Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [30]
Fallon shook his head. His mind was numb. He could only remember one thing clearly – Rogan’s unaccountable delay in following them to the car when they left the vault. He moistened his lips and managed to speak. ‘It was Rogan,’ he said, ‘Rogan did it.’
She shook her head. Her whole body was broken with her weeping. ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘You set him free. You turned him loose to prey on decent people.’
Fallon turned away blindly, and Murphy reached out and touched him with shaking fingers. ‘It wasn’t our fault, Mr. Fallon, was it?’ There was a note of utter despair and horror in his young voice.
Fallon tried to speak and found there was nothing to say. There was no answer and then the front door bell rang. There was a moment of stillness as the three of them looked at each other and the girl checked her sobbing and stood, a hand at her mouth, eyes wide and shining with fear. Murphy went quickly along the hall and peered out through the side window as the bell sounded insistently again. He took a few paces back towards them, his face white and strained, and said quietly, ‘It’s Rogan.’
Fallon hesitated for a moment and then walked forward very slowly. ‘Open the door and let him in,’ he breathed.
The bell sounded again as Murphy opened the door. There was a brief glimpse of the silver rain lancing down through the grey morning and then Rogan banged the door shut and collapsed against it, breathless and laughing. He gulped for breath and said, ‘I nearly had it then. A peeler stopped me a couple of streets away. I gave him a kick and ran like hell.’ He laughed unsteadily and pushed back a lock of wet hair from his forehead. The smile died on his face at the terrible silence which greeted him. His gaze passed from Murphy to the girl and then to Fallon. He licked his lips nervously. ‘You lot look cheerful, I must say.’
‘Where have you been?’ Fallon said calmly.
Rogan managed a smile. ‘That friend I told you about I thought I’d see if he was still at his old address. I thought maybe he’d had the phone taken out.’
Fallon lashed him back-handed across the face. ‘You bloody liar,’ he said. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Murderer!’ Anne Murray screamed. ‘You filthy murderer.’
Panic moved across Rogan’s face and he turned, one hand reaching for the doorknob, but Fallon beat him to it. He swung him round and held him by the jacket and he slapped him repeatedly across the face with the flat of his hand. ‘You fixed that grenade up at the church, didn’t you?’ he shouted. ‘You knew it would blow up in the face of the first person to open the door.’
Rogan’s eyes had dwindled into pinpricks. He stared into Fallon’s implacable face and a thin line of foam appeared on the edge of his lips. Fallon gave an exclamation of disgust and pushed him hard against the door. As Rogan slumped back something fell from inside his coat. Fallon bent down quickly and picked it up. It was one of the belts of plastic gelignite that had been in the second box in the vault. For a moment he stared at it in horror. Two pockets were empty. He moved towards Rogan and held the belt under his nose. ‘You fixed up that grenade and killed one man. Now you’ve been up to your tricks again. Where have you been?’ He smashed Rogan back-handed with the belt of explosive and Rogan screamed with rage and threw himself on Fallon, sending him reeling back against the foot of