Cry of the Hunter (13 page)

When the hole was deep enough they went back to the house for the body. It was lying on the table, a shapeless bundle in a blanket, and Charlie brought in a plank. They placed the body on the plank and he and Fallon carried it up the slope behind the farmhouse and the two women followed. They lowered the body down into the hole and gently laid it on the bottom. Fallon coughed and said, ‘Does anybody know anything to say?’

There was a silence and then Hannah Costello said in a hard voice, ‘There’s only one thing to say – Here lies a fine young boy whose life was wasted – his only memorial, the stupidity of men.’ She turned to her son and said, ‘Charlie, fill the hole in,’ and then she took Anne Murray by the arm and gently led her away.

Fallon stood for a long time looking down at the grave and then he lifted his eyes up to the stars. It was utterly still and somewhere, miles away in the distance, a dog barked. He felt more alone than he had ever been in his life and he shivered and turned and went down to the farm.

They left shortly before six. Fallon went into the kitchen to settle-up with Hannah, but when she saw his wallet she held up a hand. ‘Not this time,’ she said. ‘I’m not that much of a vulture.’

He hesitated and then put the wallet away. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah,’ he said. ‘I seem to get everybody involved in trouble. I must be tainted.’

She snorted and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘You’re full of self pity, that’s your trouble. If you want to pay me you can do it easily enough. Get that girl to a railway station and then leave her alone.’ She gazed steadily into his eyes. ‘You aren’t any use to her, Martin. You’ve nothing to offer. Give her a chance.’

For a moment he stared fixedly at her and then he smiled. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘I promise you I will.’

As he turned to the door, that terrible pain blossomed in his body again, filling him with fire. He reeled and clutched at the wall and Hannah rushed forward and supported him. ‘What is it?’ she demanded. His face was twisted in agony and she said in a whisper, ‘Why, you’re ill – really ill.’

He leaned on her for a moment and the pain passed. ‘I’ll be all right.’ He managed a smile. ‘It’s this wound of mine, but it’s nothing.’ He gripped her arm firmly and added, ‘Don’t tell Anne anything about it. It’s going to be tough enough to get rid of her without her thinking I’m ill.’

Hannah nodded slowly and they went out to the car. Anne Murray was sitting huddled in the passenger seat and Fallon slid behind the wheel and pressed the starter. The engine picked up strongly and Hannah shouted, ‘God bless you!’ He released the handbrake and they moved away.

It was a fine morning with a clear sky and the sun was beginning to lift above the horizon. He drove in silence for half an hour and then the girl spoke. ‘Where are we going?’

He took out his cigarettes. There was one left and he put it in his mouth and tossed the empty packet out of the window. ‘We’re going to Stramore,’ he said. ‘You’re going to catch that train.’

She turned towards him and said calmly, ‘I’m not catching any train. I’m sticking with you.’

‘That’s out of the question now,’ he said. ‘Surely you can see that.’

She shook her head. ‘I can only see that I love you.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened to Johnny. It was tragic, it was horrible, but it wasn’t your fault.’

He smiled slightly. ‘Everyone’s so anxious to tell me that it wasn’t my fault. It’s beginning to make me feel a bit suspicious.’ He shook his head and said decidedly, ‘The boy’s death has nothing to do with it. Let’s just say I don’t want the responsibility of carting you around with me.’

She reached across and switched off the ignition and the car lost speed and slowed to a halt. Fallon applied the handbrake and she said, ‘There’s only one thing of importance at the moment. The fact that we love each other.’ He didn’t say anything and she said desperately, ‘You do love me, don’t you?’ He sat silently in his seat and made no reply and then she started to cry. He sat there for several minutes, fighting the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her, and then he started up the car and drove away.

After several minutes she stopped crying and dried her eyes. ‘You do love me,’ she said. ‘But you’re afraid of love. You’ve never learned how to accept.’ He remained silent and she added with a sudden burst of anger, ‘I’m not leaving you and that’s definite.’

At that moment they turned into the main road to Stramore. There was a garage and cafe on one side and he slowed the car down and turned it into the parking space. ‘Would you like anything?’ he said. She shook her head. He climbed out of the car and shut the door. ‘I shan’t be long,’ he said. ‘I’m just going to the men’s room.’

She nodded and tried to smile. ‘All right!’

He looked in through the window and smiled. ‘Cheer up! Things are never as bad as we think.’

He walked rapidly away from the car towards the cafe. He paused for a moment to insert a coin in a cigarette machine and then he went to the rear of the building. He quickly skirted the back of the cafe and moved round until he was standing hidden behind the far corner of the garage. The car was some distance away from him and he could see her head faintly through the window. A few feet away from him there was a large, covered lorry and on the side of it was painted: A. Malone – Market Gardener – Stramore. The driver climbed up into the cab of the vehicle and started the engine. Fallon glanced quickly around and could see no one. He pulled his hat down firmly and running up behind the vehicle, scrambled over the tailboard.

As the lorry paused at the edge of the road he peered over the tailboard and looked at the car for the last time. She was still sitting there, waiting for him to return. The lorry moved into the road and the engine began to roar and then the garage was only a white blob in the distance. He sat down on the floor, his back to the side of the lorry. He took out a cigarette carefully and tried to light it but there was a terrible constriction in his throat. He crushed the cigarette in his fingers and buried his face in his hands.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

F
ALLON
sat by the tailboard immersed in his own thoughts. It was with almost a sense of shock that he realized the lorry was passing through the outskirts of Stramore. He stood up and got ready to leave the vehicle at the first opportunity. It came sooner than he had imagined. The lorry slowed as a large removal van backed slowly out of the drive of a house into the road. Fallon vaulted to the ground, crossed the road, and walked briskly along the pavement.

He had no set plan in mind. Only one thing was definite - he had to move south, and the quicker the better. He decided to try the trains. If he was lucky enough to get on board one he could be at the border within a few hours. He walked briskly towards the centre of the town, mingling with the shoppers and keeping constantly on the move.

He crossed the market square and walked up towards the station. It was then that he received his first shock. There were policemen everywhere. Wherever he looked he saw another uniform. He turned away and hurried back towards the square. He turned down a side street and began to walk rapidly. Something had happened. Something out of the ordinary.

He paused on a street corner and hesitated. He wasn’t going to last five minutes on the street, that was obvious. A police constable turned the end of the street and came towards him and Fallon dived into an alley and began to run. He slowed down at the end and turned the corner into a quiet street. Again he paused, but only for a moment, because he knew there was only one place he could go. The one place in Stramore where he would be least welcome.

It took him ten minutes to get there. The little square was quiet and there was no sign of activity in the shop with the junk-filled windows. He moved across quickly and tried to open the door. It was locked. For a moment he hesitated then he went round the front of the building into the scrap yard at the side. There was an old, rusting van standing forlornly in the middle of the yard. He moved round it and tried the back door. It opened to his touch and he stepped into the kitchen.

Rose Conroy was working at the sink. She whirled round in surprise and a look of astonishment appeared on her face. ‘Holy Mother of God!’ she said. ‘You’re back!’

He frowned. ‘I thought you were supposed to leave here.’

She dropped her gaze and said in a low voice, ‘I was going to go – honest, I was, Mr. Fallon. Me Dad stopped me – he found the money hidden in my room and he took it and gave me a good hiding into the bargain.’ She raised hate-filled eyes, ‘I’ll kill him one of these days.’

Fallon shook his head. ‘You won’t do anything of the sort,’ he said firmly. ‘He isn’t worth it. Where is he at the moment?’

She shrugged. ‘At the pub as usual, only this time he’s spending my money.’

He grinned sympathetically, ‘Never mind. I’ll give you some more before I leave.’

She dried her hands on a towel. ‘Why have you come back, Mr. Fallon? I thought you’d have been to hell out of this by now.’

He lit a cigarette and said, ‘I’m heading south on my own. I thought I’d risk the train but when I got to the station I found it crawling with peelers. What’s been happening?’

She shrugged and said scornfully, ‘They’re looking for that fella Rogan. He was stopped in a van by a road block on the outskirts of town early this morning. He fired a shotgun out of the window and drove on.’

The room had gone strangely quiet. Fallon said. ‘They haven’t got him yet?’

She shook her head and laughed harshly. ‘Hardly – he’s upstairs now. Me Dad’s furious but he’s scared stiff of Rogan. He hasn’t the guts to turn him away.’

It was funny how inevitable everything was, Fallon thought. There was a pattern and when a man had an appointment with death it was impossible to avoid it. ‘Is that his van outside?’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘That’s ours.’

‘I see.’ He carefully stubbed out his cigarette and stood up and took off his trenchcoat. He threw it over a chair and said calmly. ‘I think I’ll go up and have a word with him.’

She nodded and she looked into his face, her expression changed. ‘Are you all right, Mr. Fallon?’ she asked anxiously.

He smiled. ‘I’m just a little tired,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine when I’ve had a rest.’

He passed through the living room and mounted the stairs. The corridor was very quiet and somewhere a fly buzzed against a window pane. He walked quietly along the corridor and stood listening at the door next to the girl’s room. There was a faint sound of movement and a bed spring creaked. He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped his hand inside and loosened the Luger in its holster. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

Rogan was lying flat on his back under the blankets. Fallon closed the door and leaned against it. ‘Hello, you bastard!’ he said, ‘Isn’t life full of surprises?’

Rogan sat up slowly, an expression of complete astonishment on his face. The blankets started to slide down from his shoulders and he held them in place with one hand. ‘Well?’ Fallon said. ‘Haven’t you got anything to say? I thought you were going to fix me next time we met.’

A terrible look appeared on Rogan’s face and he started to laugh. Fallon’s eyes narrowed. There was a bad smell here. Rogan’s reactions were all wrong. He slipped his hand inside his coat and Rogan fired through the blanket. Fallon was thrown back against the wall. Oh, you fool, you bloody, stupid, dramatic fool, he thought and as his senses reeled, he was dimly aware of Rogan getting out of bed, giggling like a woman, the spittle dribbling from one corner of his mouth. Fallon wasn’t conscious of taking any deliberate aim. He simply threw his arm up in a straight line and squeezed the trigger of the Luger. A black hole materialized in Rogan’s head and several red marks, like cracks in a china plate, appeared like magic, running crookedly into his eyes. An expression of utter astonishment appeared on his face. He was already dead as his body flopped back on the bed.

Fallon sagged back against the door and closed his eyes. After a while he felt a little better. He grabbed hold of the door knob and pulled himself upright. For a moment or two nausea flooded through him and he leaned against the wall and breathed deeply until he recovered his senses. He walked over to the bed and looked down at the body. Rogan’s eyes stared up at the ceiling and his lips were curled back from his teeth like an animal’s. Fallon turned away in disgust and wrenched open the door.

The house was as quiet as when he had come in. For a moment he stood listening and then, as he approached the stairhead, the girl’s voice sounded from below, ‘Watch yourself, Mr. Fallon. Me Dad’s up there.’

As Fallon turned quickly, the door to Conroy’s bedroom swung open and the old man stood revealed. He carried an iron bar in one hand and his face was flushed with drink. His little beady eyes flickered and he said, ‘So you’ve done for him have you? But not before he gave you a touch, I see.’ Fallon jerked out the Luger and then the terrible, numbing pain flooded through his body again and he cried out and doubled over.

Conroy struck the Luger from his hand with the iron bar. It was only a reflex action that made Fallon step in close and grapple with him before the old man could bring the bar down across his head.

Fallon gasped for breath and hung on grimly and gradually his senses returned. The old man was fighting mad, kicking and butting, his fingers clawing at his opponent’s face. Fallon felt his back bump against the banisters at the stairhead. He dropped a shoulder and turned it up and under the old man’s chin, jolting him hard. He ducked under Conroy’s arm and swung him round so that he was now fighting with his back against the banister.

By now his left arm was paining him so much it was virtually useless. He used it to block a wild punch and hit Conroy hard in the belly with his right fist. What happened next was purest accident. Conroy gulped and a fine spray of liquor erupted from his mouth as he vomited, then he lurched back against the banister. There was a splintering sound and the whole framework crashed backwards into the well of the stairs carrying Conroy with it.

Fallon stood swaying on the edge of the landing looking down at the old man. He lay with one leg twisted under him. His mouth was open and a ray of sunlight gleamed on his half-open eyes. The girl appeared and glanced up fearfully and cried out, ‘For God’s sake, stay where you are. You’ll be breaking your neck.’ Fallon moved back from the edge and she hurried up the stairs to his side and guided him downstairs.

They paused beside the body and he looked down at it and said, ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’

She laughed grimly. ‘The best day’s work you ever did.’ She gently urged him forward. ‘Come on now. Into the kitchen quickly and let me have a look at you.’

She stripped his coat from him and cut his shirt off with a pair of scissors. The bullet had penetrated his left breast just below the collar bone. It was bleeding profusely. He groaned and said, ‘What a bloody fool I was. I should have known from the first second that he had an ace up his sleeve. He was always frightened of me before and this time he never turned a hair.’

‘Have you done for him?’ she said in a whisper.

He nodded. ‘The world’s well rid of him. He was a mad dog.’ It suddenly occurred to him that Anne Murray was in the clear now. He cursed softly. If only he had some means of letting her know.

Rose gently swabbed blood away with a sponge from the sink and said, ‘It looks bad, Mr. Fallon. You need a doctor and your skin’s turned a funny colour along the edge of this bandage. It smells rotten.’

He got to his feet and walked over to the mirror above the fireplace and looked at his chest. On the left side, below the new wound, the flesh that lined the old bandage was puffed up and angry looking. He stared at it in horror as the realization of what was happening dawned on him. He went back to the chair and sat down. ‘Patch me up,’ he said, ‘the best way you can. Get cotton wool and a sheet. Rip it up into strips and bind me up tight.’

She produced cotton wool from a cupboard and pulled a sheet down from the airing rack that hung from the ceiling. As she worked, Fallon was thinking. He had only a few hours at the most – if he was to survive at all he needed hospital treatment badly. He laughed shortly. No wonder he had been getting the attacks of agonizing pain when poison from that first wound was steadily creeping through his entire body. He had to cross the border by evening and there was only one way of doing that – by train.

Rose was criss-crossing the bandages around his shoulder. She looped them under his armpit and around the neck in a figure of eight. When she had finished, Fallon could hardly move the arm. He managed a grin. ‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Now, can you get me a clean shirt and another jacket?’

She nodded. ‘I think so. I’ll see what I can dig up.’ She was gone for several minutes. When she returned she was carrying a white, collarless shirt and a presentable grey tweed jacket. ‘This is the jacket from his best suit,’ she said. The shirt was the type that unbuttoned right down the front and she managed to case it over his bandaged arm quite successfully. She buttoned it up and then produced a green silk scarf which she knotted round his neck and tucked into the shirt. When she had helped him into the jacket he regarded himself in the mirror.

‘You’ve done a grand job,’ he said.

‘I’d do anything for you, Mr. Fallon. You know that.’ She began to feed his bloodstained shirt to the fire. ‘What are we going to do now?’ she said.

He sat down carefully in the chair again. ‘That’s the tricky bit. I’ve got to get out of here. Somehow, I must get on a train that’s going south. But I don’t want you involved in this any more than I can help. As soon as I’ve gone you must get in touch with the police and report this. Tell them I threatened you.’

She sighed. ‘It’s a bad business, but at least one good thing’s come out of it. I’ll be able to get away from this place.’

Fallon leaned back in his chair and knitted his brows. ‘The real problem now is how the hell do I get into that station with all those police about.’

She frowned and then her face lit up and she said excitedly, ‘I’ve got it!’ She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘There’s a train at noon that crosses the border passing through Castlemore and Carlington. There are two packages in the van – china the old fella got at a sale. He’s re-sold them to a dealer in Castlemore and they’re to go by rail.’

‘How does all this help me?’ Fallon said.

She explained. ‘I’ll take you to the station in the van – I can drive it, you know. I’ll get your ticket and then I’ll drive in through the goods entrance to deliver the parcels. We usually unload them at the side of the platform. You can hide inside the van. When I tell you it’s all clear, you can jump out on to the platform and get straight on the train. You won’t need to pass through the station hall and the ticket barrier at all.’

‘But I told you I didn’t want to involve you any further,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to inform the police of what has happened here as soon as I’ve gone.’

She shrugged. ‘It’ll only take me twenty minutes to take you to the station and see you safely off. What difference will twenty minutes make? I’ll come straight back here and then inform them. I can tell them I fainted or something like that.’

He frowned and closed his eyes. He felt weak and his brain wouldn’t work properly. He didn’t want to use the girl. He knew it was wrong and yet it was a good plan and the only chance he had of getting on the train without being recognized. Once aboard he could go to sleep in a corner seat with his hat over his eyes or hide in one of the toilets. A couple of hours and he’d be in Castlemore. He could leave the train at one of the small country stations between there and the border and cross over on foot. It could be done. There was still a chance for him. He smiled up at the girl. ‘All right, I’ll do it,’ he said.

She smiled excitedly. ‘I was worried for a minute. I thought you might refuse to let me help. It wouldn’t have been fair after all you’ve done for me.’ She went out of the room and Fallon leaned back in the chair, his face breaking into a grin. What an impossible child she was. What he had done for her, indeed!