A Prayer for the Dying - Jack Higgins [61]
He picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. The first room he tried was obviously her uncle's, but the second was hers and he laid her on the bed and covered her with an eiderdown.
He sat there holding her hand and after a while her eyelids flickered. She started violently and tried to pull her hands away.
Fallon said soothingly, 'There, now, it's me - Martin Fallon. You're all right now. You've nothing to worry about.'
She gave a great shuddering sigh. 'Thank God! Thank God! What happened?'
'Can't you remember?'
'Only this dreadful man. He said he was you and then he tried to ... he tried to ...' She shuddered. 'Oh, God, the feel of his hands. It was horrible. Horrible. I fainted, I think.'
'That's right,' Fallon said calmly. 'Then I arrived and he ran away.'
She turned her face to him, those blind eyes focusing to one side. 'Did you see who it was?'
'I'm afraid not.'
'Was it...' She hesitated. 'Do you think Meehan was behind it?'
'I should imagine so.'
She closed her eyes and when Fallon gently took her hand, she pulled it away convulsively. It was as if for the moment she could not bear the touch of a man - any man.
He steeled himself for the obvious question. 'Did he have his way with you?'
'No, I don't think so.'
'Would you like me to get you a doctor?'
'For God's sake, no, not that. The very idea that anyone should know fills me with horror.'
'And your uncle?'
'He's attending a dying woman at the infirmary. He could be hours.'
Fallon stood up. 'All right - stay here and rest. I'll bring you a brandy.'
She closed her eyes again. The lids were pale, translucent. She seemed very vulnerable and Fallon went down the stairs full of controlled, ice-cold anger.
He dropped to one knee beside Billy Meehan, took out a handkerchief, wrapped it around the handle of the scissors and pulled them out. There was very little blood and obviously most of the bleeding was internal.
He cleaned the scissors, then went to the door and picked up the boy's overcoat. Some car keys fell to the floor. He picked them up mechanically, then draped the coat across the body.
As he looked down at it, he was conscious only of disgust and loathing. The world was well rid of Billy Meehan. His ending had been richly deserved, but could Anna da Costa live with the knowledge that she had killed him? And even if the verdict of the court was as it should be - even if she were exonerated, the whole world would know. At the thought of the shame, the humiliation for that gentle creature, Fallon's anger was so great that he kicked the corpse in the side.
And in the same moment, a thought came to him that was so incredible it almost took his breath away. What if she didn't have to know, now or ever? What if Billy Meehan vanished utterly and completely from the face of the earth as if he had never existed? There was a way. It could be done. In any event, he owed it to her to try.
The keys which had fallen from the overcoat pocket indicated the presence of Billy's car somewhere in the vicinity and if it was the red Scimitar, it should be easy enough to find. Fallon let himself out of the front door, hurried through the cemetery to the side gate.
The Scimitar was parked at the kerb only a few yards away. He unlocked the tailgate and when he opened it, Tommy, the grey whippet, barked once, then nuzzled his hand. The presence of the dog was unfortunate, but couldn't be helped. Fallon closed the tailgate and hurried back to the presbytery.
He pulled off the overcoat and went through the boy's pockets systematically, emptying them of everything they held. He removed a gold medallion on a chain around the neck, a signet ring and a wrist-watch and put them in his pocket, then he wrapped the body in the overcoat, heaved it over his shoulder and went out.
He paused at the gate to make sure that the coast was clear, but the street was silent and deserted. He crossed to the Scimitar quickly, heaved up the tailgate with one hand and dumped the body inside. The whippet started to whine almost immediately and he