Cry of the Hunter (7 page)

For a moment Fallon hesitated and then he ran up the steps and hammered at the front door. He kept on banging until it was opened. A woman in a housecoat stood in the doorway. He didn’t give her a chance to speak. ‘How long has Inspector Stuart been gone?’ he said.

‘Why, he’s just left this minute,’ she said. ‘I’m Mrs. Stuart. Is there anything I can do?’

He raised a hand wearily and pushed hair away from his eyes. ‘I’ve got to get to him,’ he said. ‘It’s a matter of life and death. Was he in the black saloon that passed me at the end of the street?’

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘He’s gone to the newsagents along the road for the morning paper. He’ll be back for breakfast before he leaves.’ And then her eyes widened and her voice changed. ‘You’re Martin Fallon.’

He turned without answering and ran down the steps along the path out into the street. He turned the corner and stared into the grey morning, but there was no sign of Stuart returning. He began to run along the pavement, his lungs labouring for breath, his feet slipping on the wet flagstones. He was thinking of Philip Stuart driving his car casually along in the quiet morning, while underneath him his exhaust pipe grew steadily hotter. Five minutes, Fallon thought, that’s all it takes. He stumbled and fell flat on his face, grazing his right arm badly. For a moment he lay there and then he pushed himself to his feet and ran on. Jesus Christ, what a bloody mess! he thought, and then he saw the black saloon coming towards him out of the rain.

He staggered into the road, arms outstretched and the car skidded to a halt a bare two feet away from him. He caught a glimpse of Stuart’s startled face through the windscreen and then he was alongside the car, wrenching open the door and grabbing at him. ‘Martin!’ Stuart cried in amazement. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Fallon dragged him bodily out of the car so that he slipped and fell into the road on his knees. ‘Bomb!’ he managed to gasp as his lungs fought for air. ‘Bomb under car. Let’s get out of here.’

He turned and ran for the far side of the road, Stuart at his heels, and then there was a tremendous explosion and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a large piece of metal flying through the air. He flung himself face down on the pavement and huddled there, his head buried in his arms. As the echoes of the explosion died flatly away on the morning air, there was a tremendous rushing sound and a further small explosion as the petrol went up.

He lifted his head and breathed deeply. Stuart was lying slightly behind him. Fallon got to his knees and said, ‘You all right, Phil?’

Stuart struggled to one knee. There was an expression of bewilderment on his face. ‘Martin,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. What’s going on?’

Fallon opened his mouth to answer him and then there was the roar of engines and two patrol cars came along the street fast and skidded to a halt with a squeal of brakes. Fallon laughed bitterly. Mrs. Stuart hadn’t wasted any time. ‘Tell your wife she did a good job,’ he said hastily to the astonished Stuart and started to run along the pavement.

He cut diagonally across the road, dodged past one car and took to his heels. He had only gone a few yards when another car turned out of a side street in front of him and slewed across the road. Behind him Stuart called, loud and clear, ‘Martin, don’t be a fool!’

Fallon slowed as three constables piled out of the car in front and came towards him. Despair and a furious anger rose in his throat. Before him on the pavement there was a twisted piece of metal from the car. It was the only available weapon. He picked it up and turned and ran, crouching, back towards Stuart and the other two cars. He heard a voice shout. ‘Look out! He’s got a gun!’ and then Stuart’s terrible cry. ‘No – don’t shoot!’

That was the last thing he heard because there was the sudden, flat report of a revolver and something kicked him violently in the chest. He was lying on the pavement, his head pillowed against the wet flagstones, and there was a confused murmur of voices and a forest of legs surrounding him. A face came close to his and a voice sounded from a very long way off, and then the face disappeared into a whirlpool of coloured lights and he plunged into darkness.

CHAPTER SIX

T
HERE
was a light that came very close and went away again. It did this several times. Fallon found it extremely irritating. His head was spinning and it was an effort to open his eyes. The light came very close again and this time there was a voice saying: ‘Relax! Don’t struggle. Just relax.’ The light suddenly dwindled into a spinning ball that got smaller and smaller and he was in darkness again.

When he finally awoke he found himself in a single bed. The room was small and narrow and over everything there was that peculiar and distinctive hospital smell of disinfectant and cleanliness.

The room was half in shadow and there was a shaded lamp on a locker beside the bed. A young nurse was reading in the light of the lamp. Fallon tried to push himself up and groaned. It felt as if there was an iron band around his chest. The nurse looked up quickly and put down her book. She stood up and moved across to the door and opened it. ‘Will you call for Doctor Flynn, please?’ she said to some anonymous person in the corridor and closed the door again. She came over to the bed.

Fallon grinned weakly. ‘So I’m still in the land of the living?’ he said. ‘Life’s full of surprises.’

She put a hand on his brow. It was cool and sweet and he closed his eyes. ‘Just rest,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t even talk.’

The door opened and he lifted his eyelids. He saw a brown, kindly face, seamed with wrinkles and topped with iron-grey hair. His wrist was lifted delicately and the doctor looked at his watch and said, ‘How do you feel?’

‘Lousy!’ Fallon told him.

The doctor smiled. ‘You’re the lucky one. The bullet was turned by your ribs. It’s a nasty wound but you won’t peg out on us yet awhile.’

Fallon raised his eyebrows. ‘And you call that lucky?’

The doctor shrugged and laughed lightly. ‘All I do is patch ’em up,’ he said. ‘What they do with them afterwards isn’t my affair.’

There was a discreet knock on the door. The nurse opened it and said, ‘Oh, Doctor. Inspector Stuart is here.’

The doctor turned to the door as Philip Stuart entered. ‘You can have fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘No longer. He needs plenty of sleep.’ He smiled at Fallon. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ He went out followed by the nurse.

Stuart moved out of the shadows and smiled down. He was tall and lithe and his uniform fitted him like a glove. ‘Hello, Martin,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’

Fallon grinned weakly. ‘Like a cigarette. Have you got one?’

Stuart nodded. He pulled a chair forward and sat down and then he took out a cigarette case. Fallon inhaled deeply and sighed with pleasure. ‘That’s better,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry about this,’ Stuart said. ‘One of my young constables panicked. When you turned with that bit of metal in your hand he thought you’d drawn a gun.’

Fallon nodded. ‘That’s all right, Phil. I heard your shout just before the bullet hit me. It doesn’t seem to have done much damage.’ He laughed lightly. ‘What about your car? Is any of it left?’

Stuart shrugged. ‘It might fetch a few pounds for scrap.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Fallon sighed. ‘It was a good job I got to you as fast as I did.’

‘Was it Rogan?’ Stuart said.

Fallon nodded. ‘Yes, it was Rogan.’

‘And the booby trap at the church? Was that Rogan, too?’

Fallon stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside locker. He lay back against the pillows. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know anything about it until I heard the news this morning.’

Stuart jumped up in disgust. ‘He’s a mad dog,’ he said forcefully. He moved restlessly about the room. ‘If there was ever a man I wanted to lay by the heels it’s Patrick Rogan. I want to see him hang.’

Fallon said quietly, ‘Yes, he’s about the worst I’ve come across. If I’d had any sense I’d have killed him myself. It would have saved a lot of grief.’

‘Instead you set him free,’ Stuart said.

Fallon nodded slowly. ‘That’s right. I set him free. That makes me responsible for anything he does, I suppose?’

Stuart stood at the end of the bed, his face darkened by a line of shadow. ‘Why did you leave that cottage of yours, Martin?’

Fallon looked at him in amazement. ‘You knew where I was?’

Stuart nodded. ‘I’ve often stood at the border post at Doone and looked at your cottage through field glasses.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘My God, what did you expect? Did you think we’d lose all interest in Martin Fallon once he was out of our hands? We expected you back long ago.’ He moved back to his chair and sat down. ‘Personally, I was glad when you didn’t come back.’

Fallon smiled. ‘I wish to hell I never had,’ he said feelingly.

‘Why did you?’ Stuart demanded. ‘What made you come back after five years to help a mad dog who’s only fit for the gallows?’

Fallon shook his head ‘Now don’t you start,’ he said. ‘I’m getting rather tired of that question. The only important thing is that I did come and I’ve made a proper muck-up of everything.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Do you realize I still have six years to serve from my last sentence? How much do you think I’ll get this time?’ Stuart’s face darkened. He got up and walked across to the window and stood looking out into the darkness without saying anything. There was a silence and after a while Fallon sighed. ‘Come on, Phil. Tell me the worst. What will I get?’

Stuart turned slowly. For the moment he was the policeman again, calm-voiced, dry, matter-of-fact. ‘I’m afraid you’re an accessory to murder this time,’ he said.

Fallon nodded slowly. ‘And for that they could hang me,’ he said.

‘Very possibly.’ Stuart moved back to the bed and said, gently, ‘Of course, the fact that you saved my life will help you a lot.’ He hesitated and went on, ‘And any useful information you give us would have a definite effect on the outcome of your trial.’

‘Such as Rogan’s whereabouts?’ Fallon enquired.

Stuart nodded. ‘And where you’ve been hiding out since leaving the church.’ He frowned. ‘I thought I’d rooted out the Organization in Castlemore.’

Fallon smiled slightly. ‘I can answer the first part of your question very easily. I haven’t the slightest idea where Rogan is. As to where I’ve been hiding - you can find that out for yourself.’

Stuart pursed his lips and frowned again. ‘You were in your shirt sleeves when you came looking for me,’ he said, ‘so you couldn’t have been very far away from my house.’

Fallon settled his head comfortably against the pillow. ‘Good night, Phil,’ he said.

Stuart picked up his cap and set it on his head, pulling the peak slightly over his eyes. When he spoke his voice was quite cold. ‘You’re on the second storey of this hospital,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a twenty-four-hour guard on the door. Don’t try anything foolish.’

‘I couldn’t even walk to the toilet,’ Fallon told him.

Stuart turned to the door. He paused for a moment, his hand on the door knob, and said very quietly, ‘My wife sends her thanks, Martin, for what you did.’ His voice seemed to crack and he swallowed and went on, ‘We’re expecting a child next month, so . . . ’ His voice trailed off.

‘That’s all right, Phil,’ Fallon said softly.

Stuart coughed. ‘She wanted me to tell you that she’ll be praying for you.’ For a moment longer he stood there in the shadows and then the door closed quietly behind him.

Praying for me, Fallon thought. A lot of good that’s going to do me. He stared up at the ceiling and beads of sweat formed on his brow. Accessory to murder. The words seemed to flame out of the shadows at him. By some trick of memory he recalled his dream of being on the train in Rogan’s place and he shuddered. The judge had worn the black cap. Perhaps it was prophetic.

He wondered what Anne Murray was thinking about now. The circumstances surrounding his capture would have made front page news all over the province. She’d know where he was. He frowned as he thought of Murphy and hoped fervently that she would stop the boy from doing anything silly.

He began to think of her, calmly and deliberately, letting his mind dwell on each separate incident. There were so many things to think about. Why had she given them sanctuary? – but the answer to that was so simple and he had been pushing it away from him deliberately because he hadn’t wished to acknowledge the fact.

All at once he knew that he didn’t want to die. He wanted to see Anne Murray again with a sudden fierce desire that had him struggling to sit up in the bed. Sweat broke out on his forehead and his senses reeled. He closed his eyes and hung on and when he opened them again it was all right. He pushed back the bedclothes and swung his feet to the floor. His chest was tightly swathed in bandages and there was a dull, throbbing pain in his left side. He took a deep breath and got to his feet. For a moment he stood swaying there, and then he began to walk.

He felt curiously light-headed and for a few moments it was as if he was walking on cotton wool and then he reached the far wall. He rested for a while then turned and walked back. He sat on the edge of the bed and then tried again. There was a cupboard in one corner. He opened it hopefully but was disappointed. His clothes weren’t there. He moved over to the window and looked cautiously out, keeping behind the curtain. When his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he saw that the ground was some forty feet below. His heart sank and he turned and staggered back to his bed. He had barely got himself settled again when the door opened and the nurse came in.

She punched his pillows and smoothed the blankets into place. ‘How do you feel?’ she said.

He groaned a little and answered her in a weak voice. ‘Not so good. I think I’ll go back to sleep.’

She nodded and compassion showed in her eyes. ‘I’ll look in later on. Try and get some rest.’ She left the room as quietly as she had come.

Fallon smiled softly. So far so good. He pulled back the bedclothes and moved across to the door. There was a murmur of conversation outside and the nurse laughed. He placed his head close against the door and heard her say, ‘You’ll be bored to death sitting here all night.’

A man’s voice replied, ‘Not if I had something as pretty as you to keep me company.’

She laughed again. ‘You read your book,’ she said. ‘I’ll be round at half-past eleven to have a look at him. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.’ Her heels clicked away along the corridor and Fallon heard the creaking of a chair as the policeman settled into it.

He moved unsteadily back towards the bed. There was an electric clock on the wall and it showed the time as nine-thirty. He walked across the room two or three times and sat down again. He had an hour and a half. It was like the train affair all over again. He had only one chance – surprise. He had to move fast. If he didn’t get away now he knew that he never would. Tonight was the one slack period. The time when they thought him so ill and shocked that the very thought of escape was laughable.

He checked the bedside locker. There was nothing there except some towels and a pair of slippers. He pulled the slippers on and turned out the light, then he moved across to the window.

Slightly to the right and about thirty feet below there was a side entrance to the hospital. A lamp jutted out from the wall on an iron bracket casting a pool of light down on to the path. A fine rain drifted through the yellow light like silver mist. He opened the window carefully and leaned out.

About three feet below the window-sill an ornamental stone ledge about six inches wide, cut across the face of the building. A sudden excitement moved inside him. To the right, a line of windows stretched away into the darkness, almost every one throwing a broad shaft of light into the darkness. To his left there were three windows and only the middle one showed a light.

Fallon hardly paused to consider the problem. There was no risk involved because his life was in far greater danger if he stayed. He threw a leg over the sill and clambered out on to the ledge. For a moment he stood holding on to the comparative safety of the open window and then he began to move cautiously along the ledge, step by step, his face to the wall.

He wasn’t conscious of the cold or of the wind cutting through the thin material of his pyjamas. He moved inch by inch, his mind fiercely concentrated on maintaining his balance on the narrow ledge. It seemed an age before he reached the first window. It was open several inches at the bottom. He slid his fingers into the slight gap and lifted the sash and climbed in. He moved across the room carefully, straining his eyes through the darkness, but the bed was unoccupied. He walked quickly to the door and turning the knob gently, opened it a couple of inches. Just a few feet away a police sergeant was sitting in a chair reading a book. Fallon quietly closed the door.

He wasted no time. He padded back across the dark room and clambered out on to the ledge again. It seemed colder this time and he shivered as he began to move along towards the next window. He was lucky. The light that showed escaped through a slight gap in drawn curtains and he paused to rest for only a second or two before moving on towards the last window. It was slightly further away than the others had been and when he reached it his arms were trembling.

His fingers scrabbled for a moment at the window frame and panic moved in him when the window remained closed. He pushed again, straining every finger, and the window shot up with a clatter and he lost his balance and half fell across the sill. Pain knifed into his ribs and he stifled a cry of agony and scrambled into the room. For a moment he sat on the floor waiting for the pain to pass. After a time, when it was simply a dull ache, he got to his feet and went cautiously forward. His head bumped into a wall and he moved along it until he reached the door. He turned the knob gently and pulled. Nothing happened. For a moment he stood motionless, breathing heavily, and then he ran his hands over the wall at the side of the door until they encountered the light switch.

He was in a linen room. The walls were lined with wooden shelves that were piled high with sheets and blankets and towels. He tried the door again. It was no use. He switched off the light and went and stood by the open window. There was no despair in his heart but he was worried. He’d overtaxed his strength already. If he passed out now he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d never get away. He remembered again Stuart’s words and a sudden new energy flooded through him. He climbed out on to the ledge and started back towards his own room.