Like I said, hitmen keep quiet about their work.”
“You said earlier,” Carole went on, “that nobody told you what to do.”
“That’s right.”
“Which, if it’s true, must mean that you’re not a hitman. Hitmen, as we’ve established, do exactly what they’re told.”
He was silent for a moment, trying to work out the logic of that. Jude, who had been fiddling with her mobile phone, joined the attack. “So who would you take orders from? It’d have to be someone you respect, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t take orders from someone you didn’t respect, would you?”
“No,” he said cautiously, still not sure where this was all leading.
“So what kind of a man would you respect?”
“Someone who’s tough. Someone who stands up to people. Someone who wouldn’t give away any secrets even under torture.” As he itemized it, this wish-list, so far from Viggo’s own character, sounded pitiful.
“Someone like
There was no doubt from Viggo’s reaction that he knew who it was. However much he faffed around with subsequent denials, his first instinctive reaction had been the give-away. Eventually, he said, “So what if I do know him? What’s it to you, lady?”
“Some people think that that man started the fight at the Crown and Anchor last Sunday.” Jude wasn’t too sure about the accuracy of what she was saying. She hadn’t actually heard anyone express that opinion, but she thought it might elicit some response from Viggo.
“So what if he did? Fighters fight. That’s what they do.”
“Do you know the name of the man in the photograph?” Carole asked suddenly.
“I don’t do names.”
“Except to change your own from time to time, Viggo.”
That riled him. Carole’s pale blue eyes took the full beam of his black ones. “Chuck,” he said. “I’m Chuck.”
“Then who was Viggo?”
“Someone else.”
Carole was getting sick of his gnomic responses. “So who was the man in the photograph?”
“You won’t get that out of me, even under torture.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re talking to two middle-aged women in Fethering. We don’t do torture.”
“Others do.”
“Yes, maybe.” Carole looked with exasperation towards Jude, who tried another approach.
“The man in the photograph went to Copsedown Hall to see you.”
Viggo didn’t question her assertion. “So?”
“Why did he come and see you?”
The man’s face took on a pugnacious look. “I can have friends, I can’t I?”
“Friends? Heroes, maybe. Is he your hero?”
“Why shouldn’t he be? He’s a man of action. He’s strong.”
“Does that mean you would take orders from him?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you’d only take orders from someone you respected. The way you describe this man who came to see you, he’s someone you’d respect.” Viggo nodded. “So, what orders did he give you?”
The man’s face closed down. “Orders are secret. Information is only given out on a ‘need-to-know’ basis. No operative should know what orders another operative has been given.”
Carole was beginning to wonder how much more of this nonsense they had to listen to, but Jude persevered. “From the way you speak, you sound as if you are also an operative yourself.”
“You may make that observation, lady. I can neither confirm nor deny it.”
“Even under torture?”
He seemed unaware of the ribbing tone in her voice, as he solemnly confirmed, “Even under torture.”
“So you wouldn’t confirm whether you have also received orders from the man in the photograph?”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“Would you tell us whether the man in the photograph ever came to Copsedown Hall to talk to you?”
He smiled arrogantly. “Some of us don’t need face-to-face contact to get our orders.”
The way he looked at his mobile while he said this prompted Jude’s next question. “You mean you get your orders on the phone?”
That appealed to his self-importance. “Text,” he said. “Text received. Mobile discarded so there’s no record of the message. Operative obeys order. Job done.”
“And what kind of job are you talking about?”
“Any job.”
“A hitman’s job?”
“That, lady, I would never reveal.”
Carole and Jude looked at each other, raised their eyebrows and both mouthed, “Even under torture.”
Viggo – or maybe Chuck – departed soon after. He left the two women feeling confused. Why had he come? He appeared to be threatening them, warning them off. But quite what he was warning them off was difficult to tell through all his posturing and secondhand dialogue.
“Why should he suddenly want to see you?” asked Carole. “Why today?”
Jude spoke slowly as she pieced together a possible motivation. “He saw me at Copsedown Hall yesterday. He saw that I had been talking to Kelly-Marie. Maybe he thinks I’m getting close to the truth of what happened to Ray, and he comes here to warn me off?”
“Do you think he’d work that out on his own initiative?”
There was a firm shake of Jude’s head. “I don’t think he does much on his own initiative. Beneath all that swagger and bravado, Viggo’s is a very weak personality. I reckon he reported my visit to Kelly-Marie to someone else, and that someone else gave him instructions to come and put the frighteners on me.”
“And who is that ‘someone else’? The scarred man?”
“We don’t seem to have many other candidates for the role.”
In spite of the heat, a shiver ran through Jude. Inept though he had been, Viggo’s visit had got her rattled. Both she and Carole were left with the uneasy sense that under certain circumstances the man could be dangerous.
? The Poisoning in the Pub ?
Twenty-Seven
The first surprise about the Midshipman Inn was how smart it was. The references in Dan Poke’s act had suggested a very rough pub in a very rough area, but the exterior was neat and recently decorated. Decorated in exactly the same style as the Weldisham Hare and Hounds.
The same mulberry colour predominated, with the doors and window frames in pigeon-feather grey. The inn sign showed no representation of a young naval officer; instead the pub’s name was written in neat grey calligraphy on a mulberry-coloured board. And the name on the sign had actually been shortened to ‘the Middy’. The image was much more gastropub than old boozer.
The area where the building stood was also less rundown than Carole and Jude had expected from Dan Poke’s jokes. Small Victorian cottages showed recent signs of renovation. Though a few they passed from where they parked the car were still shabby and sported the boards of bell-pushes that signified multiple occupancy, some had been turned into brightly coloured designer homes. Because it was a Sunday there were no workmen visible, but loaded skips in the road showed that local improvement was an ongoing process.
And in the middle of all this gentrification the Middy had a perfect location.
Stepping into the pub, Carole and Jude felt the welcome blast of air conditioning, icy after the July heat. The interior of the Middy maintained the mulberry-and-grey theme, though the floor, tables and chairs were solid chunky
