Cry of the Hunter by Jack Higgins Page A

irritating. His head was spinning and it was an effort to open his eyes. The light came very close again and this time there was a voice saying: ‘Relax! Don’t struggle. Just relax.’ The light suddenly dwindled into a spinning ball that got smaller and smaller and he was in darkness again.
    When he finally awoke he found himself in a single bed. The room was small and narrow and over everything there was that peculiar and distinctive hospital smell of disinfectant and cleanliness.
    The room was half in shadow and there was a shaded lamp on a locker beside the bed. A young nurse was reading in the light of the lamp. Fallon tried to push himself up and groaned. It felt as if there was an iron band around his chest. The nurse looked up quickly and put down her book. She stood up and moved across to the door and opened it. ‘Will you call for Doctor Flynn, please?’ she said to some anonymous person in the corridor and closed the door again. She came over to the bed.
    Fallon grinned weakly. ‘So I’m still in the land of the living?’ he said. ‘Life’s full of surprises.’
    She put a hand on his brow. It was cool and sweet and he closed his eyes. ‘Just rest,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t even talk.’
    The door opened and he lifted his eyelids. He saw a brown, kindly face, seamed with wrinkles and topped with iron-grey hair. His wrist was lifted delicately and the doctor looked at his watch and said, ‘How do you feel?’
    ‘Lousy!’ Fallon told him.
    The doctor smiled. ‘You’re the lucky one. The bullet was turned by your ribs. It’s a nasty wound but you won’t peg out on us yet awhile.’
    Fallon raised his eyebrows. ‘And you call that lucky?’
    The doctor shrugged and laughed lightly. ‘All I do is patch ’em up,’ he said. ‘What they do with them afterwards isn’t my affair.’
    There was a discreet knock on the door. The nurse opened it and said, ‘Oh, Doctor. Inspector Stuart is here.’
    The doctor turned to the door as Philip Stuart entered. ‘You can have fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘No longer. He needs plenty of sleep.’ He smiled at Fallon. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ He went out followed by the nurse.
    Stuart moved out of the shadows and smiled down. He was tall and lithe and his uniform fitted him like a glove. ‘Hello, Martin,’ he said. ‘How do you feel?’
    Fallon grinned weakly. ‘Like a cigarette. Have you got one?’
    Stuart nodded. He pulled a chair forward and sat down and then he took out a cigarette case. Fallon inhaled deeply and sighed with pleasure. ‘That’s better,’ he said.
    ‘I’m sorry about this,’ Stuart said. ‘One of my young constables panicked. When you turned with that bit of metal in your hand he thought you’d drawn a gun.’
    Fallon nodded. ‘That’s all right, Phil. I heard your shout just before the bullet hit me. It doesn’t seem to have done much damage.’ He laughed lightly. ‘What about your car? Is any of it left?’
    Stuart shrugged. ‘It might fetch a few pounds for scrap.’
    ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Fallon sighed. ‘It was a good job I got to you as fast as I did.’
    ‘Was it Rogan?’ Stuart said.
    Fallon nodded. ‘Yes, it was Rogan.’
    ‘And the booby trap at the church? Was that Rogan, too?’
    Fallon stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside locker. He lay back against the pillows. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know anything about it until I heard the news this morning.’
    Stuart jumped up in disgust. ‘He’s a mad dog,’ he said forcefully. He moved restlessly about the room. ‘If there was ever a man I wanted to lay by the heels it’s Patrick Rogan. I want to see him hang.’
    Fallon said quietly, ‘Yes, he’s about the worst I’ve come across. If I’d had any sense I’d have killed him myself. It would have saved a lot of grief.’
    ‘Instead you set him free,’ Stuart said.
    Fallon nodded slowly. ‘That’s right. I set him free. That makes