“No sign of his Mini van,” Fallon said softly.
“He’ll have it inside that barn, won’t he?” Jenny replied, and then added impatiently, “For goodness sake, make your mind up. Are we going on or aren’t we? I’m getting wet.”
She seemed angry and yet the fingers of her left hand trembled slightly. He said, “You go. Give me a call if every-thing is all right.”
She glanced at him with a certain surprise in her eyes, then shrugged, stood up and walked out into the open. He watched her go, all the way to the barn. She turned to look at him once, then opened the big double door and went in.
She reappeared a moment later and called, “It’s all right Everything’s fine. Come on.”
Fallon hesitated for a moment and then shrugged and walked out into the clearing, a slight, fixed smile on his face. When he was four or five yards from the door, Jenny said, “They’re here,” and she went back inside.
He followed her in without hesitation. The place smelled of old hay and mice. There was a decrepit cart in one corner and a large loft ran round three sides of the building with round glassless windows letting in light. A fire was burning in an old iron stove in the corner.
There was no sign of Father da Costa or Anna, not that Fallon had really expected there to be. Only Jenny, standing alone beside a small iron cot bed against the far wall on which a little fair-haired girl was apparently sleeping, covered by a blanket.
I’m sorry, Martin,” she said, and there was genuine distress in her face now. “I didn’t have any choice.”
“Up here Fallon,” a voice called.
Fallon looked up and saw Dormer on the edge of the loft holding an Armalite rifle. Rupert was standing beside him clutching a sawn-off shotgun and Harry, the barman from the Bull and Bell, appeared in the loft at the other side of the building, some sort of revolver in his hand.
Dormer raised the Armalite a little. “They tell me that a bullet from one of these things goes in at the front and out at the back and takes a sizeable piece of you with it on the way, so I’d advise you to stay very still.”
“Oh, I will,” Fallon assured him without irony. And he raised his hands.
Harry came down the ladder from the loft first. He looked terrible. His left eye was completely closed and one side of his face was very badly bruised. He stood a yard or two away, covering Fallon with his revolver while Rupert followed him down the ladder. When they were both in position, Donner lowered the Armalite and joined them.
“Never trust a woman, ducky,” Rupert said with a mocking smile. “I’d have thought you’d have learnt that. Unreliable bitches, the lot of them. Ruled by the moon. Now me, for instance.”
Donner kicked him in the leg. “Shut up and search Vim, He’ll probably have the shooter in his right-hand pocket.”
Rupert found the Ceska at once and the buff envelope containing the money. Donner looked inside and whistled softly. “How much?” he demanded.
“Two thousand,” Fallon said.
Donner grinned. “That must be what they meant by an unexpected bonus.”
He put the envelope in his inside pocket and Rupert started to run his hands over Fallon’s body. “Lovely,” he breathed. “I could really go for you, ducky,” and he patted Fallon’s cheek.
Fallon sent him staggering back with a stiff right arm. “Put a hand on me again, and I’ll break your neck.”
Rupert’s eyes glittered and he picked up the sawn-off shot-gun and thumbed back the hammer. “My, my, aren’t we butch?” he said softly. “But I can soon fix that.”
Dormer kicked him in the backside. “You bloody stupid little bitch,” he cried. “What are you trying to do? Ruin every-thing at this stage?” He shoved him violently away. “Go on and make some tea. It’s all you’re fit for.”
Rupert moved over to the stove sullenly, still clutching his shotgun, and Dormer took a pair of regulation police hand-cuffs from his pocket. He snapped them around Fallon’s wrists, locked them and slipped tie key into his breast pocket.