Cry of the Hunter (5 page)

The boy nodded vigorously and Rogan said, ‘Pass me your gun and I’ll try and catch their tyres.’

‘No guns,’ Fallon said. ‘Only one of us has committed murder so far.’

Rogan’s curse was drowned in the squeal of brakes as Murphy changed down, braked, and skidded the car into the next turning. They were rushing along a dark side street lined with shabby terrace houses. Murphy switched on both headlights and they picked out the next turning when the car was still some way from it. He changed down again and braked. The car skidded broadside on and the wheels bumped across the corner of the pavement and then they were safe and rushing forward into the darkness. The lights picked up the entrance to a narrow alley. ‘Now!’ Fallon cried, clapping him on the shoulder. Murphy slammed his foot hard down on the brake and the car drifted at an angle and lurched against a lamp post with a sickening crunch.

For a moment there was silence. Somewhere a dog barked hollowly through the dark and Fallon wrenched open the door and jumped out. Murphy scrambled after him. ‘You all right?’ Fallon said.

The boy nodded. ‘Bit of a bump, but it’s nothing.’

Rogan joined them, cursing viciously. ‘What a bloody mess,’ he said.

‘Bigger one if we stand here talking,’ Fallon told him and at that moment the lights of the police car turned into the end of the street.

‘Follow me,’ Murphy said. ‘I know this alley pretty well. We’ll give them the slip yet.’ He plunged into the alleyway and the others followed him.

Murphy twisted and turned through several back streets and alleys and after a while he stopped and held up his hand. ‘What’s wrong?’ Fallon demanded.

‘I’m trying to tell if they’re following,’ Murphy said.

Faintly in the darkness they could hear shouting and the noise of motor cars driving up. ‘Christ, they’re on to us now, all right,’ Fallon said. ‘Keep going.’

They commenced to run again and Murphy led the way as before. They cut across some waste ground where slum property was being demolished and ran into a long and narrow alley that seemed to go on for ever. Just before reaching the end Murphy called breathlessly over his shoulder, ‘Watch it now. We’re going to cross a busy street.’ He slowed down to a jog-trot and turned the corner straight into the arms of a policeman.

As the constable fumbled for his revolver Murphy grappled with him and screamed, ‘Run for it, Mr. Fallon! Run for it!’

They went down in a mass of struggling limbs and Rogan cut straight across the road and disappeared down another side street. Fallon danced nimbly out of the way and as the constable rolled uppermost, he lifted his foot into the side of the man’s neck. He subsided with a groan and Fallon jerked Murphy to his feet and dragged him across the road. The passers-by who had stopped to watch, quickly scattered, and Fallon and the boy plunged into the gloom of the side street.

As they neared the end of the street they saw Rogan standing under a lamp, poised for flight. ‘I thought you were right behind me,’ he said.

For a moment Fallon felt like smashing a fist into his face, but he resisted the impulse. ‘Are you all right?’ he said to Murphy.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ the boy said. ‘He didn’t hurt me at all.’

Behind them a police whistle sounded faintly on the wind and a car turned into the end of the street. ‘Where to now?’ Fallon demanded.

‘Follow close behind me,’ Murphy said. ‘There’s just one chance left to us.’

He hurried along the street and darted into another alley. At the end of it was a low wall and when Fallon leaned over, he could hear the gurgle of water. Murphy lowered himself down and dropped into the water with a splash and Fallon and Rogan followed. The water was icy cold and knee-keep. Rogan cursed and Fallon told him sharply to be quiet. He touched the boy on the shoulder. ‘We’re ready,’ he said and Murphy nodded and began to wade along the stream.

Brick walls towered on either side of them and once they had to go through a narrow tunnel that stretched for fifty or sixty yards. There was a pungent odour of decay and Fallon’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He could guess what the stream was used for. They progressed in silence for about half an hour and all sounds of pursuit faded into the distance. There was only the rain hissing into the water and splashing as they moved on. Faintly in the distance there was the sound of traffic and then a church clock began to sound the hour. Murphy stopped. ‘We’ll climb up here,’ he said.

It was not difficult. There were several bricks missing from the wall which was low at this point There was a fence at the top with several gaps in it and they squeezed through one of them. They were in a quiet residential street. Murphy led the way along the pavement until they came to a little shop that stood on the corner. There was an entrance to one side that opened into a tiny yard and he turned into this and paused outside a door. ‘Where are we?’ Fallon said.

The boy smiled. ‘My place.’ Fallon started to protest and Murphy went on. ‘There’s nowhere else to go. We haven’t any choice.’

From behind Rogan said, ‘For God’s sake let’s go in if we’re going,’ and Murphy opened the door and walked into a tiny kitchen.

A young, pleasant-faced girl with a determined face turned from the sink her arms wet to the elbows. She picked up a towel and began to dry herself as she looked at them in amazement. ‘Johnny!’ she said. ‘Where have you been?’ Her eyes travelled down to their soaking legs that dripped water on to the floor.

Murphy cleared his throat nervously. ‘We had a bit of an accident, Kathleen,’ he said. ‘These gentlemen are friends of mine.’

‘Friends is it!’ she said, interrupting him. She stepped forward and looked at Fallon closely and her expression altered and she paled. ‘Dear God, you’re Martin Fallon!’ For a moment she swayed as though she would fall and then she seemed to regain her composure. She turned on her brother and said fiercely, ‘What have you got yourself mixed up in now, you damned fool?’

‘For God’s sake, Kathy,’ he said. ‘Don’t start arguing! We’ll catch our deaths and the polis combing the streets for us. We’ll have to stay here for the night.’

‘Stay here is it?’ she said, dangerously calm. ‘If you think that, then you’ve another think coming. I’d rather they caught you now, Johnny Murphy, before you get yourself more involved in this foolishness.’ She turned and ran through into a small hall. A telephone stood on a table by the door. As she reached for the receiver, Rogan moved after her and caught her so roughly that the bodice of her dress ripped several inches.

‘Leave her be, damn you!’ Murphy screamed and threw himself at Rogan.

Fallon jumped between them and sent Rogan reeling against the wall. ‘Stop it – both of you!’ he shouted.

For the moment there was a lull and Fallon turned from Rogan’s hate-filled eyes to the girl who was leaning over the table, weeping. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Murphy,’ he said. ‘We won’t trouble you any more.’ He turned to the boy. ‘You stay here with your sister.’

The girl choked back her sobs and said, ‘That won’t make any difference. I’m calling the police anyway, before he gets into this thing any deeper.’

She picked up the receiver and began to dial calmly and Fallon turned from her and went quickly out through the kitchen into the yard. He paused under the light outside and Rogan and the boy joined him. Fallon turned to argue, but Murphy shook his head. ‘If you think I’m waiting here for the polis you’re a damned fool, Mr. Fallon. I’m sticking to you.’

Fallon laughed grimly. ‘Much good it will do you now.’

The rain increased in volume and they started to walk along the street quickly. Rogan had the collar of his jacket turned up but it was an inadequate protection. He was soaked to the skin and cursing steadily. Suddenly Fallon felt desperate. The net was closing in and there was no place to run. No place to bide – but was that true? He paused abruptly and the boy said anxiously, ‘Is anything the matter?’

Fallon shook his head slowly. ‘I’ve just had an idea that’s all. Do you know Cadogan Square?’

Murphy nodded. ‘Surely, it’s about half a mile from here.’

For a moment Fallon hesitated and then he made the decision. ‘All right. Get us there as quickly as you can.’

Murphy nodded and stepped out briskly. He took to the back streets again, pausing at corners and cautiously checking for police before crossing the busier streets. It only took them twenty minutes to reach their destination. There were only three lamps lit and the far corners of the square were obscured by darkness. Fallon led the way across and when they reached the gate in the wall he hesitated for a moment. A sudden gust of wind drove rain in a fury into their faces, and he made his decision and opened the gate and led the way in.

He stood again on the top step and jerked on the ancient bell-pull. The force of the wind and rain was such that he couldn’t hear the sound of the bell inside the house. They waited for a few moments and then a light came on in the hall. What on earth am I going to say to her? Fallon thought, and then the door opened and Anne Murray stood in a shaft of light peering out. For a brief moment she looked at him and then her gaze flickered to his two companions. He tried to speak and found that the words wouldn’t come, and then she stood back and said, with a slight smile, ‘Come in, Mr. Fallon. I’ve been expecting you.’

CHAPTER FIVE

I
T
was chilly in the attic and the rain drummed relentlessly against a large glass skylight set in the sloping roof. In the centre of the room stood two rusty iron beds and piled in the corners were boxes containing the accumulated rubbish of years. Over everything there hung a faint musty smell of damp and decay. Rogan looked around with an expression of distaste. ‘Is this the best she can do?’

Fallon laughed grimly. ‘If you fancy going for another run round the back streets in the rain, you’re welcome to go – on your own.’

Murphy came in, blankets piled high in his arms. ‘It’s fine by me, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a roof over my head and the polis are running round in circles in the rain. I know when I’m well off.’

Rogan snorted his disgust. ‘You would,’ he said. ‘Quite the little yes-man, aren’t you?’

Murphy flushed and tossed the blankets down on to one of the beds. ‘At least I don’t run off and leave people in the lurch,’ he said. Rogan took a step towards him and the boy pushed half the blankets into his arms. ‘There you are, Mr. Rogan,’ he said calmly. ‘You can make your own bed at least.’

Rogan turned with a curse and dropped the blankets on to the bed. Fallon laughed and said, ‘I think you’d better keep your lip buttoned, Rogan. You aren’t too popular round here.’ He moved forward until he stood very close to the small man. ‘In fact it wouldn’t take much to make me turn you out, and believe me that wouldn’t be too healthy. The County Inspector only lives a couple of streets away. There must be quite a bit of police activity in this area.’

A peculiar expression showed in Rogan’s eyes and then disappeared. He forced a laugh. ‘Sure, I didn’t mean anything. Dammit all, man, we’re all living on our nerves at the moment.’

Fallon walked across to the door. ‘Whatever happens,’ he said, ‘I don’t want you to leave this room unless I tell you to.’

Murphy nodded obediently, but Rogan laughed, and there was a wealth of meaning in his voice. ‘Where will you be sleeping then? She must have a fine sense of hospitality.’

For a moment violence sparked within Fallon, but as he took a step forward there was a movement behind him and the girl came into the room carrying a tray. She handed it to Murphy and said, ‘There’s a meal and hot coffee for you two. I don’t want you prowling round the house, so stay in this room. If I have any trouble you can get out.’ Her voice was cold and flat and completely unfriendly. She turned to Fallon. ‘I’ve got a meal for you downstairs.’ He nodded to his two companions and followed her out of the room.

It was warm in the kitchen. He sat down at the table and she spooned stew into a plate and set it before him. ‘That smells good,’ he said.

She laughed lightly. ‘It’s all I can make. I’m not very domestic, I’m afraid.’

He swallowed a mouthful of the warm food and shook his head. ‘It’s fine. Believe me, after what I’ve been through tonight, anything would be welcome.’

She smiled. ‘That’s rather a two-edged compliment, isn’t it?’

He spread his hands in a gesture of humility. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way at all.’

He suddenly realized how hungry he really was and got down to the serious business of getting the food inside him. She watched him quietly for several minutes, not speaking, and when he had finished, brought him a cup of tea. As she poured milk into the cup she said, ‘And how many dead men have you left behind you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a one, thank God. Did you expect that I would?’

She frowned and stirred her tea absently. ‘No, it would be more true to say that I was afraid you would.’ He stared at her in surprise, not understanding, and she explained. ‘What do you do when a policeman starts shooting at you? Don’t you shoot back?’

He grinned. ‘Personally I always run like hell.’

She sighed and nodded her head. ‘But one day you
will
have to shoot back and that’s what I’m afraid of.’

Fallon took out his cigarettes and offered her one. ‘I hate the shooting side of it,’ he said, as he held a match for her. ‘Killing a policeman proves absolutely nothing, except perhaps that you’re a good shot.’

‘And what if you shoot them in the back at point blank range like Rogan did?’ she said. ‘What does that prove?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Who says he did that?’

She shrugged. ‘That’s how I heard it from Inspector Stuart. The one who was wounded told him. Rogan had them with their hands up. He told them to turn round and then shot them. The one who survived had his spine severed. He’ll be in a wheelchair for life.’

He took the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it carefully into the ashtray. ‘All of a sudden everything tastes bad,’ he said.

She shook her head impatiently and reached across and laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘For God’s sake, Martin, why did you get mixed up in this thing? Why?’

He stood up and moved a few paces away from the table. ‘You asked me that yesterday,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t give you a proper answer then and I can’t now. One of the old leaders came to see me. He asked me to do this job and I laughed in his face, but then he produced Rogan’s mother. She was a sort of trump card. He knew I wouldn’t be able to turn her down.’

‘I told you she wasn’t a good enough reason,’ Anne said.

He lifted his shoulders helplessly. ‘I wish you could have seen her. Old and beaten down – and blind, as if enough hadn’t happened to her. All she has left to hang on to is her son. I couldn’t turn her down.’

‘You mean you didn’t have enough guts.’

He walked a  few nervous paces and slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. ‘All right. I didn’t have enough guts. Have it any way you like.’ He turned and looked at her despairingly for a moment and then he sat down and took one of her hands and gripped it strongly. ‘Perhaps I was only looking for an excuse,’ he said. ‘I gave it all up because I wasn’t convinced I was doing the right thing any more. I thought the Organization and everything it stood for was rotten. That’s why I turned O’Hara down, and yet I gave in too quickly when the woman begged me to help her. Perhaps I was only looking for a good excuse.’

She nodded and there was something like understanding in her voice. ‘There was something missing – something you couldn’t find in that cottage. Did you think you’d find it back across the border.’

He frowned and sighed with exasperation and stood up again. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’ He smiled sadly and moved across to the window and stared out into the driving rain and the night. When he spoke again it was slowly and from the very depths of his being. ‘I lived by force for too many years. Action and passion – they’re funny things. Rather like drugs. When you’ve once tasted them anything else seems rather tame.’

She stood up wearily and began to clear the table. ‘It’s not enough,’ she said. ‘It never is enough. There must be something that can fill the hole in you.’

He turned from the window and smiled wistfully. ‘I’ve looked for it for nearly five years,’ he said. ‘I thought I could be a great writer, but I’m only a third-rate hack. Then I tried the bottle, but that never solves anything.’

She looked across the length of the room at him. There was a terrible finality in her voice as she said, ‘Whatever happens you’ll have to find it soon. Without it you’ll destroy yourself.’

He laughed sharply. ‘Perhaps that’s what I really want to do. Perhaps I really do want to be another martyr to the cause.’

A sob broke in her throat and she lifted a hand against her mouth and turned away. He crossed the room in three quick paces and pulled her close within his arms. For a few moments she sobbed bitterly, her head turned into his coat, and then she pulled herself away and forced a smile. ‘There, you should be satisfied. You’ve made me make a fool of myself.’

He shook his head and said quietly, ‘You could never be that.’

For a moment she smiled up at him and then she put a hand against his chest and pushed him away from her. ‘Go on with you,’ she said softly. ‘Go to bed.’ For a moment he stood there gazing at her searchingly and then he turned to the door. As he opened it she said sharply in something like her normal voice, ‘You’re in the room two doors past mine. Careful you don’t make any mistakes if you’re up during the night.’

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘If I did,’ he said, ‘it would be the nicest mistake I ever made.’ A crimson tide flooded her face and he closed the door quickly before she could make a reply.

As he moved along the hall to the foot of the stairs he suddenly realized that Rogan was bending over a small table that stood in the corner. For a moment Fallon watched him in silence and then he moved forward and said softly, ‘I thought I told you to stay in your room?’

Rogan turned quickly, alarm on his face. He was holding a telephone directory in his hands and he replaced it on the table and laughed falsely. ‘Sorry, Fallon. I was just checking up on the address of a friend.’

‘Going visiting?’ Fallon said sarcastically.

Rogan shook his head and started to climb the stairs. ‘It was a fella I used to know in this town. I thought he might have been able to help us, but he isn’t in the book any more. He must have moved.’

They mounted to the first floor and moved along the landing. At the bottom of the stairs that led to the attics they paused and Fallon said, ‘Now this time try doing as you’re told. Things are bad enough without you trying anything stupid.’

Rogan turned, fists clenched, and said bitterly, ‘Don’t push me too hard, Fallon. You may have been a big man once, but you’ve had your day.’

Fallon moved in close and crowded him against the wall. ‘Do you want a fight?’ he said savagely. ‘Because there’s nothing I’d like better than to beat you to a pulp.’ For a moment Rogan glared up at him and then he dropped his gaze. Fallon’s voice became cold and deadly. It fell across Rogan like a whiplash. ‘I saved your dirty hide because your mother begged me to. That’s really funny because as far as I’m concerned she’s better off without you. For the record I’d like you to know that you’re just about the lowest rat I’ve ever come across.’ For a moment longer he stood looking down at the small man and then he said quietly, ‘Go on, get to bed.’

Rogan raised his head slowly and there was a terrible hate in his eyes. ‘Good night to you, Mr. Fallon,’ he said, and turned and began to mount the stairs.

Fallon watched him until he was nearly at the top and then he said, ‘And by the way, Rogan, I wouldn’t advise you to try and shoot me in the back. You’d find it most unhealthy. In fact, I’m waiting hopefully for you to try.’ Rogan paused on the top step without looking round and then continued up and disappeared into the gloom of the top landing.

As he got into bed Fallon checked his watch. It was only nine o’clock. The bed was cool and freshly made with clean linen sheets that smelt faintly of lavender. He guessed she must have unpacked them specially and smiled faintly in the darkness and sighed. He lit a cigarette and lay smoking and thinking about Anne Murray. She was something of a problem. He recalled the feel of her in his arms as she had cried against his shoulder and a wave of tenderness ran through him. For a moment or two he let his mind dwell on pleasant things. On how it might have been. He cursed softly and jerked his thoughts back to reality. It was pointless dwelling on what was now unattainable.

He tried to consider the problem rationally and logically. He desired the girl. And why not? She was attractive, young, almost beautiful, and he hadn’t slept with a woman for longer than he cared to remember. But this wasn’t the kind of girl one thought of just sleeping with. This girl would love one man, hard and fast, in every possible way she could. There was steel in her and integrity and even a fine touch of humour. What had she said? Don’t make any mistakes if you’re up during the night. He chuckled softly and turned over and went to sleep.

He came awake to a gentle, insistent pressure on one shoulder. His hand darted under the pillow and fastened over the butt of the Luger, and then he detected the elusive fragrance to which, by now, he was so well accustomed. He relaxed and sat up. ‘Now who’s picked on the wrong room?’ he said.

‘I’m sorry to bother you. It’s silly, I know, but I thought I heard someone downstairs.’ She sounded genuinely worried.

He pulled back the bedclothes and swung his feet to the floor. ‘There’s an easy way to find out,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and check.’

Her nightdress rustled faintly through the darkness as she moved towards the door. ‘I’ll slip a dressing gown on and go with you,’ she said.

He pulled on shirt and pants. For a moment he hesitated, weighing the Luger in his hand, and then he slipped it back under the pillow. He left the room quickly and found the girl waiting for him in the darkness by her door. Together they moved cautiously to the head of the stairs and listened. The house was as quiet as the grave. Fallon led the way down the back stairs and opened the door into the kitchen. The room was empty and quiet except for the faint crackling of the coke in the stove. He switched on the light and said, ‘I’ll check the other rooms, but it looks all right. Must have been the wind.’

When he came back she had the kettle boiling on the stove. ‘Everything all right?’ she said.

He grinned and looked at his watch. ‘Well, it’s now precisely ten minutes past six. Are you sure this wasn’t just an excuse to get me up early?’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘I really did think I heard something. It must have been my imagination. This old house is full of noises in the dark.’

Fallon lit a cigarette and sat down at the table as she poured tea. He coughed violently as the smoke caught at the back of his throat. ‘Tastes horrible,’ he managed to say at last.

She chuckled. ‘Then why smoke?’

He shrugged and shook his head. ‘Why do anything? Why live?’

She held up a hand and said, in mock alarm, ‘Not philosophy. Not at this time in the morning, please.’

From the front of the house there came a faint rattling of bottles and Fallon turned quickly, every sense on the alert. ‘What’s that?’ he demanded.

She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s only the milkman. They deliver very early here.’ She got up from the table and went out into the hall.