Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [29]
Fallon snorted and clapped him on the shoulders. ‘Rubbish! You weren’t supposed to be watching him, anyway.’
The girl handed Murphy a cup of tea. ‘Did he say anything to you before you went to bed?’ she said. ‘Anything unusual, I mean?’
The boy frowned and shook his head. ‘Nothing really unusual. He left the room for a while and I heard him arguing with Mr. Fallon on the stairs. When he came in he was furious. He borrowed a pencil from me and wrote something on a piece of paper.’
Fallon looked up in interest. ‘Did you see what he wrote? Was it an address?’
Murphy shook his head. ‘I don’t know, and that’s a fact.’
Fallon explained to the girl. ‘I caught him looking throught the telephone directory. He said he was looking for the address of an old friend. He told me it wasn’t in.’ He turned to the boy. ‘Anything else?’
Murphy shook his head. ‘Nothing special. He made a few cracks about you before he went to sleep. Oh, and he raved on about the County Inspector. Said he’d make him sorry he’d ever been born.’
Fallon frowned and said in bewilderment, ‘But why does he hate Phil Stuart so much?’
Anne smiled bitterly. ‘Because he did a good job. Because he chased Rogan into the ground, didn’t give him a moment’s peace for two months until he had him by the heels.’
Murphy nodded in agreement. ‘It’s his pride you know, Mr. Fallon,’ he said. ‘He’s a terrible man to cross. They say he never forgives anyone who does him an injury.’
Fallon cursed and kicked the table savagely. ‘It was a black day for me when I first heard his name.’
‘Shall we go after him, Mr. Fallon?’ Murphy suggested.
Fallon laughed coldly. ‘After him? Where’s he gone? Do you know? I’m damned if I do.’ He shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the door. ‘No, all we can do is wait. If he’s skipped out thinking he’s a better chance on his own, then he won’t be back and we’re well rid of him. If he’s gone to see somebody, then he’ll be back in his own sweet time. Unless the police pick him up,’ he added grimly.
‘But what if the peelers do pick him up?’ the boy said. ‘I don’t trust him. He’s yellow, Mr. Fallon. He’d be likely to sick them onto us.’
Fallon smiled sourly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘That’s a chance we’ll have to take.’ He turned to go, hesitated and said slowly to Murphy, ‘I think you’d better keep a watch from the front room. At the slightest sign of movement give me a yell. We’ll make a run for it through the back garden. I’ll be in the bathroom if you want me.’
He filled the wash basin with cold water and plunged his head into it several times. Then he turned on the hot tap and washed his face and shoulders thoroughly. He found a razor in the bathroom cabinet and the blade was still in reasonable condition. He lathered his face with soap and attacked the thick bristles of his beard. He thought about Rogan and wondered what the small man was up to. He felt uneasy. There was something rotten about Rogan, something unhealthy. The man wasn’t normal. Fallon patted his face dry and pulled his shirt over his head. He sighed. What a mess. What a bloody mess. He regarded himself in the mirror and shook his head. ‘You never learn,’ he said softly. ‘You never learn.’
He moved along the landing and started to descend the stairs and suddenly the girl screamed from the kitchen, high and long. It was a cry of pure agony. For a split second Fallon froze there and then he leapt down the stairs into the hall and turned towards the kitchen. Murphy emerged from the front room, an expression of alarm on his face. ‘My God!’ he cried, ‘what is it?’
Fallon didn’t even try to answer. He moved fast to the kitchen door and wrenched it open. Anne Murray was huddled over the table, her body shaking with sobs. Fallon glanced widly around. There was no intruder. The radio was on, a neutral voice announced the end of the news at that moment, and he moved across and switched it off. He bent over the girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Anne,’ he said. ‘What is it? What happened?’
Slowly she turned her head