“I’m talking about Dan Poke’s performance…routine…show…whatever the right word is.”
“‘Act.’”
“Act, all right. Dan Poke’s act. Don’t you remember, he went into a whole sequence about Portsmouth?”
“Yes, it’s coming back to me.”
“And he started by saying he knew there were some people in from Portsmouth, and when he said that there was a big roar from the bikers.”
Jude’s brown eyes sparkled as she caught up with her friend’s train of thought. “Yes, and he talked about some pub, didn’t he? Some rough pub – what was it called?”
Carole’s brow wrinkled. “I can’t remember. Don’t worry, it’ll come to me. Try to remember what else he said in the act about Portsmouth.”
“He said he lost his virginity there, and he said something about the hookers, and…ooh, he did the old ‘arsehole of the world’ joke.”
“Oh yes.” Carole lips pursed into an expression of prim disapproval.
“But you’re right,” said Jude excitedly. “They did respond when Dan mentioned Portsmouth. So that narrows it down. The man with the scarred face comes from Portsmouth.”
Carole smiled beatifically as the memory came back to her. “And he drinks in a pub called the ‘Middy’.”
“Yes, that was it!”
“And a ‘Middy’, of course,” Carole went on with authority, “in a town with naval connections like Portsmouth is almost definitely an abbreviation for ‘Midshipman’.”
“So all we have to do is find the address of the Midshipman pub in Portsmouth.”
“What’s the best way to do that? Directory Enquiries?” asked Carole.
“Be quicker to do it on the Internet.”
“Oh,” said Carole, infusing the monosyllable with the instinctive note of disapproval that came to her whenever computers were mentioned. Then she remembered how much of the previous evening she’d spent on her inherited laptop.
But she didn’t mention her new acquisition to Jude. When Carole Seddon changed – which was something she strongly resisted throughout her life – she did so very gradually. She was embarrassed by revealing the workings of her mind to outsiders. Until she felt absolutely confident and competent in her computer skills, she was determined to maintain her stance of contempt for all such technology.
So the two women went next door to Woodside Cottage, where Jude switched on the laptop she had inherited from a former lover called Laurence Hawker. Carole peered over her shoulder with a mixture of censure and fascination as her friend connected to the Internet and Googled: ‘Midshipman Portsmouth’. In seconds they had an address: Midshipman Inn, Hood Lane, Fratton, Portsmouth.
“See?” said Jude. “Quick, isn’t it?”
Grudgingly Carole agreed that it was indeed quick. Jude grinned. She was way ahead. Though she didn’t know about the laptop already sitting in High Tor, she reckoned it would be a relatively short time before her friend finally succumbed to the magic of the computer. And, once Carole started, there’d be no stopping her.
“Well, Jude, what do we do now?”
“I would say we get to the Midshipman Inn as soon as possible.”
“When?”
“Right this minute.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to go and visit a healer friend this evening, so if we don’t do it now we’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
Carole looked sceptical. “So what do you propose we do? We drive to Portsmouth, we arrive in the pub on a Sunday afternoon, on the off chance that this scarred man is drinking there. We walk through the crowd of aggressive bikers surrounding him and – then what? Are we accusing him of something? What? Starting last Sunday’s riot at the Crown and Anchor? Having a hand in the killing of Ray Witch-ett? Being a role model for Viggo? I think we need a more definite agenda than that, you know, Jude.”
Her friend looked disappointed. “It’s the only lead we’ve got. There has to be some connection between him and Viggo.”
“Then maybe a better approach might be through Viggo. You’ve at least met him.”
“That’s true. Maybe we’d do better to – ” Jude was interrupted by her mobile ringing. “Oh, hello. How nice to hear you. It was good to see you yesterday. Oh, is he? Well, thank you for the warning. Enjoy your Sunday lunch with your parents. Hope to see you soon. Bye.”
In response to Carole’s interrogative eyebrows, Jude explained, “Kelly-Marie. She rang to tell me that Viggo is coming to see me.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
Jude grinned, knowing how much her answer would annoy Carole. “Synchronicity.”
Twenty-Six
Viggo looked very big amidst the clutter of the Wood-side Cottage sitting room. The loss of his beard and long hair did not seem to have diminished his bulk. His new uniform of camouflage T-shirt and combat trousers made Jude even more aware of his similarity to the scarred man whose photograph she had been looking at so recently. He held his new mobile phone like a badge of office.
Carole had stayed. After all, Jude was not supposed to be expecting her visitor. Besides, she did not particularly want to be alone with Viggo. Though Sally Monks had thought it unlikely that he would be violent, there was still something threatening in his demeanour.
He refused the offer of a drink, and there was a long silence after he sat down. It seemed as though he had only planned as far as getting to Woodside Cottage. What he did when he got there was still being processed in his slow brain.
Eventually he said to Jude, “You came to Copse-down Hall. To see Kelly-Marie.” The accent he used was strange, with a slight American twang, as though it had been borrowed from one of his favourite action movies. It certainly wasn’t the voice he had used when Jude had first met him with Ray in the Copse-down Hall kitchen.
“Yes, I did.”
“You shouldn’t take advantage of her. She’s not very bright.”
Jude was affronted. “I have not taken advantage of her.”
“Then why did you come to see her?”
“Why shouldn’t I come to see her?”
“Was it to talk about Ray?”
“It might have been,” said Jude with an unhelpful smile. She was unwilling to give out any information until she had worked out what had brought him to Woodside Cottage.
“You know Ray died?” said Viggo.
“I don’t think anyone in Fethering could avoid knowing that, Viggo.”
He raised his hand in a gesture borrowed from some movie. “Not Viggo. Call me ‘Chuck’.”
Jude pretended she hadn’t seen the look of exasperation on Carole’s face, as she said, “Very well, Chuck.” She reckoned the new name had probably been lifted from Chuck Norris, star of many martial arts movies.
“Ray had to die,” Viggo⁄Chuck announced portentously.
“What on earth do you mean by that?” asked Carole, who thought she’d been kept out of the conversation far too long.
“Don’t ask questions. Accept reality. Ray’s dead. That’s all there is to it.” His delivery was staccato, but without spontaneity. The words sounded as if they had been practised in front of a mirror.
Carole spoke again. “And do you have any idea who killed him?”
“Lady,” said Viggo, “I told you not to ask questions.”
“Why have you come here?” asked Jude.
“I’ve come to tell you not to meddle in things that don’t concern you.” The menace of what he said was again let down by his delivery. The learned quality of his words diminished the threat they embodied.
“And who’s told you to tell us that?”
“Nobody. Nobody tells Chuck what to do.” He smiled a strange smile which only seemed to work on one side of his face.