‘Look - there’s nobody in them,’ said Proctor, flinging open the door.
Fry peered in. ‘Nobody in this one, perhaps.’
‘What?’
‘We’d like to see inside them all.’
‘You’re joking.’
She pointed at the next ‘van. ‘Mr Proctor, if you don’t mind …’
‘For God’s sake. What a waste of time.’
The interior of the second caravan smelled mouldy and stale. A bad leak in a corner of the roof had stained the ceiling brown and one of the panels was peeling away.
‘Who lives here?’ asked Cooper.
‘No one. Well, no one at the moment.’
‘Someone has been living here recently. There’s used bedding, and some cutlery in the sink.’
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‘They were Iraqi refugees.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘As far as I know, they went back to Iraq.’
‘They left some of their belongings behind,’ said Cooper, looking at a pair of old shoes and a portable TV set.
‘Probably they didn’t want to cart the stuff all the way to Baghdad.’
‘Really?’
Cooper looked at Proctor. His story was almost possible. Refugees and asylum seekers turned up in the most surprising places.
‘Mr Proctor, you told us that William Thorpe left the caravan site at the end of April, because you needed the caravan for the tourist season.’
‘Yes.’
‘But that wasn’t right, was it? We believe that William Thorpe was still living here much later than the end of April.’
Proctor shrugged. ‘All right, I felt for sorry for him. Like you said, he didn’t have anywhere to go. He asked me for a few more weeks.’
‘And you didn’t have any bookings?’
‘Bookings have been a bit quiet this season. They were quiet last season, too. They’ve been bloody quiet ever since the foot and mouth thing.’
‘So it wasn’t a problem for you to have Thorpe staying in the caravan a bit longer?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. Will got to be a nuisance after a while. I had the paying customers to think of. Business is bad enough, without having someone like Will around the place, scaring them off.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us this before, sir?’
‘I thought he might be in trouble.’
‘Perhaps he is.’
‘Well, there’s the question of loyalty, you know.’
‘Oh, suddenly there’s a question of loyalty, is there?’
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Proctor glowered and began to turn away.
‘Was there some particular incident that brought matters to a head?’ asked Fry. ‘Yes, there was. It was the last straw. I told him, “Will, I’ve done what I can for you, but I can’t do any more. You’re going to have to go.”’
‘What happened exactly?’
‘Some fool gave him money. I don’t know whether Will had been in the village begging from the tourists, or if he’d nicked it, but he used the money to buy booze and he got himself totally pissed. He was going round banging on all the caravan doors wanting people to let him in so they could have a party. I’ve never had so many complaints as I did that night. We had kids crying, and half the men threatening to punch his lights out. There were two women staying in one of the Westmorlands. They never said a word at the time, but they upped and left first thing next morning. Good customers lost.’
It was the longest speech they’d heard from Raymond Proctor. He had become a bit red in the face as he spoke, and his voice had grown louder.
‘I’m sure you can’t afford to lose business,’ said Cooper.
‘Damn right I can’t. Do you know how difficult it is to make enough profit in this business to keep that lot in the house in food and clothes, let alone the bills I have to pay? And I’m here at every silly bugger’s beck and call, all hours of the day and night. It’s a mug’s game, mate.’
‘All right, Mr Proctor. Calm down.’
Proctor glared at him. ‘Somebody else should be looking after Will Thorpe, not me. By rights, he should be in hospital. But he’s such an awkward bugger, he’d never agree to that. That’s why he steers clear of Social Services and all those kind of folk. He’s terrified they’ll put him away in a hospital and he’ll never come out again. Will has set his mind on dying in the open air, and that’s what he’ll do, no doubt. It
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won’t take much longer, either. Another bad winter, and that’ll be the end of him.’
