“So was Ray.”
“Yes. You know, I’ve met people who reckon anyone who goes into the forces must have mental problems. You join up with something where you’re trained to obey orders without question. Some people reckon only a lame-brain would do that.”
“And what do you reckon?”
Derren Hart turned his hazel eyes on Carole, and there was a new, appraising look in them. Either he’d never been as drunk as he was pretending to be, or else he had sobered up very quickly. “I reckon…” he said slowly, “that in certain situations – crisis situations, battle situations – making people obey orders without question is the only way of getting things done. If someone stops to make a moral judgement, it’s already too late. They’ll have been blown away before they’ve made their decision.”
“And would you still believe in obeying orders without question?” asked Jude.
“It would depend who the orders came from.”
“Like Viggo said, the orders would have to come from someone you respected?”
“Maybe. There might be other reasons why you’d obey someone.”
“The amount of money they were paying you?” suggested Carole.
He didn’t like that. The look of concentrated malevolence he turned on her made Carole certain that she’d touched a nerve. Derren Hart was in the pay of someone. Maybe he’d been paid to bring the bikers to the Crown and Anchor? And to start the fight there? If so, who was his paymaster?
“Look, why are you asking me these questions? What’s your interest in all this?”
“Oh,” Jude replied with arch fluffiness, “we’re just two little old ladies from Fethering. There’s been a murder on our doorstep and we’re doing our amateur sleuthing best to find out whodunnit.”
In spite of himself, the half-smile again flickered across his face. “Is that what you’re doing? How sweet and charming. But has it possibly occurred to you that you’re asking for trouble? A lot of murders happen because someone has been too curious and they present less of a risk dead.”
“Are you saying that that’s why Ray was murdered?” asked Jude. “He had information someone wanted kept quiet?”
“I’m not saying anything about Ray. I never met the bloke. I know nothing about him. I’m just saying that, though you present yourselves as a couple of harmless old biddies, you could be putting yourselves in serious danger.”
“From whom?”
“Like I said, less curiosity might give you longer lives.” It was clear where Viggo had got his B-movie lines from.
That thought prompted Jude to ask, “You said you know Viggo. How well do you know him?”
“I met him at a pub called the Cat and Fiddle.”
“Is that the one on the Littlehampton Road out of Fedborough?”
“Right. I used to go there with the bikers. Viggo kind of hung on to the group. He is a bit of a hanger-on by nature.”
“Yes. And when you first met him, was he dressed as a biker?”
“No, not the first evening. He’d got all the gear by the next night, though. The real bikers thought he was a joke. They didn’t want him hanging around, but I said he wasn’t doing any harm.”
“You took his side?”
“If you like. Though that makes it sound a bigger deal than it was.”
“You’re not a biker yourself, are you?” Carole observed.
“I’ve got a bike,” Derren responded defensively.
“But you don’t dress like a biker.”
“No, but I’ve got mates who’re bikers. Guys I grew up with from round here.”
“Do they include Matt?” asked Jude suddenly.
“Matt?”
“Delivery driver who lives in Worthing.”
Derren Hart shook his head. “Never heard of a biker called Matt.”
“But the ones you do know,” asked Carole, “you can organize them to go anywhere you want to, can you?”
“What are you on about?”
He looked so angry that Jude thought she’d better leap in before Carole actually accused him of controlling a Rent-a-Mob operation. “Sorry, could we get back to Viggo,” she said soothingly. “Did he ask you about your time in the army?”
Derren Hart’s anger vanished, and he seemed almost embarrassed as he replied. “Yes, he was interested in that stuff. I told you, he tried to join up.”
“So you talked to him a lot about it?”
“A bit.”
A picture was beginning to emerge for Jude. Here was the ex-soldier, traumatized by his experiences in Iraq, desperate to talk about them, but finding nobody back home was interested. The only audience he could get was the half-crazed fantasist Viggo. Who no doubt lapped up everything he was told. And started to regard Derren Hart as an action hero to match those in his beloved movies.
“You know that Viggo’s stopped dressing as a biker now, do you?” asked Carole.
The man didn’t commit himself to an answer.
“He’s now dressing exactly like you.”
“Is that so?” He couldn’t keep a little tinge of satisfaction out of his words. He wasn’t in a position to be choosy about his sources of hero worship.
“You know how impressionable he is?” said Jude. “He’d do anything you tell him.”
“Really?” Again the small note of satisfaction.
Carole went into full interrogation mode. “Have you told him to do anything?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Viggo talked about hitmen getting instructions by text on mobile phones.”
Derren Hart’s half-smile reappeared, and he chuckled. “Listen, lady, we’ve agreed the guy’s a fantasist. If he wants to believe in a world where assassination orders are issued by text message, we can’t stop him, can
“Did he talk about that kind of thing to you?”
“Look, he lived in a world of his own. A world full of violence and hitmen and Russian roulette and orders given by text message. He talked about lots of stuff, but it wasn’t real, it was all in his head.”
“But you’ve never issued him an order by text-message?”
He held out his mutilated hand. “One of the many things this is not good at is text messaging.”
“And you don’t know of anyone else who might have issued text-message orders to Viggo?”
His shrug told them the unlikeliness of their getting an answer to that question.
“You went to see Viggo at Copsedown Hall…”
“How do you know that?”
“Another of the residents saw you arriving.”
“Who?”
“I don’t think that really matters,” said Jude.
Her words had been designed to protect Kelly-Marie, but the curt nod Derren Hart made suggested that he had probably worked out the identity of the witness and filed away the information.
“But you didn’t give him any orders then?”
The tautness of his ‘No’ suggested he was getting a little weary of their questioning, but Carole pressed on, “And did you ever issue orders to Ray either?”
“I told you – I never met the guy.”
“Are you sure? Because we believe that someone told Ray to substitute a tray of scallops in – ”
The scarred face closed down. Whether that was because the two women had got close to the truth, there was no means of knowing. Without speaking another word, Derren Hart downed the rest of his pint and left the pub.
