Cry of the Hunter (8 page)

It seemed to take twice as long on the return journey and once he almost lost his balance and fell. It was only by a miracle he managed to retain his footing. At last he pulled himself over the sill, back into his own room, and staggered across to the bed and sat down. He didn’t feel so good. He was breathing with difficulty because his chest seemed to be constricted by the bandages. He considered the position. It was no use trying the ledge along to the right. There was a light on in almost every room. Someone was bound to see him. It was even possible that those were the windows of a ward. No, he would have to think of something else. He looked at the clock. It was ten-fifteen. He whistled softly to himself. It must have taken longer to get along that ledge than he had imagined at the time. He moved back to the window and leaned out again. There was no way out above him. The eaves of the roof were several feet out of reach. The next row of windows was some ten feet below. He leaned far out and looked down. There was no light in the room directly beneath him.

He hardly considered the danger involved as he stripped his bed quickly and knotted the two sheets and the bedspread together. Underneath the window-sill ran the iron pipe of the central heating system and he carefully tied one end of his improvised rope round it and threw the other out over the window-sill. He clambered out and stood on the ledge and took a firm grip on the sheets and began to slide down. A terrible pain like fire coursed through his chest and side and for a moment his senses swam so that he almost lost his grip, and then his feet bumped against the window-sill of the room below and he was safe. He swayed there for a moment, hanging on to his lifeline grimly and then he reached out with a trembling hand and attempted to open the window. It was locked. He lifted his elbow recklessly and pushed it hard against the glass. A sudden gust of wind whirled round the corner of the building and half-drowned the sound of breaking glass. He reached in through the jagged hole and unfastened the catch. A second later he was crouching in the warm darkness, sobbing for breath.

There was no time to waste. He walked forward, arms outstretched, until he touched the wall, then he moved along until his fingers encountered a light switch. He was in another private room. Blankets were piled neatly in a squared tier on the bed and the room was obviously unoccupied. The door opened at a touch and he sighed with relief and looked out on to a deserted corridor. He closed the door and began to make a rapid search of the room. In the wardrobe he found a faded blue hospital dressing gown and he pulled it on. He turned out the light and left the room.

He walked slowly along the corridor, his senses alert for danger. What his next move was to be he did not know. He preferred to leave it to chance. He felt calm and fatalistic now because, in some queer way, he knew that he was going to get away with it. As he came to the end of the corridor he heard voices talking quietly. He peered round the corner. A few feet away from him two police constables leaned against the banisters at the stairhead. They were both armed with automatic rifles.

Stuart was obviously taking no chances. Fallon retraced his steps. When he reached the opposite end of the corridor he drew back hastily. A police constable was standing with his back to him only four or five feet away.

Fallon considered the situation for a moment. The fact that the corridors and stairs were so heavily guarded meant that all entrances and exits must be heavily guarded as well. Sweat was oozing from his forehead in bright drops. He brushed it away with his hand. At any moment someone might appear in the corridor and there was his improvised rope of sheets still hanging out of the window. It only needed a passer-by to glance upwards. As he paused, his brain racing, he noticed a small door about three feet square, set in the opposite wall of the corridor, rather like a window. He moved across quickly and opened it. He looked down into the depths of a lift shaft.

He began to heave on the ropes feverishly and within a few seconds the lift appeared. In it there was a wicker basket full of dirty sheets and towels. He dragged out the basket hastily and scrambled into the lift. It was a tight squeeze and he was doubled over so that his face almost rested on his knees. The strain on his wound was almost unbearable and it felt as though the bandages were cutting into his flesh. He closed the door and pulling quickly on the ropes, dropped jerkily down into the darkness.

He passed through several rays of light which found their way through lower entrances into the lift shaft. He kept on going down without stopping, until he bumped against the concrete base of the shaft. He opened the small door cautiously and scrambled out. He was in a large basement room that was brightly lit by three naked electric bulbs. The room was filled with piles of dirty sheets and blankets tied together in bundles. There seemed to be no one about. He moved across to the far door and opened it.

He found himself in a long, whitewashed corridor. He began to walk quickly along it, checking the rooms as he did so. He heard voices coming from a door at the far end. It was slightly open and he peered in. Two men in overalls were standing by several large boilers, leaning on their shovels and laughing over some joke. He passed on and turned the corner into a smaller corridor in which there were just two doors. He opened the first one and found himself in a lavatory. The other room seemed to be some sort of rest room. There was a table and two benches and a couple of battered tin lockers stood against one wall. He moved across quickly and opened them. One of them contained only a few odds and ends of personal belongings. In the other, he found a pair of broken, steel-tipped industrial boots and an old, shabby jacket. He took them out quickly and then, as he turned, his eyes lighted on a boiler suit hanging behind the door on a hook. It was the work of a few seconds to take off his dressing gown and pull the boiler suit over his pyjamas. He sat down and laced on the heavy boots. He stood up and pushed his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and at that moment the door opened and a man walked in.

It was one of the men Fallon had seen in the boiler room. His mouth went slack in amazement and then a sudden anger sparked in his eyes as he noticed the jacket Fallon was pulling on. ‘Here, that’s my jacket,’ he said. He clenched his fists menacingly. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Fallon didn’t waste any time in arguing. He was in no condition to fight fairly. There was an old, broken chair leaning against the wall behind him. He snatched it up and smashed it down across the head and shoulders of the unfortunate intruder. The man sank to his kees with a terrible groan. He tried to get up, his arms reaching out as Fallon moved for the door. His grasping fingers tore at the jacket and Fallon turned and kicked him in the stomach. The man went over backwards and writhed on the floor, his face slowly turning purple.

Fallon moved quickly along the corridor. As he drew abreast of the boiler room the other man came running out, drawn by the sounds of conflict. They smashed into each other and Fallon called out as pain flooded the upper half of his body. The man grabbed at him with huge, work-hardened hands and Fallon lifted his knee up hard into his crutch. As the man subsided on to the floor like a deflated balloon, Fallon ran on and quickly mounted the steps at the end of the corridor.

The pain moved in him like a living thing, but he pushed it deliberately away from him, opened the door, and walked calmly out. He was in a narrow corridor that opened into a small hall. There was a tiny glass office in the hall by the entrance and two police constables were sitting in it drinking tea. The glass entrance doors were standing open and outside he could see a loading ramp. A large van was standing against the ramp with its tailboard down and piled in the back were several skips. The corridor seemed to be full of similar skips. Fallon moved forward and grabbed one by the handle, then he began to pull it across the hall. He was sweating with fear and his heart was in his mouth. As he passed the glass office he didn’t look up. He waited for the sudden shout but it never came. He pulled the skip into the van and stood there for a moment thinking and then he came to a sudden decision. He stepped out on to the ramp and lifted the tailboard, hooked it into position. He dropped off the ramp, walked along the side of the van, and climbed up into the cab. The engine roared into life at the first touch of the accelerator. He released the handbrake and drove slowly away.

Again he waited for the sound to come from behind. For the sudden cries of alarm, but all was quiet. He turned into the drive and approached the main gates. There were two policemen on guard, sub-machine guns crooked in their arms. He slowed to stop but one of them raised an arm and waved him on. He turned into the main road and drove quietly away.

He took the van into the centre of Castlemore and parked it in the main street within three or four minutes of leaving the hospital. The rain was still drifting softly down and it was cold and raw. He shivered and lifted the collar of the old jacket up around his neck and began to walk rapidly through the side streets. Strangely enough he felt no particular jubilation. He was tired, very tired, and curiously light-headed. He felt almost sorry for Philip Stuart. It was as though he had played a rather dirty trick on him. Friends shouldn’t do that sort of thing to each other.

He staggered suddenly and lurched into a lamp post and clung to it desperately. What nonsense was he thinking of now? What was happening to him? He looked up at the lamp above him and suddenly it seemed to dim. He closed his eyes and re-opened them and it brightened again. He started to walk faster. It wouldn’t do to collapse in the street. That would be stupid.

It was with a sense of surprise that he found himself crossing the square. The lamps seemed to be dancing away from him now and when he stood in front of the door in the wall it lifted gently then settled into place again. He wrenched it open and lurched along the garden path like a drunken man.

The bell echoed away into the night and he kept on ringing it and then he started to laugh. He knew it was silly but he couldn’t stop it, and he leaned against the door, laughing hysterically, so that when it opened he fell inside.

And then he was safe. Her arms were around him and he was safe and warm, and somewhere near at hand he could hear Murphy’s voice, high-pitched and excited. But it was Anne Murray’s face he saw. Soft and warm and full of love for him. He tried to smile to her and then her face began to recede into the darkness, further and further away, until she had disappeared and he was alone again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
E
drifted up from a deep pit of darkness into the light. For a little while his vision was blurred and the walls of the room seemed to move in and out. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. There was a quick movement near at hand and Johnny Murphy leaned over him. ‘Thank God!’ he said fervently and rushed from the room.

Fallon lay staring up at the ceiling. He felt calm and rested, but drained of all strength. After a while he became aware of the dull ache in his side. He moved slightly to ease the strain and closed his eyes again. The door opened with a soft click and there was the rustle of a dress. When he opened his eyes Anne Murray was leaning over him. He smiled weakly. ‘The bad penny again,’ he said.

She smiled warmly and sat down on the edge of the bed and took his hand. ‘I was never so glad to see anyone in my life,’ she said. ‘How do you feel?’

He grinned. ‘Alive – but only just. How long have I been here?’

‘About twelve hours,’ she said. ‘You passed out when you arrived.’

At that moment the door opened and Murphy came in, carefully balancing a tray. He grinned amiably as the girl put an extra pillow behind Fallon’s back, and said, ‘Aren’t you the great one, Mr. Fallon? The whole country’s going crazy.’

Fallon frowned and looked at the girl enquiringly. ‘It’s true,’ she told him. ‘You’ve really caused a storm this time.’

‘Poor Phil,’ Fallon sighed. ‘He won’t come very well out of this at all.’

Anne Murray nodded. ‘Some reporter’s already dug up the fact that you were at University together.’ She picked up a spoon and said briskly, ‘Come on now. Cut out the talking and open your mouth. You need some of this beef stew inside you.’ He opened his mouth obediently and she began to spoon stew into his mouth as though he were a child.

Murphy said enthusiastically, ‘That was a hell of a thing you did yesterday morning, Mr. Fallon. Saving Inspector Stuart like that.’ He frowned suddenly, the smile dying on his face. ‘That Rogan’s a bad one. The sooner they get him the better, I say.’

Fallon swallowed a mouthful of food and held up his hand. ‘Do you mean to tell me he’s still at large?’ he asked incredulously.

Murphy nodded. ‘He’s pretty smart, I can’t deny that’

Fallon lay back against the pillows, frowning. ‘I can’t understand how he managed to get out of town.’

‘Perhaps he’s got another hideout in Castlemore,’ Anne Murray said. ‘Perhaps he’s still here like you are.’

Fallon shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. He hates me. If he’d had anywhere else to go to he’d have gone yesterday morning after planting the bomb in Stuart’s car. He came back here for one reason only – he had nowhere else to go.’

‘Come on, finish this,’ she said, holding out another spoonful, and he opened his mouth obediently.

‘That was good,’ he said when he had finished.

She smiled and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘Now drink your milk like a good boy,’ she ordered.

He wrinkled his face. ‘Not milk – I hate it. To tell you the truth I could just do with a drop of the real stuff.’

The worst possible thing you could have,’ she said and took a glass of warm milk from the tray.

Fallon grimaced. ‘All right, but I’ll drink it myself, thank you. I’m not finished yet, you know.’

As he sipped the milk Murphy said, ‘Well, I’ll leave you, Mr. Fallon. You could do with some more sleep.’

Fallon made an exclamation of disgust. ‘Nothing doing,’ he said. ‘I’m going to get up when I’ve finished this. It was only a flesh wound, you know. The doctor told me. I’ve got to work out our next move.’

Anne smiled and shook her head firmly. ‘You aren’t going anywhere,’ she said. ‘You nearly killed yourself last night. How you haven’t got pneumonia I don’t know.’

He smiled brightly. ‘I’d have been in a worse position if I’d stayed.’

Murphy paused on his way to the door and stood quite still. The girl said, ‘What do you mean?’

Fallon shrugged. ‘I was to be charged as an accessory to murder.’ Her breath hissed sharply between her teeth and he turned his head and said to Murphy, ‘That means you too, lad. I’m sorry.’

There was a short silence and Murphy said with a forced laugh, ‘I suppose it serves us right for not keeping better company, Mr. Fallon.’ He turned and walked to the door. He hesitated with the door half-open and said slowly, ‘Would they – would they hang us if they caught us, Mr. Fallon?’

Fallon stared down into his empty glass and placed it gently on the tray. ‘Very probably,’ he said.

A tiny moan escaped from the boy’s mouth and his shoulders sagged. He remained like that in the doorway for several moments and then he straightened up and said with forced brightness, ‘Then we’ll have to damn well see they don’t get us, won’t we, Mr. Fallon?’

Fallon nodded and replied in the same tone, ‘Don’t worry, lad. They won’t catch us if I can help it.’

The door closed behind Murphy and Anne said, ‘Is it as bad as that? Do you really think they would hang you?’

He wrinkled his brows and smiled slightly. ‘I don’t know. I’m only going by what Phil Stuart told me. Rogan fixed that booby trap, but we were his accomplices in the eyes of the law – accessories before the fact, they call it. Another thing, if they do catch Rogan, which they very probably will, he’ll spill his guts. He’ll incriminate me and the boy out of sheer malice.’ A sudden thought struck him and he said slowly, ‘In fact he’ll very probably bring you into it as well.’

There was a short silence while they both thought about what he had just said and then the girl spoke. ‘That means we’ll have to leave here together,’ she said. ‘There isn’t any other way out, is there? I can’t very well stay here to wait for the police, can I?’

He stared at her, dismay on his face, as the full horror of what he had done to her burst upon him. ‘I’ve ruined you,’ he said. ‘I’ve ruined you entirely.’

When she replied her voice seemed to come from a great distance. He shook his head violently and she sounded quite normal again. ‘Don’t worry about me. All I’m worried about is that wound of yours. The blood had seeped through the bandage. It’s a good job I was here to render professional service.’

He opened his mouth to reply and then she was very far away and there was a strange buzzing in his ears. ‘What’s wrong?’ he croaked. ‘Everything’s going round in circles.’

Her voice came from the depths of a whirlpool. ‘That’s just what should happen. I put something in your milk. Now you can sleep for another twelve hours whether you like it or not.’ The darkness swirled over him and she was gone again.

When he awoke the room was dark. He lay there for a moment adjusting his thoughts and then he threw aside the bedclothes and sat on the edge of the bed. The dull ache in his side had abated a little and he was no longer so acutely uncomfortable. He padded across the room and switched on the lights. For a moment his head whirled as an attack of dizziness hit him, but it passed very quickly. There was an old dressing gown lying across the foot of the bed and he slipped it on and left the room.

He quickly passed along the landing and descended the back stairs. He could hear a murmur of voices and he paused a moment before opening the door. Anne Murray and the boy were sitting on either side of the table. There was a chess board between them and Murphy was in the act of moving his queen. Fallon walked over to the table and smiled. ‘That’s a stupid move,’ he said, glancing down at the board. ‘You’ve got to watch yourself when you’re dealing with a woman.’

She smiled up at him. ‘I’m sorry, but it was the best thing for you – believe me.’

He pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘I’m not annoyed,’ he said. ‘It’s just that another day has passed and I haven’t made any definite plans. We really are in danger here. They might catch Rogan at any minute and that would be the worst possible thing that could happen from our point of view.’

She smiled and said to Murphy, ‘Move the board, will you, Johnny? I’ll make some supper.’ Murphy began to put the pieces into a box and she walked over to the stove and said, ‘You aren’t the only one who’s capable of thinking, you know. What would you say if I told you it was all worked out?’

He looked up in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

She opened the cupboard and started to take things out. ‘You tell him, Johnny,’ she said. ‘These masterminds hate to have to listen to a woman.’

Murphy grinned and took out a map. ‘It’s a pretty good idea, Mr. Fallon,’ he said, ‘and Anne – Miss Murray, I mean – has worked it out herself. With a little assistance from me, that is.’

Fallon raised his eyebrows. ‘You two must have got very friendly,’ he observed coldly.

Murphy blushed and hastily unfolded the map. ‘This idea is based on something that’s happening here tomorrow. Miss Murray sold some of the furniture to a dealer from Stramore last week. It’s all piled up in the front room waiting. He’s coming tomorrow morning with a removal van.’

Fallon’s interest was aroused immediately. ‘Go on,’ he said, leaning forward.

Murphy grinned. ‘That’s really the most important part of the plan, Mr. Fallon. It’s our way out of town. The place is crawling with peelers. They’ll be having a house-to-house search next. Stuart must be convinced you’re still in town. When the furniture men have loaded the van tomorrow, or at some other convenient time, Miss Murray will call them into the kitchen for tea. Them fellas never refuse. You know what they’re like. You and I can hide ourselves amongst the stuff in the back.’

There was a short silence as the boy looked eagerly into Fallon’s face. Fallon nodded gravely. ‘All right. Let’s suppose it works and we pass through the road blocks. What then?’

The boy nodded. ‘That’s where Miss Murray comes in. She’ll get through the road blocks with no trouble at all. She’s hired a car. It’s out in the garage now, and tomorrow she’ll follow the van. At the first opportunity we’ll hop out and she’ll pick us up. We can try to cross over into Donegall then,’ he added.

There was a long silence and Fallon leaned over and studied the map. After a while he said, ‘Yes, it’s quite a good plan. Not bad at all – so far as it goes.’

Anne Murray pushed a cup in front of him, slopping tea into the saucer, and said indignantly, ‘All right, mastermind. What’s wrong with it?’

He raised a hand in a gesture of defence. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he said. ‘It is a good plan, but it needs tightening up a little, that’s all.’ He sipped a little of his tea and leaned back. ‘For instance – what happens if you develop engine trouble? We can’t very well ask our driver to stop and we don’t want to use intimidation because that gives Stuart a direct lead to our whereabouts.’

She snorted. ‘All right. I suppose it could happen, but it isn’t very likely.’

He nodded his head. ‘I agree, but believe me, it’s the unexpected that always happens. You’ve got to make allowances for every possible contingency. It’s only forty miles to Stramore. What if the driver doesn’t stop? And remember, Murphy and I can’t just drop over the tailboard at any busy road junction where the van happens to slow – it would look too suspicious.’

A dejected look appeared on the boy’s face and Anne Murphy said slowly, ‘Yes, I suppose you’ve got something there.’

Fallon smiled and slapped Murphy on the shoulder. ‘Don’t lose heart,’ he said. ‘I told you it only needed a few extras.’ He leaned over the map and studied it for a while and then he said, ‘Right, this is what we’ll do. We’ll follow your plan as far as it will work. If anything happens to stop Murphy and me from leaving the van between here and Stramore we’ll have to sit tight and take our chances.’ He turned to the boy. ‘Do you have a safe address in Stramore? Somewhere that would take us off the streets during daylight or where we could spend the night if necessary?’

Murphy frowned and then his face brightened. ‘Sure there’s Conroy’s, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘I’ve taken messages there many a time.’

Fallon laughed in amazement. ‘Is that old devil still in business?’ He shook his head and considered. ‘I never could trust him. It’s anything for a fiver with him, and I’m worth two thousand.’

‘Five thousand,’ Murphy coughed and said apologetically. “That’s the reward they’ve announced for the arrest of the man responsible for the booby trap killing.’

‘The rate’s gone up, has it?’ Fallon said. For a brief moment he stared into space and he smiled crookedly. ‘Ah, well, Conroy’s it must be.’

‘But what will I do if I miss you and you do have to go to this man Conroy?’ Anne demanded.

‘I’m coming to that,’ he told her. ‘You must book in at a hotel in Stramore for the night. Tell them you’ll be making an early start the next day and pay in advance.’ He looked down at the map again and continued. ‘Just outside Stramore on the main road to the north there’s a ruined castle with a wood beyond it. A side road cuts through that wood and about a quarter of a mile along it, there’s an old, humpbed-back bridge. We’ll meet you there.’

‘At what time?’ she said.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Oh, about eleven o’clock. The cinemas come out about ten-thirty. There’ll be quite a few people about. That will give us good cover for getting out of town.’

‘But why can’t I pick you up in Stramore when I leave my hotel?’ she said.

He shook his head and said gently, ‘It’s getting to be just a little too hot. By now they’ll have Murphy’s description as well. It just needs one observant passer-by – just one.’ There was finality in his voice when he went on, ‘No, we’ll meet you outside the town as I’ve just described.’

She opened her mouth to protest and Murphy said, ‘I agree with him, Miss Murray.’

For a moment she glared at them and then she shrugged her shoulders in resignation. ‘All right. Have it your own way.’

She made a meal of eggs and fried ham and Fallon wolfed it down as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Afterwards they sat talking over coffee and after a while Murphy said, ‘Well, I think I’ll hit the hay. I want to be at my best for tomorrow.’ He smiled and left the kitchen.

‘He’s a nice kid,’ Fallon said.

Anne nodded. ‘It hasn’t got him very far, has it?’

Fallon sighed. ‘I know, but it isn’t entirely my fault. He was mixed up in the Organization before I ever arrived on the scene.’ He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out thoughtfully. ‘He’s got a fine mind. Doesn’t like the violence at all and he’s loyal. Nearly sacrificed himself to save me the other night.’ He sighed. ‘I hope to God I can get him safe across the border.’