by Jack Higgins
Fallon stood up slowly and the look on his face would have frightened the Devil himself. 'Go near that girl again, harm her in any way, and I'll kill you,' he said simply and his voice was the merest whisper.
Jack Meehan turned and slapped his brother across the face backhanded. 'You randy little pig,' he said. 'Sex, that's all you can think about. As if I don't have enough troubles. Go on, get out of it!'
Billy got the door open and glared at Fallon, his face white with passion. 'You wait, you bastard. I'll fix you, you see if I don't. You and your posh bird.'
'I said get out of it!' Meehan roared and Billy did just that, slamming the door behind him.
Meehan turned to Fallon, 'I'll see he doesn't step out of line, don't you worry.'
Fallon put a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a taper from the kitchen fire. 'And you?' he said. 'Who keeps you in line?'
Meehan laughed delightedly. 'Nothing ever throws you, does it? I mean, when Miller walked into church yesterday and found you talking to the priest, I was worried, I can tell you. But when you sat down at that organ.' He shook his head and chuckled. 'That was truly beautiful.'
There was a slight frown on Fallon's face. 'You were there?'
'Oh yes, I was there all right.' Meehan lit a cigarette. 'There's one thing I don't understand.'
'And what would that be?'
'You could have put a bullet in my head last night instead of into that mirror. Why didn't you? I mean, if da Costa is so important to you and you think I'm some sort of threat to him, it would have been the logical thing to do.'
'And what would have happened to my passport and passage on that boat out of Hull Sunday night?'
Meehan chuckled. 'You don't miss a trick, do you? We're a lot alike, Fallon, you and me.'
'I'd rather be the Devil himself,' Fallon told him with deep conviction.
Meehan's face darkened. 'Coming the superior bit again, are we? My life for Ireland. The gallant rebel, gun in hand?' There was anger in his voice now. 'Don't give me that crap, Fallon. You enjoyed it for its own sake, running around in a trenchcoat with a gun in your pocket like something out of an old movie. You enjoyed the killing. Shall I tell you how I know? Because you're too bloody good at it not to have done.'
Fallon sat there staring at him, his face very white, and then, by some mysterious alchemy, the Ceska was in his hand.
Meehan laughed harshly. 'You need me, Fallon, remember? Without me there's no passport and no passage out of Hull Sunday so put it away like a good boy.'
He walked to the door and opened it. Fallon shifted his aim slightly, following him, and Meehan turned to face him. 'All right then, let's see you pull that trigger.'
Fallon held the gun steady. Meehan stood there waiting, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. After a while he turned slowly and went out, closing the door behind him.
For a moment or so longer Fallon held the Ceska out in front of him, staring into space, and then, very slowly, he lowered it, resting his hand on the table, his finger still on the trigger.
He was still sitting there when Jenny came in. 'They've gone,' she said.
Fallon made no reply and she looked down at the gun with distaste. 'What did you need that thing for? What happened?'
'Nothing much,' he said. 'He held up a mirror, that's all, but there was nothing there that I hadn't seen before.' He pushed back his hair and stood up. 'I think I'll get a couple of hours' sleep.'
He moved to the door and she said diffidently. 'Would you like me to come up?'
It was as if he hadn't heard her and went out quietly, trapped in some dark world of his own. She sat down at the table and buried her face in her hands.
* * *
When Fitzgerald went into Miller's office, the Superintendent was standing by the window reading a carbon copy of a letter.
He offered it to Fitzgerald. 'That's what we sent to the Director of Public Prosecutions.'
Fitzgerald read it quickly. 'That seems to sum up the situation pretty adequately to me, sir,' he said as he handed the letter back. 'When can we expect a decision?'
'That's the trouble, they'll probably take a couple of days. Unofficially, I've already spoken to the man who'll be handling it by telephone.'
'And what did he think, sir?'
'If you really want to know, he wasn't too bloody hopeful.' Miller's frustration was a tanglible thing. 'Anything to do with religion, you know what people are like. That's the English for you.'
'I see, sir,' Fitzgerald said slowly.
It was only then that Miller noticed that the Inspector was holding a flimsy in his right hand. 'What have you got there?'
Fitzgerald steeled himself, 'Bad news, I'm afraid, sir. From CRO about that Ceska.'
Miller sat down wearily. 'All right, tell me the worst.'
'According to the computer, the last time a Ceska was used to kill someone in this country was in June, nineteen fifty-two, sir. A Polish ex-serviceman shot his wife and her lover to death. They hanged him three months later.'
'Marvellous,' Miller said bitterly. 'That's all I needed.'
'Of course they're circulating arms dealers in the London area for us,' Fitzgerald said, 'It will take time, but something could come out of that line of enquiry.'
'I know,' Miller said bitterly. 'Pigs might also fly.' He pulled on his raincoat. 'Do you know what the unique feature of this case is?'
'I don't think so, sir.'
'Then I'll tell you. There's nothing to solve. We already know who's behind the killing. Jack Meehan, and if that damned priest would only open his mouth I could have his head on a platter.'
Miller turned angrily and walked out, banging the door so hard that the glass panel cracked.
Fallon had only taken off his shoes and jacket and had lain on top of the bed. He awakened to find the room in darkness. He had been covered with an eiderdown which meant that Jenny must have been in. It was just after eight when he checked his watch and he pulled on his shoes hurriedly, grabbed his jacket and went downstairs.
Jenny was doing some ironing when he went into the kitchen. She glanced up. 'I looked in about three hours ago, but you were asleep.'
'You should have wakened me,' he said and took down his raincoat from behind the door.
'Jack Meehan said you weren't to go out.'
'I know.' He transferred the Ceska to the pocket of his raincoat and fastened the belt.
'It's that girl, isn't it?' she said. 'You're worried about her.' He frowned slightly and she rested the iron. 'Oh, I was listening outside the door. I heard most of what went on. What's she like?'
'She's blind,' Fallon said. 'That means she's vulnerable.'
'And you're worried about Billy? You think he might try to pay you off for what happened last night by getting at her?'
'Something like that.'
'I don't blame you.' She started to iron a crisp white blouse. 'Let me tell you about him so you know what you're up against. At twelve, most boys are lucky if they've learnt how to make love to their hand, but not our Billy. At that age, he was having it off with grown women. Whores mostly, working for Jack Meehan, and Billy was Jack's brother, so they didn't like to say no.' She shook her head. 'He never looked back. By the time he was fifteen he was a dirty, sadistic little pervert. It was downhill all the way after that.' She rested the iron again. 'So if I were you, I'd worry all right where he's concerned.'
'Thanks,' he said. 'Don't wait up for me.'
The door banged and he was gone. She stood there for a moment, staring into space sadly and then she returned to her ironing.
Anna da Costa was about to get into the bath when she heard the phone ringing. She put on a robe and went downstairs, arriving in the hall as her uncle replaced the receiver.
'What is it?' she asked.
'The Infirmary. The old Italian lady I visited the other day. She's had a relapse. They expect her to die some time tonight. I'll have to go.'
She took down his coat from the hallstand
and held it out for him. He opened the front door and they moved out into the porch. The rain was pouring down.
'I'll walk,' he said. 'It's not worth taking the van. Will you be all right?'
'Don't worry about me,' she said. 'How long will you be?'
'God knows, probably several hours. Don't wait up for me.'
He plunged into the rain and hurried down the path passing a magnificent Victorian mausoleum, the pride of the cemetery with its bronze doors and marble porch. Billy Meehan dropped back into the shadows of the porch quickly, but when the priest had gone past, he moved forward again.
He had heard the exchange at the door and a cold finger of excitement moved in his belly. He had already had intercourse twice that night with a prostitute, not that it had been any good. He didn't seem to be able to get any satisfaction any more. He'd intended going home and then he'd remembered Anna - Anna at the window undressing.
He'd only been lurking in the shadows of that porch for ten minutes, but he was already bitterly cold and rain drifted in on the wind. He thought of Fallon, the humiliation of the previous night, and his face contorted.
'The bastard,' he said softly. 'The little Mick bastard. I'll show him.'
He produced a half-bottle of Scotch from his pocket and took a long pull.
Father da Costa hurried into the church. He took a Host out of the ciborium and hung it in a silver pyx around his neck. He also took holy oils with him to anoint the dying woman's ears, nose, mouth, hands and feet and went out quietly.
The church was still and quiet, only the images floating in candlelight, the drift of rain against the window. It was perhaps five minutes after Father da Costa's departure that the door creaked open eerily and Fallon entered.
He looked about him to make sure that no one was there, then hurried down the aisle, went inside the cage and pressed the button to ascend. He didn't go right up to the tower, stopping the cage on the other side of the canvas sheet covering the hole in the roof of the nave.
It only sloped slightly and he walked across the sheeting lead and paused at the low retaining wall, sheltering in the angle of a buttress with the tower.
From here, his view of the presbytery was excellent and two tall concrete lamp-posts in the street to the left towered above the cemetery walls, throwing a band of light across the front of the house.
There was a light in one of the bedroom windows and he could see right inside the room. A wardrobe, a painting on the wall, the end of a bed and then Anna suddenly appeared wrapped in a large white towel.
From the look of things she had obviously just got out of the bath. She didn't bother to draw the curtains, probably secure in the knowledge that she was cut off from the street by twenty-foot high walls or perhaps it was something to do with her blindness.
As Fallon watched she started to dry herself off. Strange how few women looked at their best in the altogether, he told himself, but she was more than passable. The black hair almost reached the pointed breasts and a narrow waist swelled to hips that were perhaps a trifle too large for some tastes.
She pulled on a pair of hold-up stockings, black bra and pants and a green, silk dress with a pleated skirt and started to brush her hair, perhaps the most womanly of all actions. Fallon felt strangely sad, no desire in him at all, certainly not for anything physical. Just the sudden terrible knowledge that he was looking at something he could never have on top of this earth and there was no one to blame but himself. She tied her hair back with a black ribbon and moved out of sight. A second later, the light went off.
Fallon shivered as the wind drove rain in his face and turned up his collar. It was very quiet, only the occasional sound of a car muted in the distance, and then, quite clearly, he heard the crunch of a foot in the gravel on the path below.
As he peered down, a figure moved out of the shadows into the light, the white shoulder-length hair identifying him at once. Billy Meehan. As Fallon leaned forward, the boy mounted the steps to the front door and tried the handle. It opened to his touch and he passed inside.
Fallon turned and scrambled back across the roof to the hoist. He jumped inside the cage, closed the gate and pressed the button to descend, his heart racing.
* * *
The sight of Anna at the window had excited Billy Meehan to a state where he could no longer contain himself. The ache between his legs was unbearable and the half-bottle of whisky which he had consumed had destroyed completely any last vestige of self-control.
He moved into the porch and tried the door and when it opened to his touch, he almost choked with excitement. He tiptoed inside, closing it behind him, and pushed the bolt home.
He could hear someone singing softly from a room at the end of the passage. He approached quietly and peered in through the partly opened door.
Anna was sitting at one end of a Victorian sofa, a small table at her elbow and the large sewing-box which stood on it was open, She was sewing a button on a shirt and as he watched, she reached into the mending-box, fumbled for a pair of scissors and cut the thread.
Billy took off his overcoat, dropped it to the floor and moved towards her, shaking with excitement. She was aware first of the coat dropping and then the faint sound of his approach and frowned, her face turned towards him.
'Who is it? Is anyone there?'
He paused momentarily and she stood up. Billy approached on tiptoe and as she half-turned, clutching the shirt to her, a needle in the other hand, he circled behind her.
'Who is it?' she demanded, fear in her voice.
He slipped a hand up her skirt from the rear, cupping it between her thighs and giggled. 'That's nice. You like that, don't you? Most girls like what I do to them.'
She gave a cry of horror, pulling away, turning to face him at the same moment and he reached forward and slipped a hand inside the neck of her dress feeling for a breast.
Anna cried out, her face a mask of horror. 'No, please - in the name of God! Who is it?'
'Fallon!' he said. 'It's me, Fallon!'
'Liar!' she screamed. 'Liar!' and lashed out blindly, catching him across the face.
Billy slapped her back-handed. 'I'll teach you, you bitch. I'll make you crawl.'
He knocked her back across the sofa tearing at her pants, forcing her thighs apart brutally, crushing his mouth on hers. Through the unbelievable horror of it, the nameless disgust, she was aware of his hand between his legs fumbling with the zip of his trousers and then the hardness pushing against her.
She screamed, he slapped her again, forcing her head back across the end of the sofa and her right hand, grabbing at the table for support, fastened upon the scissors. She was almost unconscious by then so that as the darkness flooded over her, she was not aware of her hand swinging convulsively, driving the scissors up under the ribs with all the force of which she was capable, piercing the heart and killing him instantly.
Finding the front door barred. Fallon had only been able to gain entry by breaking a kitchen window. He arrived in the sitting-room to find Billy Meehan sprawled across the unconscious girl and hurled himself on him. It was only in dragging him away that he saw the handle of the scissors protruding beneath the ribs.
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.'<
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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.