Cry of the Hunter (12 page)

Fallon nodded. ‘He looks happy enough,’ he said and then sighed. ‘Life can be inexpressibly cruel when it wants to be.’

They crossed the farmyard and entered the kitchen to find the table laid and Hannah fuming at the stove. ‘You nearly missed your dinner,’ she said. ‘We were just going to start.’

Murphy was sitting at the table and he winked across at Fallon and Anne and said, ‘I hope your walk has sharpened your appetites.’

Anne blushed and sat down quickly and Hannah turned to her son and said, ‘Now then, Charlie. Leave that rabbit outside and wash your hands. You can’t have your dinner until you do.’

It was a gay meal and Johnny Murphy kept up a constant barrage of conversation, chiefly directed towards Hannah. Gradually the old woman unbent and once or twice a smile flashed across her seamed, weatherbeaten face. When the meal was over Anne moved across to the sink and offered to help with the dishes. Hannah scowled. ‘Not while you’re a guest here,’ she said. ‘A paying guest at that. If you’ve got any sense you’ll take to the hills for the afternoon, the lot of you. I’ll give you some sandwiches. Charlie can guide you.’ She looked out of the window at the sky and said, ‘The rain will be back tonight. This is the last fine day we’ll get before the winter.’

Anne turned to Fallon, an eager smile on her face, and Johnny Murphy jumped up enthusiastically. ‘It’s a grand idea, Mr. Fallon. Let’s go.’

For a moment Fallon hesitated and then he remembered that quiet moment on the mountain when he had realized that this day was to be the only one and he slammed his hand down on the table. ‘All right then, what are we waiting for?’

Twenty minutes later they were striding up the glen away from the farmhouse, cutting deep into the hills. It was the happiest afternoon Fallon could ever remember. Murphy and Charlie walked together, leading the way, and he and Anne brought up the rear. The air was like wine and the sun was warm on their backs. When they reached the top of the mountain it was as though they were on top of the world and all the fear and the violence of the past few days was left behind them.

They had their sandwiches in the shooting hut that Charlie had mentioned and then carried on across a wide moor, purple with heather and sweet smelling. In the late afternoon they came back over the mountain and stood on the top looking down over the valley for the last time. A faint breeze lifted over the hills and in the east the sky was beginning to darken. Fallon stood gazing down into the little glen and it was so still he could just hear the sound of the water as it splashed over the stones in the stream bed. Anne Murray stirred beside him and said in a voice that was infinitely sad, ‘I wish this day could go on for ever.’

He wanted to make some suitable reply, but there was nothing he could say. Nothing that would give her the comfort she needed. He gently took her hand in his and squeezed it and they moved down the hillside, back towards the farm.

The rain came later that evening when Fallon strolled alone through the farmyard after supper. The air was heavy and still and the rain started with a sudden heavy rush as if it wanted to take everyone by surprise. He ran quickly to the old barn that stood nearby and wrenched open the door. There was a ladder that slanted up to a loft and he climbed it and sat in the sweet-smelling hay next to a round window and stared out into the rain. There was a slight creaking as someone came up the ladder and then a form moved through the darkness and sat down opposite him. ‘I saw you run in here,’ Anne Murray said. ‘I’ve brought you your raincoat.’

He reached out through the darkness and took the coat from her. Their fingers touched. For a moment they sat there breathless and waiting in the darkness and then she lurched forward into his arms. ‘Oh, Martin. I love you. I love you so very much.’ She repeated his name over and over again, breathlessly.

He held her close, her head pillowed against his breast, and after a while he said sadly, ‘This might have meant something to me a long time ago.’

Then why not now?’ she demanded fiercely.

He smiled. ‘Because I’m too old – and I don’t mean just in years. Because I destroyed myself a long time ago.’ He pushed her away from him and gripped her arms savagely. ‘Can’t you see that I’m just a dead man walking? I have been since the day I joined the Organization.’

She pushed her arms about his neck and kissed him; fierce bruising kisses that burned down into his very being and sent his senses reeling. For a moment he gave in. His arms crushed her and he returned her kisses avidly, but there was still that small core of reason burning within him that told him it was useless.

He pushed her away from him and said urgently, ‘There’s no hope for us – can’t you understand that? No hope at all.’

She went very still. After a while she said, ‘But what about your cottage across the border – no one can touch us there.’

He shook his head and sighed. ‘Except me,’ he said. ‘Even if we made it there would always be the emptiness in me.’ He stared out into the rain. ‘I’ve destroyed myself. I’m damned if I’m going to destroy you.’

She pushed herself back on her knees and said evenly, ‘I see. And what if I told you I wasn’t going to take any notice of you.’

He shrugged. ‘You’ll have to, because at the first available opportunity we’re going to part company.’ She started to speak and he raised his voice and went on. ‘No ifs or buts. You’re going to buy a train ticket and you’re going to cross the border. You’ll be safe over there until this Rogan business is settled. After all, you’ll be able to cross over easily enough. They aren’t looking for you yet.’

‘And how do you propose to make me do all this?’ she said quietly.

He shrugged. ‘We’re going to part company whether you like it or not.’ There was a grim finality in his voice.

For a long time there was a silence and then she raised her head and he saw the white blur of her face through the darkness. She was perfectly calm when she spoke. ‘Whatever happens I shall go to that cottage in Cavan. Always remember that.’

For a moment the love leaped up inside him and he moved towards her, his hands trembling, and then with a sudden roar, headlights lifted over the hill and came down the dirt road towards the farm. Fallon got to his feet and stared out into the rain. A small van turned in through the gates and bumped across the yard towards the farm. As he watched, the door opened and Hannah Costello stood framed in the light. A figure got out of the van and moved towards her. For a moment they stood talking and then they both went in and the door was closed.

The girl gripped his arm tightly. ‘Who do you think it is?’ she said and there was fear in her voice.

He shrugged and moved towards the ladder. ‘Could be anybody.’ He quickly descended the ladder and held it steady as she followed him. She handed him his trenchcoat and he draped it across his shoulders and said, ‘We’d better go and find out.’ He took her hand and together they ran through the heavy rain to the farm door.

For a moment they paused outside the door. Inside they could hear voices and suddenly Johnny Murphy shouted, ‘I’ll kill you, you dirty bastard.’

Fallon flung open the door and stepped into the room. Hannah was standing by the fire, an expression of grim determination on her face and Murphy crouched by the table, a poker held in one hand. Patrick Rogan was standing facing them.

Fallon stepped forward and his trenchcoat fell to the floor. Rogan turned, a look of alarm on his face that he quickly erased with a smile. ‘Is it yourself, Mr. Fallon?’ he said. ‘I’m glad to see you all made it safely.’

Fallon paused three paces away from him. ‘What do you want here, Rogan?’ he said in an ice-calm voice.

Rogan shrugged and said nervously, ‘The terrible time I’ve had of it – you’d never believe. I left Castlemore on top of a cattle truck. Friends gave me shelter in a village near Stramore for a few days but the search is that fierce now, they panicked.’ He shook his head. ‘They turned me out, Mr. Fallon. Did you ever hear the like of that?’

‘They probably liked you about as much as we do,’ Murphy said.

Rogan ignored the remark. His cheeks were hollow and unshaven and his right eyelid twitched nervously. ‘I pinched that van in Stramore,’ he said. ‘I knew I’d be safe if I could get here.’

Hannah grunted and swept across the room to the kitchen sink where she began to dry some plates rapidly. ‘You can get out,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you once. I wouldn’t cut you down if you were hanging.’

Rogan turned on her. ‘For God’s sake, Hannah. You wouldn’t turn a dog out on a night like this.’

‘I like dogs,’ she said calmly. ‘Now get out, you butcher.’

‘He isn’t going anywhere,’ Fallon said. ‘He’s going to get what he deserves.’

He took one step forward and Anne Murray screamed high and clear, ‘No, Martin! No!’ And then Rogan jumped back, sudden fury on his face, and pulled a revolver out of his raincoat pocket.

Fallon grabbed for the wrist and deflected the weapon so that the bullet went into the floor. For a moment they swayed together and then he managed to get purchase and twisted and threw the small man over his hip. Rogan crashed heavily to the floor and Fallon kicked the revolver from his hand. As he moved forward Rogan grabbed at his legs and pulled and Fallon fell against the table. The small man scrambled to his feet and moved in. His right fist thudded home under Fallon’s ribs and a terrible pain flared through his wound causing him to half scream. In his agony he lashed out blindly and his fist caught Rogan in the mouth. He went flying across the room and crashed into the door and Fallon lurched after him and hit him again. Rogan began to slide down the wall, a glazed look in his eyes, and Fallon held him by the coat and began to hit him in the face, the blows thudding home mercilessly.

He could hear confused babbling of sound behind him and Anne Murray was screaming and then hands wrenched him away and he was staring down the twin barrels of a shotgun that was firmly grasped in Hannah Costello’s hands. She thumbed back the hammers and said grimly, ‘If you make another move I’ll blast you, Martin.’

Fallon turned and leaned on the table gasping for breath and Hannah wrenched open the door and said to Rogan. ‘Go on, get out of it while you’re still in one piece.’

Rogan staggered to the doorway. For a moment he leaned there and then he said in tones of the utmost malevolence. ‘I’m going to kill you, Fallon. I swear it. Somehow, somewhere I’ll catch up with you.’ He lurched into the night and Hannah closed the door. A moment later the van bumped across the yard and out into the road and the sound of its engine faded away into the night.

Hannah walked over to a cupboard and put the shotgun away. She said calmly, ‘I wasn’t going to have you kill him, Martin. He isn’t worth it.’

For a moment Fallon stayed leaning heavily on the table and then he stood up and moved across to the far door. ‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ he said in a steady voice. He staggered against the door, clutching for support, and Murphy moved quickly to aid him. Fallon pushed him away and turned to face them. ‘We’ll have to leave first thing in the morning,’ he said. ‘We can’t stay now. There’s no telling what Rogan might do.’ He looked across at Anne Murray who was standing by the table looking somehow forlorn and alone. ‘And you’ll catch that train in Stramore tomorrow,’ he said.

For a moment it seemed as if she was going to speak and then she suddenly sat down at the table and burst into tears. For a little while Fallon stood looking at her, a great pity in his heart, and then he opened the door and quietly left the room.

CHAPTER TEN

F
ALLON
shared a bed with Murphy but his wound pained him and what little sleep he did manage to get, was disturbed and full of bad dreams. He lay in that empty world between sleeping and waking and stared at the ceiling. It had stopped raining and a white band of moonlight sprawled across the bed. He lit a cigarette and glanced at his watch. It was almost two o’clock. He lay back against the pillow, his whole body wet with perspiration, and on a sudden impulse, lifted the blankets aside and slipped out of bed.

He quickly dried his body on a towel and dressed. Murphy was sleeping peacefully, his breathing steady and regular. Fallon crept stealthily across to the door and opened it gently. The corridor was dark and quiet with an irregular patch of light on the floor at the far end where the moon showed through the window. He moved quietly along to the stairs and then froze as he heard a door click open in the kitchen.

For a moment Fallon didn’t move, his ears strained for the slightest sound, and then he went cautiously downstairs and paused outside the kitchen door listening. There was no sound. He turned the knob carefully and flung the door open and stepped quickly into the room. There was no one there.

For a moment he stood there, a puzzled frown on his face, and then he heard the click of the outside door. He passed quickly to the window and was just in time to see Charlie crossing the yard in the bright moonlight. He was carrying the shotgun over one shoulder.

Fallon relaxed and reached for a cigarette and then there was a sound behind him. He turned to find Hannah holding a lamp standing in the doorway. She was in her nightclothes and Anne was at her shoulder. ‘What’s going on here?’ Hannah said.

Fallon smiled as she came forward and put the lamp down on the table. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I heard a noise down here. I thought it might be our friend returning so I came down to investigate. It was only Charlie. I saw him crossing the yard. I wondered where he’d disappeared to when he didn’t show up for supper.’

Hannah raised a hand and said, ‘God knows where he gets to – I’m sure I don’t. He comes and goes throughout the night. I leave him to please himself, poor lad.’

Anne sat down on a chair by the table. ‘I’m glad it was only Charlie,’ she said. ‘I was scared stiff when I heard that door crash open.’

‘And so was I.’ Murphy appeared in the doorway. He yawned and scratched his head. ‘Is everything all right, Mr. Fallon?’

Fallon nodded. ‘Only Charlie up to his usual nocturnal tricks, prowling off into the night with a shotgun. Going to do a bit of poaching I expect.’

Hannah was filling the kettle at the sink. She turned quickly. ‘Did you say he had the shotgun?’

Fallon nodded. ‘That’s right – carried it over his shoulder. I saw it distinctly in the moonlight.’

She moved across to the cupboard and opened it quickly. ‘That’s funny,’ she said slowly. ‘He’s taken a box of cartridges as well.’

There was a little moment of silence and Fallon said, ‘What’s so unusual about that?’

‘I don’t let him use the shotgun at all,’ Hannah Costello said. ‘It’s a strict rule. He never touches it.’

Fallon had been leaning against the wall. He straightened up and took a pace forward and then the door was kicked open and a voice cried, ‘Stand where you are – everybody!’

Rogan stood just inside the door holding the shotgun at his waist. The barrels were shaking slightly and he was trembling. Fallon took the beginnings of a step towards him and Rogan said sharply, ‘Stay where you are. I’ve only got to press these triggers and you’ll get both barrels and that’s enough to finish the lot of you off.’

Fallon’s throat had suddenly gone dry. ‘What do you want, Rogan?’ he said.

The small man’s lips curled back from his teeth. ‘I’m going to kill you, Fallon.’ A slight line of froth began to appear on his lips and he giggled, high-pitched and horrible, like an old woman. ‘I’m going to stand you against the wall and I’m going to give you both barrels in the belly. How does that sound?’

‘You’re mad!’ Anne Murray said in horror. ‘You’re out of your mind, Rogan.’

She took a quick step towards him and Fallon shouted, ‘Stay where you are, Anne! Don’t move.’

At that moment Charlie appeared in the doorway behind Rogan. There was a big grin on his face and he laughed and said, ‘Are we playing the game now, Mr. Rogan? Is this the game?’

Rogan spoke without turning round. ‘Come in here, Charlie, and go and stand by your mother.’ He giggled again. ‘I met Charlie along the road after you threw me out. We had a nice chat, didn’t we Charlie? I asked him to get me the shotgun so we could have some fun – play a little joke on you all.’

He began to laugh horribly and Charlie laughed with him. He shambled closer to Rogan and said, ‘Let me hold it for a while, Mr. Rogan,’ and reached for the shotgun.

‘Get away!’ Rogan snarled. Charlie’s smile disappeared. An uncertain expression appeared on his face. For a moment he hesitated and then he reached out towards the gun. Rogan stepped back and smashed the boy across the head with the butt, then he turned and covered the rest of them again.

Charlie slipped to the floor, moaning and clutching his head. Blood began to seep between his fingers. ‘You damned swine!’ Hannah said. ‘I’ll pay you out for that.’

Charlie crawled across the room and huddled against her skirts like a hurt dog and Rogan took another step back until he was standing in the doorway. ‘This has gone on long enough. The rest of you move back against the far door and you stand against the wall, Fallon.’ Anne stifled a scream in her throat and Rogan shouted, ‘Go on – do as you’re told!’

‘Do as he tells you,’ Fallon said quietly. ‘Can’t you see he’s mad? He’ll murder the lot of you if it suits him.’ He began to back slowly to the wall, his eyes cast down. He was judging the distance very carefully because lying under the table, half covered by a corner of a loose rug, was the revolver he had kicked out of Rogan’s hand earlier in the evening. In the excitement they had forgotten all about it.

His hand touched the wall behind him and Rogan said harshly, ‘That’s just right.’ He started to raise the shotgun to his shoulder and Fallon dived headfirst under the table.

Anne Murray screamed piercingly and as he clawed for the revolver, Fallon knew that he was too late. There was a confused shouting and Murphy cried, ‘Save yourself, Mr. Fallon!’ as he had done on another occasion, and jumped up on the table and threw himself at Rogan.

Rogan stepped backwards and fired one barrel. The blast caught Murphy in the stomach and chest at point blank range and he screamed and twisted in mid-air and landed heavily on the floor.

Fallon took a snap shot with the revolver as he rolled on his stomach and wood splinters flew from the door post at the side of Rogan’s head. He turned and vanished into the night.

Fallon didn’t wait for anything. There was only one thought driving through his brain. He had to kill Rogan. He went through the door like a fury and fired once at the stumbling figure of his enemy as he crossed the yard. Rogan whirled and fired the other barrel of the shotgun and Fallon dropped flat on his face, the shot whistling over his head. Rogan ran into the cow byre and Fallon, crouching low, crossed the yard, and threw himself down by the entrance.

Inside the cows were moving uneasily. There was a rattle of chains and the door at the far end swung open. Fallon cautiously peered round the door and said, ‘I’m going to kill you, Rogan, so don’t lose your nerve and come out with your hands up. Any way you come, I’m going to put a bullet through you.’

There was no reply. The cows began to trample about in their stalls and Fallon waited. The shotgun went off with a thunderous roar, and lead shot hummed through the entrance. Immediately Fallon jumped inside and dived for the nearest stall. The shotgun blasted again and he rolled and fired hastily as Rogan ducked through the entrance at the other end of the building and disappeared from sight.

Fallon scrambled to his feet and ran out of the door. He crossed the yard, his head down and the revolver ready, and turned the corner of the barn in time to catch Rogan crossing the open field towards the road. He took careful aim and fired. Rogan ignored the shot. He scrambled over the fence and started to run down the road.

Fallon ran after him. Before he had gone fifty yards he was in trouble. The old agony flared up in his side and each breath he took sent a stab of jagged pain coursing through him. The sweat poured from his brow, but he clenched his teeth and kept going. He laboured up a little hill and a fast moving cloud passed across the face of the moon and darkness descended on the road. He paused on top of the hill and crouched low, his eyes searching the darkness, and then some sixth sense caused him to drop flat on his face.

Shot whined through the air above his head as Rogan fired both barrels and the echoes of the blast reverberated from the hills. Fallon fired once in the direction of the flash and scrambled wearily to his feet. At that moment the cloud passed and the moon came into view again.

Rogan was about forty yards away and a few yards beyond him, the van was parked at the side of the road. Fallon’s hand was shaking. He took a deep breath and, resting the barrel of the pistol across his arm, took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger. Rogan seemed to trip. He turned a somersault on the ground and lay there twitching. Fallon shouted in triumph, but even as he started forward, Rogan got to his feet and lurched on towards the van, dragging one leg. Fallon raised the revolver and pulled the trigger. There was a harmless click. Rogan reached the van and wrenched open the door. A moment later the engine roared into life and the van began to move. Fallon gave a howl of rage and disappointment and threw the empty revolver after the fleeing vehicle. The van dipped over a hill in the road and disappeared from sight and the sound of it died into the distance.

He turned and limped back towards the farmhouse. He tried to take short breaths because he found they didn’t hurt him as much. As he was passing through the gate he paused and clutched at the fence for support as a terrible burning pain coursed through his entire body. He had never experienced such agony before. He hung on for several minutes until gradually the pain died away and he could breathe easily again. He wiped the perspiration from his face with a handkerchief and his hands were shaking. There was something wrong. Something very wrong. He knew it was the wound – there was nothing else it could be. For the moment, however, the only thing that interested him was what had happened to Murphy.

He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Anne Murray was standing with her back to him, her arms bared to the elbows and covered with blood. Johnny Murphy was lying on the table staring up at the ceiling. Hannah was wiping the sweat from his forehead with a damp cloth. Every now and then his eyes rolled up and he stifled a scream in his throat. Fallon moved over to the table and looked down. The boy’s stomach was like a piece of raw meat and there was more blood than Fallon had ever seen in his life before. He closed his eyes and turned away. ‘Holy Mother of God!’ he said.

The girl was attempting to block some of the more serious gashes with great pads of lint and cotton wool. ‘We’ll have to get him to a hospital,’ she said.

‘The nearest one’s Stramore,’ Hannah told her.

There was a moment of absolute stillness as Anne Murray’s back stiffened and then the boy groaned deeply and she returned to her bandaging. ‘We’ll have to try,’ she said.

Fallon took a deep breath and walked forward until he was standing at the side of the table looking down at the boy. Murphy opened his eyes and death stared out at Fallon. The boy struggled for words and Fallon said, ‘Don’t try to speak. We’ll get you to a doctor. You’re going to be all right.’

Murphy shook his head weakly and a tired grin touched the corners of his mouth. ‘The terrible liar your are, Mr. Fallon.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. ‘Did you get him?’ he said with difficulty.

For a moment Fallon hesitated and then he smiled and took one of the boy’s hands in his. ‘Yes. I got him,’ he said.

A smile of deep content appeared on the white face and Murphy closed his eyes. ‘Up the Republic, Mr. Fallon!’ he said. His hand tightened on Fallon’s for a moment and then it slackened and his head turned gently to one side.

Over in the comer Charlie was crying quietly. For a little while Fallon stood staring down at the body and then he turned away wearily and went to the window. ‘Did you get him?’ Hannah said quietly.

He shook his head. ‘No, I winged him, but he managed to get to his van. He’s ten miles away by now.’

He sank down in a chair and dropped his head into his hands. Hannah moved over to him and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Martin,’ she said. ‘It was meant to be. None of us can argue with fate.’

He looked up at her and smiled tightly. ‘But I do blame myself – that’s the trouble.’

She frowned and raised her eyebrows. ‘Then blame yourself if it makes you happy. The boy gave his life to save you – don’t throw it back in his face by wasting it.’ She moved across to Charlie and shook him. ‘Come on, get up. Go and get two spades from the tool shed.’ Charlie left the room, snivelling, and Hannah said to Fallon, ‘I want him buried and out of the way before morning.’

He nodded and stood up wearily. Anne Murray was washing her arms under the tap. When she turned to dry them he saw that her face was set and white, ‘Are you all right?’ he said.

She nodded and said in a controlled voice. ‘Perfectly. I’ll help Hannah sew him up in a blanket while you dig the grave.’ She moved across to the table and started to straighten the limbs. Fallon looked at her in amazement and then went slowly outside.

They dug the grave at the back of the farm just where the little glen began to lift back into the hills. Charlie was still sobbing intermittently and Fallon ignored him and dug mechanically. His mind was frozen by the shock of Murphy’s death. He realized how very much the boy had come to mean to him during the past few days. He dug his spade viciously into the soil and wished bitterly that he had refused to allow the boy to become involved in the beginning.