splashing deliberately into the mounded graves. He lit a cigarette and stood looking across the gravestones down to the wall, dimly seen in the gloom. The graves were uncared for, for the most part, with grass and weeds running wild, and all at once he was filled with a terrible sadness at the emptiness and the futility of life. There was a creaking of rusty hinges as the door in the wall opened and Murphy hurried through the gravestones towards him.
Fallon opened the door and the boy slipped inside. His face was white with excitement. ‘Jesus, help us, Mr. Fallon! I’ve never seen so many peelers as I have today. The town’s crawling with them.’
‘Have you got another newspaper?’ Fallon demanded. The boy nodded and produced one from his pocket. There was nothing new in it. The story was headlines now and there were pictures of Fallon and Rogan side by side. The one of Fallon was not a very good one and he grunted in satisfaction. ‘That’s a lousy photo,’ he said. He passed the paper across to Rogan and added thoughtfully. ‘I wonder why they’ve concentrated the police in Castlemore. You’d think they would be combing the countryside.’
Rogan rapped out an oath and threw the newspaper away from him in a rage. ‘It’s that bastard Stuart,’ he said. ‘The clever one, he is. I’ll fix him before I’m through.’
‘For Christ’s sake cut that out and let’s discuss something important,’ Fallon said, and then a blast of cold air hit him in the back of the neck as the door creaked open behind him.
Fallon turned slowly as a voice said, ‘What’s going on here? What’s the meaning of this?’
A small, shrivelled old man in a clerical collar and shabby black raincoat was standing just inside the door. There was complete silence as he looked at them and then recognition dawned in his eyes. ‘Follon!’ he said. ‘Follon and Rogan.’ Very deliberately he brushed past them and stood looking down at the explosives in the boxes by the bed. For a moment he remained with his head bowed and then he turned and there was pain and anger in his voice. ‘How dare you!’ he said. ‘How dare you use God’s house for your filthy work. Gunmen, murderers, the lot of you.’
‘For God’s sake, Father,’ Fallon began, but the old man cut in on him.
‘I’m going to phone for the police.’ His voice was ice-cold now, but his whole body was trembling with rage. ‘That gives you five minutes at the most to get out.’
As the priest started forward Rogan moved quickly and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Not so fast,’ he snarled. ‘You aren’t going anywhere.’
All the dislike that Fallon had been nursing, all the hatred and the disgust at his own part in this welled up in a spasm of furious anger. He jerked Rogan away, whirled him round, and sent him spinning across the room to land with a crash on the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ he said. ‘Sorry for a lot of things. You can go now.’
For a moment he and the priest stood facing each other and a curious expression came into the old man’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. He hesitated in the doorway as if he was going to say something more and then his shoulders sagged and he went slowly out into the rain.
Fallon sighed deeply and a tiny, ironical laugh escaped from his mouth. The boy handed him his coat and hat. ‘For God’s sake, Mr. Fallon, he’ll put the peelers on us for sure. We’ve got to get out of here.’ His face looked sickly and yellow under the naked bulb. He was frightened to death.
Rogan picked himself up from the bed and straightened his clothes. ‘That was a fine thing to do,’ he said. ‘Now they’ll know we’re in town for sure.’
Fallon ignored him. ‘Did you come in the car?’ he asked Murphy.
The boy nodded. ‘It’s parked in the lane.’
Fallon pulled on his coat and said decisively, ‘Right then! We’ll have to make a run for it. If we can get out of town we might stand a chance yet. It’s another
Fallon opened the door and the boy slipped inside. His face was white with excitement. ‘Jesus, help us, Mr. Fallon! I’ve never seen so many peelers as I have today. The town’s crawling with them.’
‘Have you got another newspaper?’ Fallon demanded. The boy nodded and produced one from his pocket. There was nothing new in it. The story was headlines now and there were pictures of Fallon and Rogan side by side. The one of Fallon was not a very good one and he grunted in satisfaction. ‘That’s a lousy photo,’ he said. He passed the paper across to Rogan and added thoughtfully. ‘I wonder why they’ve concentrated the police in Castlemore. You’d think they would be combing the countryside.’
Rogan rapped out an oath and threw the newspaper away from him in a rage. ‘It’s that bastard Stuart,’ he said. ‘The clever one, he is. I’ll fix him before I’m through.’
‘For Christ’s sake cut that out and let’s discuss something important,’ Fallon said, and then a blast of cold air hit him in the back of the neck as the door creaked open behind him.
Fallon turned slowly as a voice said, ‘What’s going on here? What’s the meaning of this?’
A small, shrivelled old man in a clerical collar and shabby black raincoat was standing just inside the door. There was complete silence as he looked at them and then recognition dawned in his eyes. ‘Follon!’ he said. ‘Follon and Rogan.’ Very deliberately he brushed past them and stood looking down at the explosives in the boxes by the bed. For a moment he remained with his head bowed and then he turned and there was pain and anger in his voice. ‘How dare you!’ he said. ‘How dare you use God’s house for your filthy work. Gunmen, murderers, the lot of you.’
‘For God’s sake, Father,’ Fallon began, but the old man cut in on him.
‘I’m going to phone for the police.’ His voice was ice-cold now, but his whole body was trembling with rage. ‘That gives you five minutes at the most to get out.’
As the priest started forward Rogan moved quickly and grabbed him by the arm. ‘Not so fast,’ he snarled. ‘You aren’t going anywhere.’
All the dislike that Fallon had been nursing, all the hatred and the disgust at his own part in this welled up in a spasm of furious anger. He jerked Rogan away, whirled him round, and sent him spinning across the room to land with a crash on the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ he said. ‘Sorry for a lot of things. You can go now.’
For a moment he and the priest stood facing each other and a curious expression came into the old man’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. He hesitated in the doorway as if he was going to say something more and then his shoulders sagged and he went slowly out into the rain.
Fallon sighed deeply and a tiny, ironical laugh escaped from his mouth. The boy handed him his coat and hat. ‘For God’s sake, Mr. Fallon, he’ll put the peelers on us for sure. We’ve got to get out of here.’ His face looked sickly and yellow under the naked bulb. He was frightened to death.
Rogan picked himself up from the bed and straightened his clothes. ‘That was a fine thing to do,’ he said. ‘Now they’ll know we’re in town for sure.’
Fallon ignored him. ‘Did you come in the car?’ he asked Murphy.
The boy nodded. ‘It’s parked in the lane.’
Fallon pulled on his coat and said decisively, ‘Right then! We’ll have to make a run for it. If we can get out of town we might stand a chance yet. It’s another
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