Cry of the Hunter (6 page)

Fallon heard her open the front door. There was the sound of heavy rain and the chink of the bottles as she picked them up, and then the door slammed. She came slowly into the room and he said, ‘Hasn’t it stopped yet?’

There was a puzzled expression in her eyes and she frowned as she put the bottles down on the table. ‘I could have sworn I bolted that door,’ she said.

‘What was that?’ He sat upright in his chair and looked at her.

‘The door,’ she said. ‘I thought I bolted it last night.’

For a moment they stared at each other and then she paled and Fallon jumped to his feet, sending his chair flying and rushed out into the hall. He went up the stairs, two at a time, raced along the landing, and then up the flight that led to the attics. He flung open the door so that it crashed against the wall and switched on the light. Murphy sat up in bed, shocked from sleep, an expression of alarm and bewilderment on his face. For God’s sake, Mr. Fallon!’ he cried. ‘What’s up?’

For a moment Fallon regarded the sleeping form of Rogan as he lay, huddled under the blankets, and then he took a quick pace forward and pulled the blankets away, disclosing two pillows. ‘The bastard!’ he said savagely. ‘The crazy bastard! He’ll be the end of all of us.’ He turned to the boy. ‘Get your clothes on and come down to the kitchen.’ He turned on heel and left the room.

The girl was standing at the bottom of the stairs, an expression of alarm on her face. ‘Is everything all right?’ she said.

‘Anything but,’ Fallon told her. ‘Rogan’s gone for a walk.’ He strode to the door and opened it and looked out into the darkness and the lashing rain.

‘But why?’ she said in amazement. ‘I don’t understand. Where could he go?’

Fallon shook his head and closed the door. ‘I’d give a lot to know that,’ he told her. ‘All I know is that he’s out there somewhere and there’s a purpose in his going.’ He turned and moved back towards the kitchen.

Murphy clattered down the stairs and rushed in. ‘Have you any idea where’s he’s gone, Mr. Fallon?’ he said.

Fallon shook his head. ‘Didn’t you hear him get up?’

The boy flushed and looked at the floor. ‘I was sleeping that sound I didn’t hear a thing,’ he said. ‘I’ve let you down.’

Fallon snorted and clapped him on the shoulders. ‘Rubbish! You weren’t supposed to be watching him, anyway.’

The girl handed Murphy a cup of tea. ‘Did he say anything to you before you went to bed?’ she said. ‘Anything unusual, I mean?’

The boy frowned and shook his head. ‘Nothing really unusual. He left the room for a while and I heard him arguing with Mr. Fallon on the stairs. When he came in he was furious. He borrowed a pencil from me and wrote something on a piece of paper.’

Fallon looked up in interest. ‘Did you see what he wrote? Was it an address?’

Murphy shook his head. ‘I don’t know, and that’s a fact.’

Fallon explained to the girl. ‘I caught him looking throught the telephone directory. He said he was looking for the address of an old friend. He told me it wasn’t in.’ He turned to the boy. ‘Anything else?’

Murphy shook his head. ‘Nothing special. He made a few cracks about you before he went to sleep. Oh, and he raved on about the County Inspector. Said he’d make him sorry he’d ever been born.’

Fallon frowned and said in bewilderment, ‘But why does he hate Phil Stuart so much?’

Anne smiled bitterly. ‘Because he did a good job. Because he chased Rogan into the ground, didn’t give him a moment’s peace for two months until he had him by the heels.’

Murphy nodded in agreement. ‘It’s his pride you know, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘He’s a terrible man to cross. They say he never forgives anyone who does him an injury.’

Fallon cursed and kicked the table savagely. ‘It was a black day for me when I first heard his name.’

‘Shall we go after him, Mr. Fallon?’ Murphy suggested.

Fallon laughed coldly. ‘After him? Where’s he gone? Do you know? I’m damned if I do.’ He shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the door. ‘No, all we can do is wait. If he’s skipped out thinking he’s a better chance on his own, then he won’t be back and we’re well rid of him. If he’s gone to see somebody, then he’ll be back in his own sweet time. Unless the police pick him up,’ he added grimly.

‘But what if the peelers do pick him up?’ the boy said. ‘I don’t trust him. He’s yellow, Mr. Fallon. He’d be likely to sick them onto us.’

Fallon smiled sourly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take.’ He turned to go, hesitated and said slowly to Murphy, ‘I think you’d better keep a watch from the front room. At the slightest sign of movement give me a yell. We’ll make a run for it through the back garden. I’ll be in the bathroom if you want me.’

He filled the wash basin with cold water and plunged his head into it several times. Then he turned on the hot tap and washed his face and shoulders thoroughly. He found a razor in the bathroom cabinet and the blade was still in reasonable condition. He lathered his face with soap and attacked the thick bristles of his beard. He thought about Rogan and wondered what the small man was up to. He felt uneasy. There was something rotten about Rogan, something unhealthy. The man wasn’t normal. Fallon patted his face dry and pulled his shirt over his head. He sighed. What a mess. What a bloody mess. He regarded himself in the mirror and shook his head. ‘You never learn,’ he said softly. ‘You never learn.’

He moved along the landing and started to descend the stairs and suddenly the girl screamed from the kitchen, high and long. It was a cry of pure agony. For a split second Fallon froze there and then he leapt down the stairs into the hall and turned towards the kitchen. Murphy emerged from the front room, an expression of alarm on his face. ‘My God!’ he cried, ‘what is it?’

Fallon didn’t even try to answer. He moved fast to the kitchen door and wrenched it open. Anne Murray was huddled over the table, her body shaking with sobs. Fallon glanced widly around. There was no intruder. The radio was on, a neutral voice announced the end of the news at that moment, and he moved across and switched it off. He bent over the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Anne,’ he said. ‘What is it? What happened?’

Slowly she turned her head and looked up at him. Tears stained her cheeks and there was an expression of loathing on her face. ‘It was the news,’ she said brokenly. ‘The seven o’clock news. You were hiding in the vaults at St. Nicholas yesterday, weren’t you? Father Maguire found you. He told you to get out and went for the police.’ Fallon nodded dumbly, a terrible unease tugging at his heart, and she went on, ‘The police went to the vaults last night. A young constable opened the door. Someone had fastened a hand grenade to it with string. It blew up in his face.’ Fallon stared down at her in horror and she stood up and pushed her face right into his. ‘He’s dead,’ she screamed. ‘He was twenty-one years of age and you killed him.’

Fallon shook his head. His mind was numb. He could only remember one thing clearly – Rogan’s unaccountable delay in following them to the car when they left the vault. He moistened his lips and managed to speak. ‘It was Rogan,’ he said, ‘Rogan did it.’

She shook her head. Her whole body was broken with her weeping. ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘You set him free. You turned him loose to prey on decent people.’

Fallon turned away blindly, and Murphy reached out and touched him with shaking fingers. ‘It wasn’t our fault, Mr. Fallon, was it?’ There was a note of utter despair and horror in his young voice.

Fallon tried to speak and found there was nothing to say. There was no answer and then the front door bell rang. There was a moment of stillness as the three of them looked at each other and the girl checked her sobbing and stood, a hand at her mouth, eyes wide and shining with fear. Murphy went quickly along the hall and peered out through the side window as the bell sounded insistently again. He took a few paces back towards them, his face white and strained, and said quietly, ‘It’s Rogan.’

Fallon hesitated for a moment and then walked forward very slowly. ‘Open the door and let him in,’ he breathed.

The bell sounded again as Murphy opened the door. There was a brief glimpse of the silver rain lancing down through the grey morning and then Rogan banged the door shut and collapsed against it, breathless and laughing. He gulped for breath and said, ‘I nearly had it then. A peeler stopped me a couple of streets away. I gave him a kick and ran like hell.’ He laughed unsteadily and pushed back a lock of wet hair from his forehead. The smile died on his face at the terrible silence which greeted him. His gaze passed from Murphy to the girl and then to Fallon. He licked his lips nervously. ‘You lot look cheerful, I must say.’

‘Where have you been?’ Fallon said calmly.

Rogan managed a smile. ‘That friend I told you about I thought I’d see if he was still at his old address. I thought maybe he’d had the phone taken out.’

Fallon lashed him back-handed across the face. ‘You bloody liar,’ he said. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Murderer!’ Anne Murray screamed. ‘You filthy murderer.’

Panic moved across Rogan’s face and he turned, one hand reaching for the doorknob, but Fallon beat him to it. He swung him round and held him by the jacket and he slapped him repeatedly across the face with the flat of his hand. ‘You fixed that grenade up at the church, didn’t you?’
he shouted. ‘You knew it would blow up in the face of the first person to open the door.’

Rogan’s eyes had dwindled into pinpricks. He stared into Fallon’s implacable face and a thin line of foam appeared on the edge of his lips. Fallon gave an exclamation of disgust and pushed him hard against the door. As Rogan slumped back something fell from inside his coat. Fallon bent down quickly and picked it up. It was one of the belts of plastic gelignite that had been in the second box in the vault. For a moment he stared at it in horror. Two pockets were empty. He moved towards Rogan and held the belt under his nose. ‘You fixed up that grenade and killed one man. Now you’ve been up to your tricks again. Where have you been?’ He smashed Rogan back-handed with the belt of explosive and Rogan screamed with rage and threw himself on Fallon, sending him reeling back against the foot of the stairs.

The small man leaned against the door, eyes staring, foam dribbling from his mouth. ‘Yes, I fixed that grenade up,’ he screamed. ‘I fixed it up because I hoped it might kill somebody. That’s what I’m here for. To kill people. That’s what the Organization needs.’ He seemed to choke for a second and then he recovered and pointed a quivering finger at Fallon. ‘It doesn’t need men like you – frightened to spill a little blood, worried about your drivelling consciences.’ He began to laugh, tears streaming down his face.

‘God help us, he’s mad, Mr. Fallon,’ Murphy said in a terrified voice.

Rogan straightened up. ‘Mad is it?’ he snarled. ‘It takes a madman to get things done then. While you clever ones slept I was out in the rain and the dark looking for an address. An address just three streets away. And I found it. I spent half an hour underneath Mr. God-Almighty Stuart’s car. Just half an hour.’ He cackled and wiped the spittle from his chin with the back of his hand. ‘They’ll be needing a new County Inspector before the morning’s out.’

Anne Murray lifted a hand to her mouth and stifled a scream. ‘Martin!’ she wailed.

Fallon stood as if turned to stone and Rogan suddenly lashed out with one foot that connected with Murphy’s shins. He whirled round, wrenched open the door and ran out into the rain. They had a final glimpse of him as he bounded down the path and then the door in the wall banged and he was gone.

Murphy was doubled up against the wall, clutching his right knee. Fallon turned to him quickly. ‘Are you all right?’ he said.

The boy nodded. ‘The bastard caught me on the kneecap.’

Anne caught hold of Fallon’s arm and turned him round. ‘What’s he done to Philip Stuart? What did he mean?’

Fallon lifted up the belt of explosive. ‘From the sound of it he’s put a sort of time bomb under Stuart’s car. It’s a trick from the last war. You fasten a lump of plastic gelignite to the underneath of the car and attach the fuse to the exhaust pipe with insulating tape. When the car’s been driven for five minutes or so the pipe gets hot enough to ignite the fuse.’

An expression of horror came into her eyes. ‘Martin, you’ve got to save him.’

He nodded reassuringly and took her by the shoulders. ‘I intend to. Don’t worry. It’s unlikely he’ll be using the car for a while yet.’

She shook her head obstinately. ‘That’s not true. When there’s trouble he’s out at all hours. That’s why men like Rogan fear him so much. He never stops, never lets up. He was out at five yesterday morning.’

Fallon nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right. I’ll phone him right away.’

He turned to lift the receiver and she cried, ‘But the phone isn’t working. I asked them to cut it off because I was leaving.’

For a brief moment they stood staring at each other and Fallon felt his flesh turn cold. It was as though a grey wave ran through him, lifting the hair on the back of his head, and he was afraid. More afraid than he had ever been. ‘What’s the address?’ he said urgently.

‘The street in the far corner of the square,’ she said. ‘It’s the third turning along on the left. A tall, narrow house, with a basement garage painted blue. Number four.’

He gripped her arms firmly and said, ‘I want you to stay here. Keep the boy with you. Whatever happens don’t let him follow me.’ She nodded dumbly, and unexpectedly he smiled. ‘They told me this was going to be a desperate bloody business,’ he said and turned and ran down the garden path, out through the open door into the square.

He ran very fast and before he had gone far the heavy rain had soaked his shirt, wetting him to the skin, running down from his hair into his eyes. He turned into the street in the comer of the square and splashed through a swollen gutter. There was no one about and he ran on alone along the empty pavement, never stopping even when a foot slipped and he almost lost his balance. As he approached the third street, a saloon car emerged from the turning and proceeded along the road in the direction in which he was running. He turned into the street and searched for number four. The blue garage doors were there as she had described, but they were standing open and the car had gone.