before the older man said, ‘No.’

‘Does the name Ozzy Blanchard mean anything to you?’

‘Is that who the body is, then?’ Tickett senior asked.

‘It may be, but we’re keeping an open mind,’ Gillard said.

‘I heard of the man, that’s all. My sons met him through contracting work at the water company.’

The two men clearly had something to hide, but another ten minutes of questioning elicited little useful information except some background. Christopher Tickett said he and the Willow family had long ago mended their differences. The farm was now run by Michael Willow, Henry’s eldest son, while the two daughters, Vicky and Crystal, and her own daughter Rowena, were well known in the village. ‘If you’re looking for evidence of a family feud between us, you won’t find it,’ he volunteered.