Cry of the Hunter (9 page)

‘I hope you get Martin Fallon safely across the border,’ she said.

‘And you?’ he said, ‘What about you?’

She shrugged and said quietly, ‘If I’m lucky and Rogan doesn’t talk when they catch him I’ll be able to carry on with my plans, I suppose. Go back to London. If it doesn’t work out that way…’

Her voice trailed off and Fallon said harshly, ‘It will if I can get to Rogan before the police do.’

‘And what would you do?’ she said.

‘Kill him. It’s all that he deserves.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘And you came across the border to save him. What a stupid business it all is.’ He nodded without replying and she said with a determined gaiety, ‘But what if I do have to cross the border? Where will I go? What will I do?’

He considered the point for a moment and said slowly, ‘You could come to Cavan to my cottage.’

‘Would I like it there?’ she said.

He laughed. ‘You’d like it very much. It’s only half a mile over the border. You can see it from the border post at Doone. It’s a grand place. The air’s like wine and the sky over the mountain changes its face every five minutes just to entertain you.’

‘Why did you ever leave it if you were so happy there?’ she said, shaking her head.

He grinned in puzzlement. ‘I wish to God I knew. I was a bit lonely. I’ll grant you that, and I was drinking more than was good for me, but there was something else. Some malaise of the spirit.’ He screwed up his eyes and stared back into the past and then he stood up and said abruptly, ‘Murphy has the right idea. We ought to go to bed.’

She nodded, a curious expression on her face, but made no reply. He put out the light and they went upstairs together. When they reached her door they paused and she smiled and said, ‘Well – good night.’ A sudden tightness clutched at his throat. He opened his mouth to reply and then she slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled down his head. Her lips touched his mouth, slightly parted, draining the strength out of him, and as he reached out for her, the door banged and she had gone. He stood looking at her door for a long time before he turned, with his mind in a turmoil, and walked slowly along to his own room.

He slept very soundly, a fact which surprised him considering the amount of sleep he’d had during the previous two days, but he decided that his wound must have sapped his strength more than he had realized. He was awakened by Murphy with a cup of tea at seven-thirty. The boy smiled and said, ‘It’s another hell of a day, Mr. Fallon. I don’t think it’s ever going to stop raining.’

Fallon swallowed the tea gratefully. He handed the cup back to Murphy and started to get out of bed and a sudden thought struck him and he groaned. ‘My God!’ he said. ‘I haven’t any clothes. I forgot clean about it.’

Murphy grinned and shook his head. ‘It’s all right. She thought of that. Yesterday afternoon when you were sleeping she went shopping. If you’ll look in the cupboard you’ll find a pair of trousers and a shirt. You left the jacket of your suit when you ran out so unexpectedly.’

He left the room and Fallon went into the bathroom and washed and shaved. His side was still very sore and stiff and his arm felt curiously numb. He swung it a few times to restore the circulation and then he dressed. When he put his jacket on, the Luger was back in its usual place. He took it out and hefted it in his hand. There was a comforting feel to it. He wondered what would have happened if he’d taken it with him that morning when he had gone to warn Stuart. He smiled grimly. One thing was certain – he would have been dead now. He slipped the weapon back into the holster and went downstairs.

Breakfast was ready and waiting. He sniffed at the aroma of frying bacon and said, ‘That smells good.’

She turned to greet him, her eyes crinkling. ‘How do you feel this morning?’

He grinned. ‘Not so bad. A bit stiff, but it looks as if I’ll survive.’

She put plates before them and they began to eat. When they were finished Fallon said. ‘What time will they be here?’

Ten o’clock,’ she told him and began to clear the table. When she had finished she went out into the hall and came back wearing her raincoat. ‘I’m going out for an hour,’ she said.

Fallon looked up in surprise. ‘Is it important?’

She nodded. ‘I’m going round to see Philip Stuart’s wife, Jane. If he calls and finds I’ve gone without leaving a message he’ll think it’s peculiar. Might even start trying to trace me.’

Fallon nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. Careful you don’t stay too long. It would ruin everything if you were late, and bring a newspaper back with you,’ he called as she went out of the front door.

It was half-past nine when she returned. Fallon and Murphy were deeply engrossed in a game of chess. She entered the kitchen and took them by surprise. ‘A fine pair you are,’ she said. ‘What if I’d been the police?’

‘To a peeler as pretty as you we’d have surrendered without a murmur,’ Murphy said impudently.

She smiled beautifully, her whole face lighting up, and handed Fallon a newspaper. He opened it at once. He wasn’t a headline, but there was a large piece in the right-hand corner of the front page. It simply said that police were still searching and had every reason to believe he was still in Castlemore. Extra men had been drafted in from other parts of the province. There was a small paragraph about Rogan, who had apparently disappeared off the face of the earth, and a line on Murphy who, it was stated, was believed to be with either Fallon or Rogan.

Fallon looked up and smiled slightly. ‘Not so good,’ he said. ‘They’ve brought extra police in.’

She nodded. ‘I know. Jane Stuart told me.’ Anne sighed and took off her coat. ‘I felt a bit low sitting there, letting her give me confidences when all the time I knew exactly where you were.’

‘Has my escape affected Phil’s position much?’ Fallon said.

She shook her head. ‘Apparently not. One or two stupid remarks in some of the English papers. Muck-raking, as usual. No, his integrity is too well known for anyone to think there was any collusion between you. Most of the Irish papers seem to think it’s rather amusing that you were friends in your young days.’

Fallon sighed with relief. ‘I’m glad I haven’t harmed him,’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘From what Jane said to me he’s rather more than half pleased that you got away. He was absolutely dumbfounded when they told him you’d escaped. He said when he left, you looked incapable of crossing the room.’

Before he could reply the bell rang shrilly. Anne hurried along the hall to the door. She peered out through the wide window and then rushed back. ‘It’s the furniture men,’ she said. ‘You’d better get upstairs. I’ll let you know when they’re almost through.’

They hurriedly mounted the back stairs and took refuge in Fallon’s bedroom. Fallon took out his cigarettes and they lit up and sat on the bed waiting. For a little while Fallon watched from behind the curtain as the men struggled down the garden path with various items of furniture. There were two of them and they appeared to be taking their time.

Three-quarters of an hour passed and Fallon began to stir impatiently and then the door opened and the girl appeared. ‘They’re taking the last piece out now,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the tea ready in the kitchen and I’ve already asked them in. They were only too pleased.’

He nodded. ‘Don’t forget to scream for help if you need it,’ he said facetiously.

She laughed lightly. ‘They’re both old enough to be my father.’

He gently took her hands. ‘Look after yourself,’ he said.

The smile died on her face and she replied soberly, ‘I pray to God everything goes off all right.’

‘It will do,’ Murphy said brightly. ‘Have no fear of that.’

She smiled at him and then looked again at Fallon. For a moment her eyes spoke to him and then she whispered, ‘Good luck!’ and left the room.

They waited on the landing until the voices of the two men had faded into the kitchen and Fallon pulled on his trench coat and rain hat and they went quickly downstairs. The boy was wearing his old leather motoring coat and Fallon said, ‘That’s a hell of a conspicuous thing to wear you know.’

Murphy shrugged. ‘I suppose you’re right, Mr. Fallon. If it would only stop raining I’d throw it away.’ He laughed gaily at his own joke and Fallon smiled. They went out into the road and stood at the rear of the van.

Fallon looked around casually. ‘Nobody about. That’s good.’ The men had already hooked the tailboard into place and he said, ‘Right! Now take it down and we’ll climb up nice and easy, just in case anybody happens to be looking out of a window.’

Murphy nodded. They lowered the tailboard and pulled it up after them when they had clambered into the van. Anne Murray’s furniture only half-filled it and had been positioned well to the back. Sacking was plentifully draped over everything. Murphy went burrowing in amongst the stacked furniture and gave an exclamation of triumph. ‘In here, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘We couldn’t be safer.’

Fallon ducked between the legs of a table and Murphy held up a flap of sacking, disclosing a small corner a few feet square, between a wardrobe and the side of the van. Murphy pulled a few more sacks in and Fallon nodded with satisfaction. ‘That’s fine. When we approach the road blocks we’ll cover ourselves with those.’

They sat down on the sacks and waited and about ten minutes later they heard the voices of the two men as they approached the van. They climbed up into the cab and a moment later the engine roared into life. Fallon crept out of the hiding place and peered over the edge of the tailboard. As they bumped across the square a green Hillman saloon turned out of the drive at the side of the house and moved after them. He smiled with satisfaction and crawled back underneath the table. ‘She’s on our tail,’ he said. ‘From now on all we can do is keep our fingers crossed.’

For five or six minutes the van moved at a steady rate through the traffic and then it started to slow. For a little while it was only crawling along and Fallon and the boy lay curled up in the small space and pulled the sacks over them.

Fallon had his ear to the side of the van. He heard a voice ask the driver where he was coming from. There was an indistinct reply and then there was the sound of steps going round to the back of the van. There was a scraping sound as someone heaved himself up and looked over the tailboard, and then he dropped back into the road with a clatter. The steps moved back to the cab and a second later the engine started up again, and the van moved off. For several minutes Fallon and the boy lay there under the sacks and then Murphy pulled them away and said in a low voice, ‘We’ve done it, Mr. Fallon. We’ve fooled the bloody peelers.’

Fallon grinned and held up a warning hand. ‘Yes, we’ve done it, but keep your voice down for God’s sake.’

They crawled out from underneath the table and Fallon lit a cigarette with a sigh of relief. He felt marvellous. It really looked as if they might get away with it. He crawled to the rear of the van and peered over the edge of the tailboard. They were rattling along through the rain at a steady speed between thorn hedges. The countryside stretched green and lush through the light mist on either side of them. It looked beautiful. There was only one thing missing, Anne Murray in her green Hillman saloon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

M
URPHY
crouched glumly by the tailboard looking back along the road. There wasn’t very much traffic. Occasionally a fast car overtook them, but there was no sign of the green Hillman. He glanced at his watch. They had been on the way for more than an hour. He turned to Fallon who sat on a sack, his back against a sideboard, and said, ‘There isn’t a sign of her, Mr. Fallon. What are we going to do?’

Fallon shrugged. ‘What can we do?’ He laughed at the crestfallen expression on the boy’s face and said, ‘I warned you this might happen. It could be anything. She might have taken a wrong turning, or punctured a tyre, or even run out of petrol, though I admit that isn’t very probable.’ He grinned and punched the boy in the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll see what happens in Stramore. We’ll drop off this thing at the first opportunity and go to Conroy’s place. We’ll pick Anne up tonight, never fear.’

Murphy seemed reassured and subsided on to the floor. Fallon moved across to the tailboard and lit a cigarette. As he smoked he looked back along the road. He was more anxious than he wanted Murphy to know. He was worried about Anne Murray personally and about what might have happened to delay her. His thoughts dwelt for a moment on road accidents and crashes and he pushed them hastily away and sighed deeply. It was no use worrying. They could only wait and see.

They were still waiting when the van entered Stramore. The town was busy, for it was market day, and the van had to slow down to a crawl as it moved through the heavy traffic and the crowds. It turned into a side street and halted. Fallon and Murphy hastily crawled back into their hiding place. As they listened they heard the two men climb down from the cab and walk away, their voices dying into the distance. There was a moment of silence and Fallon said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’ They crawled out from under the table and hastily clambered over the tailboard and dropped down into the street.

The van was standing outside some terrace houses and there was a small public house several doors away. Murphy grinned. ‘You wouldn’t have to look far for them two,’ he said.

They hesitated for a moment on the corner of the street and Fallon said, ‘You’d better lead the way. It’s a long time since I was lost in this town.’ Murphy nodded and stepped off the pavement into the road and they were immediately swept up by the swirling mass of people who filled the streets.

They couldn’t have picked a better day. The town was thronged with country folk, in for the day. There were cattle pens and market stalls set up in the gutters lining the pavements and the air was raucous with the cries of the vendors. They moved with the crowd, keeping a careful watch for the police, and on two occasions changed course abruptly to avoid a constable on duty.

They crossed the market place and turned into a side street. There were fewer people about and they began to walk rapidly. Murphy led the way long a back street that finally opened into a small square. One side of the square was taken up by a large shabby-looking brick house over a shop with a yard at the side of it. An ancient notice, faded and weatherbeaten, jutted out from the wall bearing the legend: Paddy Conroy – General Dealer.

Fallon looked up at the sign and grinned. ‘That’s the right description for him,’ he said. ‘The old bastard’s as crooked as a donkey’s hind leg. He’ll handle anything that will bring him a shilling.’

Murphy looked worried. ‘Will we be all right here, do you think, Mr. Fallon?’

Fallon frowned. ‘We’ve no choice at the moment.’ He laughed grimly. ‘I know one thing – if he makes a wrong move I’ll put a bullet through him. He’s earned one years ago.’

He pushed open the shop door and Murphy followed him in. An ancient bell jangled brassily somewhere in the rear of the house and still sounded after Murphy had closed the door. The shop was piled with a mass of other people’s unwanted rubbish and an unpleasant smell lingered over everything. Murphy shook his head. ‘Do you think he makes a living out of this stuff, Mr. Fallon?’ he said.

Fallon shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

The sound of the bell finally died away and there was a silence. Flies buzzed in the grimy window and Fallon pushed his hat back from his forehead and wiped sweat from his brow. There was a movement at the rear of the shop and a door opened. A young girl stood watching them. She looked about eighteen or twenty and was pretty in a bold, sluttish way. She had a weak, full mouth and a ripe figure. ‘What is it?’ she demanded ungraciously.

Fallon smiled pleasantly. ‘Is Mr. Conroy at home, my dear?’

‘He’s at the pub,’ she said, ‘but he’ll be in for his dinner at any moment. Is it something you wanted to buy?’

Fallon shook his head. ‘I’m an old friend just passing through town. I thought I’d look him up. I haven’t seen him in years.’

There was a puzzled frown on her face and her eyes flickered to Murphy. For a moment she stared at him and her expression changed. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said.

Murphy nodded. ‘That’s right, me darlin’,’ he said impudently. ‘I was here last month with a message for your dad.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You’ve come from the Organization.’ For a moment longer she looked at Murphy and then she turned again to Fallon and a sudden recognition came into her eyes. She stepped forward and her face glowed. ‘You’re Martin Fallon,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve seen your picture in the papers. You’re the one the peelers are running round in circles looking for.’

He nodded and produced his most charming smile. ‘That’s right, my dear. I’ve come to see if your dad will put me up for the night. Do you think he will?’

He moved round behind the counter and smiled down at her and she nodded vigorously. ‘We’ll be proud to give you shelter, Mr. Fallon.’

Fallon nodded and moved very close until their bodies were almost touching. ‘You’ll be Rose,’ he said. ‘The last time I was here you were only a little girl. Now you’re a young woman.’ She gazed up at him, a look of adoration on her face, and he went on. ‘Can I trust you, Rose?’

‘Oh, yes, Mr. Fallon,’ she breathed.

A peculiar, intimate little smile appeared on his face and he leaned closer and said, ‘I’m in great danger, Rose. If the wrong word was spoken – a careless word, even – I’d be taken. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?’

For a moment her eyes closed. She shivered in a sort of ecstasy and her young breasts quivered. ‘They’ll not hear it from me, Mr. Fallon. Not if they used red hot pincers.’

For a moment he smiled down into her face and then he patted her arm. ‘I knew I could rely on you,’ he told her.

‘You’d best come into the back room,’ she said. ‘Someone might come in the shop.’

She led the way along a dark corridor, her hips moving rhythmically, tainting the air with a faint animal odour as she passed. Fallon sighed. He hadn’t enjoyed his performance but the girl’s reaction had been so obvious. He couldn’t afford to lose such an important ally.

She led the way into a shabby living-room and said, ‘Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll put a few more spuds in the pot for dinner.’

She disappeared into the kitchen, closing the door behind her, and Murphy threw down his coat and whistled. ‘She looks no better than she ought to be,’ he said. ‘But what were you doing, Mr. Fallon, playing up to her?’

Fallon shrugged. ‘She probably goes to the cinema too much and thinks gunmen are romantic. I couldn’t afford to turn all that devotion down.’ He threw himself into a chair and added, ‘Don’t forget her old man is a slippery customer Rose might come in very useful to us yet.’

Murphy shook his head and grinned. ‘Watch yourself, Mr. Fallon. She fell for you in a big way. You might have a job getting rid of her.’

The door behind them opened with a bang and Fallon jumped to his feet, the Luger appearing in his hand as if by magic. Paddy Conroy stood facing them, mouth wide open in his blotched, whisky face. ‘Holy Mother of God!’ he said in a whisper.

Fallon pushed the Luger back into its holster and smiled genially. ‘Is it yourself, Paddy?’ He walked across the room and held out his hand. ‘It’s been a long time.’

Conroy took the hand mechanically. ‘It has indeed, Mr. Fallon,’ he said in a faraway voice. He blinked his rheumy eyes several times and Fallon’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the stale, beery smell that surrounded him. Suddenly Conroy came to life and a look of horror came into his eyes. ‘Jesus help us!’ he cried. ‘I’d better close the shop in case someone comes in.’ He rushed along the passage and disappeared from sight.

Murphy raised his eyebrows. ‘That’ll be the day, when he gets a customer in here,’ he said.

Fallon grinned and Rose came in from the kitchen and laid the table. She had smeared a vivid orange lipstick on her mouth and she wore a pair of cheap, patent-leather, high-heeled shoes. She smiled provocatively and swayed back into the kitchen. Fallon stared helplessly at Murphy who collapsed on the couch exploding with laughter as Conroy came back into the room. ‘It’s an honour to have you here. Mr. Fallon. An honour, sir. The great things you’ve done for Ireland in the last few days.’ A drop quivered on the end of his nose as he added piously, ‘You’ll go down in history. Mr. Fallon. In history.’

Fallon managed a smile. ‘And where’s your wife, Paddy?’ he said. ‘I forgot to ask after her when we arrived.’

An expression of pain and sorrow appeared on Conroy’s face. ‘Gone!’ he said. ‘She’s left me, Mr. Fallon, after all these years together.’

‘Has she run out on you, then?’ Murphy said with interest.

Conroy looked pained. ‘I mean she’s passed on to a happier land, young man,’ he said reprovingly. He sighed deeply and produced a bottle from behind a cushion. ‘But these things are sent to try us, I suppose. Would you like a drop of the hard stuff, Mr. Fallon?’ Fallon shook his head and the man raised the bottle to his mouth and swallowed deeply.

The door opened and Rose came in from the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with plates of food. ‘Will you sit down, Mr. Fallon?’ she said, putting a generously heaped plate down at the head of the table.

Her father rubbed his hands together and said, ‘Yes, indeed, Mr. Fallon. Sit you down. It’s only humble fare but I’m a poor man. A poor man.’

Surprisingly the food was quite good and Fallon and Murphy tucked into it without further conversation. The meal passed in silence punctuated by the various unpleasant slobbering sounds without which Conroy seemed unable to pass food into his mouth. When they had finished Fallon pushed back his plate and said, ‘That was a fine meal, Rose. As good as I’ve ever tasted.’

She coloured and started to clear the plates and her father leered and said, ‘Aye, she’ll make some lucky lad a fine wife.’ He grinned evilly and rammed his elbow into Fallon’s side. ‘Believe me, Mr. Fallon, cooking isn’t her only virtue.’

Fallon stifled his disgust and managed a smile as the girl brought in the tea. She looked near to tears and he guessed that she’d heard her father’s remark. Murphy got up and said, ‘Come on, Rose. I’ll give you a hand with the dishes,’ and he grinned at Fallon and followed her into the kitchen.

Conroy belched and began to pick his teeth with a matchstalk. He leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, now, Mr. Fallon. It’s a hornets’ nest you’ve stirred up this time, and no mistake.’

Fallon took out a cigarette and said calmly, ‘I’ve stirred them up before.’

The old man nodded. ‘I’m not denying it, but never to such an extent as this.’

Fallon leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. ‘All right, Paddy. Let’s have it. What have you heard.’

Conroy took out an old clay pipe and began to fill it from a rubber pouch. ‘They’ve got the troops out this time, Mr. Fallon.’ He paused to light his pipe and when it was drawing properly, went on. ‘If you’re thinking of trying for Donegall, forget it. They’ve not only got the soldiers between here and the border; the polis are out in these armoured cars they’ve got now. Terrible things they are, with fancy radios. You wouldn’t stand a chance.’

Fallon nodded slowly, his face impassive. Inside his thoughts were racing. It was a mess. Much worse than he had imagined. He smiled and said, ‘Not to worry, Paddy. I’ve got plans.’ He leaned across and patted Conroy on the knee and added. ‘With friends he can trust a man can go a long way.’

Conroy nodded vigorously. ‘Indeed he can, Mr. Fallon.’ He paused and examined the stem of his pipe. ‘There’s the reward of course.’ He looked up hastily and added, ‘Not that I’m suggesting anyone would betray you, Mr. Fallon, but five thousand pounds is a terrible amount of money.’

Fallon nodded calmly. ‘That’s true enough,’ he said. ‘Of course it’s not much use if you can’t spend it. I don’t think the Organization would let the man who earned it live long enough to enjoy it.’

There was a short, pregnant silence and Conroy sighed. ‘Aye, you’re right there, Mr. Fallon.’ For a moment longer he stared deeply into space and then he pulled himself together and said brightly, ‘But let’s discuss the important things, Mr. Fallon. How long will you be staying with us?’

A small warning voice spoke inside Fallon and he said warily, ‘I’m not sure. Certainly until tomorrow night.’ In his wallet he still had more than a hundred pounds left of the money O’Hara had given him. He took it out now and extracted ten pounds displaying the rest ostentatiously. Conroy’s eyes gleamed and Fallon pushed the money across. ‘That’s a little something on account, Paddy. Naturally, I’ll have a little more for you later on.’

‘There was no need, Mr. Fallon. No need at all,’ Conroy said. His hands reached across the table and fastened over the two five pound notes.

The kitchen door opened and Murphy entered. ‘Well, that’s my good deed done for the day,’ he said. ‘What happens now?’

Conroy heaved himself to his feet. ‘I think you’d better go upstairs, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘One of the neighbours might come in. It wouldn’t do to stay here.’

For a moment Fallon looked directly into his eyes and Conroy smiled nervously. ‘All right, Paddy,’ Fallon said. ‘Anything you say.’

Conroy nodded. ‘It’ll be the safest thing. Rose will show you the way.’ He sank down on the couch again and Rose led the way out of the room.