with short fair hair.
She looked young but the fine lines on her face betrayed her age. She stared at the two policemen, her eyes lingering on Wesley,
then turned to her husband.
‘What’s going on, Barry? What are all these police doing here?’
‘Er … this is my wife, Dilys. These are policemen, love. There’s been a body found in one of the statics in the top field.’
Dilys Fielding looked worried. ‘What was it? A heart attack? It wasn’t an accident, was it?’ she added anxiously, mentally
going through the liability clauses on the site’s insurance policies. ‘We make sure everything’s checked thoroughly, you know.
The electrics and the gas flues. We always do everything by the book. You can’t take any risks these days.’
‘I’m afraid it looks like murder, Mrs Fielding,’ said Wesley gently.
Dilys Fielding’s hand fluttered up to her mouth. ‘Oh, Lord. That’s awful. What happened?’ she asked with what seemed like
genuine shock.
‘A young man’s been found dead in caravan sixty-three, love,’ said Heffernan bluntly. ‘What can you tell us about him?’
Dilys glanced at her husband. ‘I’ll need to look it up on the computer.’
Gerry Heffernan nodded to Wesley, who followed Dilys into the room next door, which was furnished as an office.
‘This must be a shock to you, Mrs Fielding,’ he said. ‘But anything you can tell us about the dead man will be very useful.’
She gave Wesley a weak smile, grateful that at least one of the local police force was behaving sympathetically. She booted
up the computer and summoned up the details of caravan sixty-three from the files.
‘He just turned up on Monday and paid for a week in one of the statics we let out. He hadn’t booked in advance or anything.
We normally do Saturday to Saturday, but out of season we can’t be that fussy. He didn’t have a car either, so I’ve no record
of any registration number.’
‘How did he get here, then?’
‘I asked him that when he arrived. He said he’d taken a bus to Bloxham and walked.’
‘Did he tell you anything about himself? Where he came from?’
‘No. He mentioned that he’d taken the bus from Plymouth. He didn’t have a lot of luggage, only a rucksack. That’s all, really.’
She thought for a moment. ‘He seemed a pleasant sort of bloke. Very well spoken … quite posh, really. He was young – in his
twenties, I’d say. We don’t usually let our caravans to young single men but he was on his own and he didn’t look the type
who’d get legless on a few pints of strong lager and come back here to cause trouble … not like some. As I said, he seemed
nice. He wasn’t smart, just dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. And he wasn’t really the chatty type. He didn’t say much.’
‘Did he give his name and address?’
‘He said he was in the middle of moving flats so there wasn’t much point in giving an address. And his name was Jones … John
Jones.’
‘And he didn’t say where he lived?’
‘No. He never said where he came from and I never asked.’
Wesley nodded and was rewarded with another weak smile. The next question was one that he hardly liked to ask, but it was
necessary.
‘Would you or your husband be willing to have a look at the body; just to confirm it’s the same man who rented the caravan?’
Dilys Fielding wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘I’ll let Barry do that. I’d probably throw up.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Fielding. We’ll ask your husband. Are you sure this John Jones didn’t say where he lived?’
‘No. Definitely not. Mind you, come to think of it, he was a bit cagey. But nice … he seemed nice. Very polite.’
‘What about payment? Cheque? Credit card?’ said Wesley hopefully.
‘Sorry, no. He paid in cash.’ She swung round on her swivel chair and gave Wesley a shy smile. ‘You’re not from round these
parts, then?’
‘I transferred here from London about a year ago. My wife’s
She looked young but the fine lines on her face betrayed her age. She stared at the two policemen, her eyes lingering on Wesley,
then turned to her husband.
‘What’s going on, Barry? What are all these police doing here?’
‘Er … this is my wife, Dilys. These are policemen, love. There’s been a body found in one of the statics in the top field.’
Dilys Fielding looked worried. ‘What was it? A heart attack? It wasn’t an accident, was it?’ she added anxiously, mentally
going through the liability clauses on the site’s insurance policies. ‘We make sure everything’s checked thoroughly, you know.
The electrics and the gas flues. We always do everything by the book. You can’t take any risks these days.’
‘I’m afraid it looks like murder, Mrs Fielding,’ said Wesley gently.
Dilys Fielding’s hand fluttered up to her mouth. ‘Oh, Lord. That’s awful. What happened?’ she asked with what seemed like
genuine shock.
‘A young man’s been found dead in caravan sixty-three, love,’ said Heffernan bluntly. ‘What can you tell us about him?’
Dilys glanced at her husband. ‘I’ll need to look it up on the computer.’
Gerry Heffernan nodded to Wesley, who followed Dilys into the room next door, which was furnished as an office.
‘This must be a shock to you, Mrs Fielding,’ he said. ‘But anything you can tell us about the dead man will be very useful.’
She gave Wesley a weak smile, grateful that at least one of the local police force was behaving sympathetically. She booted
up the computer and summoned up the details of caravan sixty-three from the files.
‘He just turned up on Monday and paid for a week in one of the statics we let out. He hadn’t booked in advance or anything.
We normally do Saturday to Saturday, but out of season we can’t be that fussy. He didn’t have a car either, so I’ve no record
of any registration number.’
‘How did he get here, then?’
‘I asked him that when he arrived. He said he’d taken a bus to Bloxham and walked.’
‘Did he tell you anything about himself? Where he came from?’
‘No. He mentioned that he’d taken the bus from Plymouth. He didn’t have a lot of luggage, only a rucksack. That’s all, really.’
She thought for a moment. ‘He seemed a pleasant sort of bloke. Very well spoken … quite posh, really. He was young – in his
twenties, I’d say. We don’t usually let our caravans to young single men but he was on his own and he didn’t look the type
who’d get legless on a few pints of strong lager and come back here to cause trouble … not like some. As I said, he seemed
nice. He wasn’t smart, just dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. And he wasn’t really the chatty type. He didn’t say much.’
‘Did he give his name and address?’
‘He said he was in the middle of moving flats so there wasn’t much point in giving an address. And his name was Jones … John
Jones.’
‘And he didn’t say where he lived?’
‘No. He never said where he came from and I never asked.’
Wesley nodded and was rewarded with another weak smile. The next question was one that he hardly liked to ask, but it was
necessary.
‘Would you or your husband be willing to have a look at the body; just to confirm it’s the same man who rented the caravan?’
Dilys Fielding wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘I’ll let Barry do that. I’d probably throw up.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Fielding. We’ll ask your husband. Are you sure this John Jones didn’t say where he lived?’
‘No. Definitely not. Mind you, come to think of it, he was a bit cagey. But nice … he seemed nice. Very polite.’
‘What about payment? Cheque? Credit card?’ said Wesley hopefully.
‘Sorry, no. He paid in cash.’ She swung round on her swivel chair and gave Wesley a shy smile. ‘You’re not from round these
parts, then?’
‘I transferred here from London about a year ago. My wife’s
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