Cry of the Hunter (10 page)

They followed her up a creaking, uncarpeted stairway that led to a narrow landing. There were only four doors leading off it. Fallon paused at the bottom of the next flight of stairs and said, ‘What about the attics?’

The girl shook her head. ‘The stairs are rotten up there, Mr. Fallon.’ She gestured scornfully downstairs and said, ‘He keeps meaning to get them fixed but he never gets around to it.’ She opened the first door and they were met by a frightful stench. She wrinkled her nose and closed the door gently. ‘That’s his room. I don’t suppose you want to go in there.’

‘No thanks,’ Murphy said. ‘I don’t think we’d survive.’

She opened the next door and they walked into a tiny room, half-filled with junk. There was a truckle bed in one corner with a mattress on it. ‘Is this the best you can do?’ Murphy said.

‘You can sleep there,’ she said calmly. ‘Mr. Fallon can use my room.’ Murphy opened his mouth to make an indignant reply but Fallon frowned quickly and they followed the girl out of the room. She gestured to a door opposite and said, ‘That’s the bathroom,’ and then she flung open the end door and announced with pride in her voice, ‘This is my room.’

There was a threadbare carpet on the floor and a narrow bed over by the window covered with a cheap satin quilt. Against one wall an ancient Victorian dressing table stood. The girl had made some attempt to camouflage it with a bilious looking chintz material and the experiment was a notable failure. The rest of the walls were covered with pin-up pictures of her cinema idols. Fallon moved into the room and said, ‘It’s very nice indeed.’

She smiled her delight. ‘Oh, I knew you’d like it, Mr. Fallon.’ She moved towards the door. ‘I’ll have to go now. I’ve some shopping to do in the market.’

Fallon followed her out into the corridor making a sign to Murphy to stay in the room. He walked with her to the head of the stairs and they paused. ‘Can I trust you, Rose?’ he said.

Her face glowed and she nodded vigorously. ‘I’ll not let you down, Mr. Fallon.’

He squeezed her arm. ‘You’ll let me know if you see anything suspicious going on?’ She nodded again and he said, ‘Good girl!’

She started to descend the stairs. Half-way down she turned and smiled up at him. ‘I’ll watch me Dad for you, too, Mr. Fallon,’ she said.

He stood listening to the click of her absurd high heels until they faded away into the living room and then he returned to Murphy. The boy was working his way along the walls looking at the pin-ups. ‘She’s got a hell of a taste. Mr. Fallon,’ he said.

‘Thank you!’ Fallon said dryly.

Murphy turned with a grin. ‘Now then, Mr. Fallon, you know what I mean.’ His face became serious and he sat down on the bed. ‘What do you think about Conroy?’

Fallon sat down beside him. ‘He’s about as trustworthy as a snake,’ he said. ‘But I think he’s more frightened of what the Organization might do to him if he betrays us than anything else.’

Murphy shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Five thousand pounds is a lot of money. A hell of a lot of money.’ For a moment he was silent and then he said, ‘What’s our next move?’

Fallon leaned back against the wall. ‘We’ll hang on here as arranged until tonight, then we’ll go and meet Anne.’

‘And after that?’ Murphy said.

‘I’m not sure.’ Fallon frowned. ‘Things are pretty sticky up here. I thought it would be easier to cross the border into Donegall but Conroy says they’ve got the soldiers out. Another thing, the police are patrolling the border in armoured cars with short wave radio sets. It makes it damned difficult.’

‘We’re in a hell of a fix then,’ Murphy said.

Fallon nodded. ‘We’d be better going south again. It might be easier to cross where there’s plenty of coming and going.’ He frowned as he considered the problem. ‘We really need somewhere to hide up for a day or two until the search has fanned out a bit.’ A thought came to him and he sat bolt upright. ‘Did you ever hear anyone speak of Hannah Costello?’

Murphy frowned. ‘No, I can’t say I’ve ever heard the name mentioned.’

Fallon jumped up and walked to the window. ‘She might be dead now,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been near her in ten or twelve years.’ He turned and explained. ‘She had a farm with a few acres of land in the Sperrin Mountains. A funny sort of place. It’s in a lonely little valley that you would never think existed.’ He laughed reminiscently. ‘I remember the first time I stayed there. It was about fourteen or fifteen years ago. We’d pulled a job in Derry and the country was raised against us. She put me up for three weeks – charged handsomely, mind you. She was in it for money – not patriotism.’

‘And you think she might still be alive?’ Murphy said.

Fallon shrugged. ‘Who knows? She had two sons, mind you.’ He nodded his head and said firmly ‘I think it would be worth a try.’ He walked over to the bed and yawned hugely. ‘I feel damned tired,’ he said. ‘I can’t understand it.’

Murphy nodded sympathetically. ‘It’ll be that wound, Mr. Fallon. You can’t take a knock like that and expect to be over it in a couple of days.’ He stood up and said, ‘You take a nap for a while and I’ll keep watch. Don’t worry. I’ll wake you at the first sign of anything funny.’

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him and Fallon lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. The pillow smelt of the cheap scent that Rose imagined was alluring. He thought about the girl and sighed. What a lousy life she must have had. A drunken old villain for a father and a fleapit for a home. Her only outlet was her dreams of romance and adventure, her visits to the cinema, and her cheap magazines. Now he had crossed her path, a gunman on the run. Front-page news. He sighed and stretched to ease the tight feeling round his chest. All she would ever get out of life would be a husband something like her father. A drunken idle rogue who would kick her from pillar to post. He smiled wryly and decided that sometimes life stank to high heaven. He switched his thoughts to Anne Murray and drifted pleasantly into sleep thinking about her.

When he awoke it was dark. The cheap luminous dial of the clock beside the bed showed half-past six. He swung his legs to the floor and stood up. He left the room and quietly went next door. When he turned on the light Murphy was sleeping peacefully, a magazine across his chest. For a moment Fallon debated whether to wake him and then he closed the door and returned to the girl’s room. He had hardly closed the door when it opened and she entered carrying a cup of tea. ‘I came in before but you were asleep,’ she said.

Fallon sat down on the bed and sipped the hot tea gratefully. She stood watching him eagerly. She was wearing an old velvet house-coat that trailed on the floor. He decided that her father had probably picked it up at a sale with a load of other stuff. After a while he said, ‘Where’s your dad?’

Her expression changed. ‘He’s been drinking all afternoon,’ she said. ‘He’s in the kitchen, stinking drunk.’

She sat down on the bed beside Fallon and the housecoat fell away exposing her legs. She crossed one deliberately over the other, showing a band of flesh at the top of her stockings and said, ‘He makes me sick.’

Fallon put his cup down carefully, his eyes avoiding the legs. ‘Yes, he’s not a pretty sight at the best of times.’ He started to get up.

She grabbed hold of his arm and held him down. ‘But I am, aren’t I, Mr. Fallon?’ Before he could reply she threw her arms round his neck and cried, ‘Take me with you when you go. I can’t stand this hole any more.’

For a moment he struggled with her and finally managed to disengage himself from her grasp. ‘It wouldn’t be possible,’ he said.

She jumped up and untying the sash at her waist, pulled open the housecoat. Underneath she was wearing only the stockings. ‘Take me with you,’ she begged. ‘I’ll do anything for you. Anything!’

He gazed at her, a terrible pity welling up inside him, and then he stood up and pulled the housecoat together again, covering her young body. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gently. ‘But it’s still impossible.’

For a moment she stared at him in disbelief and then sudden fury appeared on her face. She slapped him hard and turned and stumbled from the room, sobbing. For several seconds he stood looking at the door and then he sat down on the bed, filled with loathing and self-disgust. He had been to blame. From the start he had acted as if she had been the only girl in the world for him. He cursed savagely and the door clicked open again. When he looked up she was standing framed in the doorway. Her voice was broken by sobs but she was obviously trying hard to control them. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you unless you’d take me away with you,’ she said. ‘But I can’t keep silent.’ She gulped and struggled for words and Fallon stood up quickly. ‘It’s me Dad,’ she explained. ‘He intends to go to the polis. He’s going to get you to leave the house by a trick and they’ll be waiting at the end of the street. That way he thinks the Organization won’t ever find out.’

Fallon walked towards her. ‘Thank you,’ he said, but she turned and fled before he could say anything more.

He went into the next room and shook Murphy. The boy came awake instantly, an expression of alarm on his face. He sat up blinking for a moment and then said with a crestfallen expression. ‘My God, did I fall asleep?’

‘Never mind,’ Fallon said. ‘Conroy’s going to inform on us. We’ll have to fix him quickly before he decides to leave the house.’

They quietly descended the stairs and went into the living-room. It was empty. Alarm moved inside Fallon and he quickly opened the kitchen door. He sighed with relief. Conroy was sprawled in an old armchair, a bottle in one hand. There was a clothes-line hanging from a nail by the door and Fallon took it down and walked across to the chair. Conroy turned at the noise. He was completely drunk but when he saw the clothes-line in Fallon’s hand, an expression of alarm flickered in his eyes. He tried to get up and opened his mouth to cry out and Fallon bit him hard on the point of the chin. The old man subsided into his chair.

It was the work of a moment or two to tie him up and they carried him upstairs between them and deposited him on his bed. When Fallon went back to the girl’s room the door was locked. He hesitated for a moment outside and then he followed Murphy downstairs.

The rest of the evening passed without incident. Murphy sat by the fire reading magazines and Fallon sprawled in a chair, smoking and thinking. They had a few sandwiches for supper, which Murphy made, and at ten o’clock they began to get ready to move.

Fallon went upstairs and knocked on the door of the girl’s bedroom. After a while she opened it. ‘What do you want?’ she said in a dull voice.

He opened his wallet and took out twenty pounds. ‘I want you to take this,’ he said. She started to protest but he took her hand and pressed the money into it. ‘Promise me you’ll leave here at the first opportutnity. That’s not much, I know, but it will keep you for three or four weeks in Belfast till you get a job.’

For a little while she looked at the money in an uncomprehending way and then she raised her eyes and they were shining. ‘I will, Mr. Fallon. Oh, I will!’

He squeezed her hand. ‘Good girl. We’re leaving now. You’ll find your father tied up on his bed. Free him in an hour or two. We don’t want him dying on us.’ She nodded slowly and then tears started to her eyes and she turned back into her room and closed the door.

It was just on half-past ten when they left the house and threaded their way through the streets. It had stopped raining for a while but the sky was dark with no stars. As they came into the main street the crowds were emerging from the cinemas and Fallon and the boy hurried with them along the streets towards the edge of the town.

They walked rapidly without talking and in about twenty minutes were on the outskirts of Stramore. Now and then a car flashed by in the darkness and they merged into the ditch until it was past. Fallon gave an exclamation of satisfaction as the dark mass of the ruined castle loomed out of the darkness on their right. A few minutes later they had turned into the side road and were hurrying along through the dark wood.

They could hear the water of the stream as it rushed over the stones before they could see the bridge. There was no other sound and Fallon felt afraid. He began to run forward into the darkness. The bridge loomed out of the night and he paused and said softly, ‘Anne! Are you there?’

There was the rattle of a loose stone and then Anne Murray spoke from the darkness. ‘Thank God you’re here. I’ve been worried sick.’

Fallon walked forward and his outstretched hands met hers and clung to them for an unspoken moment and Murphy said cheerfully, ‘What happened to you, Miss Murray?’

They got into the car and she explained. ‘It was in Castlemore, just as I turned into the main road. A van bumped into me. It hardly did any damage and I wanted to ignore it, but there was a policeman there and he insisted on taking down the particulars. Oh, it went on and on. I thought I was never going to get away.’

Fallon chuckled. ‘There you are. I warned you about the unexpected, didn’t I?’

She sighed and leaned back against the seat. ‘Well, what’s the next move?’ He told her about the situation on the border into Donegall and then about Hannah Costello and her farm in the Sperrins. She was quiet for a moment when he had finished and finally said, ‘Well, it seems like a good idea. There doesn’t appear to be much else we can do.’

‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we’ll get moving. I’ll drive. I know the country well from here.’

They changed places and Murphy sat in the back. As Fallon switched on the ignition, rain began to patter against the windscreen and he cursed softly. He drove at a moderate pace through a maze of narrow country back roads, moving steadily away from Stramore all the time. Within the first hour Anne Murray and the boy had fallen asleep. The rain increased into a heavy downpour that drummed on the roof like hailstones. Fallon’s eyes began to tire. Once the lids dropped over them and he had to jerk the wheel over hard to keep the car out of a ditch. The rain seemed to be getting worse and the windscreen wipers were beginning to prove inadequate. The headlights picked out a narrow track that disappeared into a wood on the left and he slowed down and swung the car into it. He cut the engine when the car was under the shelter of the trees and pulling up his collar, he settled down into the seat and went to sleep.