It was no more than half a dozen lines. A brief mention of his escape and the fact that every exit from the moor had been blocked. There was no photo.
Rogan tossed the paper on to the table and turned back to Costello. ‘You don’t go into Ambleside again, or anywhere else for that matter unless I give you permission. Understand?’
‘Oh, I do, Mr. Rogan. I do indeed.’
‘And that goes for the rest of you.’
He left the room, went along the passage and stood by the cattle truck looking across the yard and down the
valley towards Ambleside. Lake Windermere was a distant flash of silver in the dusk, and on either hand the mountains lifted steeply. There was the scrape of a shoe behind and he turned to see Fletcher and Morgan in the doorway.
‘The girl tells me the road peters out a quarter of a mile up the valley?’
Morgan nodded. ‘There’s a few broken-down cottages up there and an old lead mine. The sort of place that gives you the creeps. I’ve only been up there once.’
Rogan looked down the valley again at the dirt road white in the gloaming. ‘One way in and one way out. That doesn’t sound too healthy.’
‘You’re telling us/ Fletcher said. ‘Half a dozen scuffers down there with a couple of cars across the road and we’ve had it. Christ knows why O’More had to pick a place like this.’
‘Because anywhere else, you two would have stuck out like a couple of sore thumbs/ Rogan said and walked away across the yard to the gate.
The two men watched him turn into the road and climb the slope towards the head of the valley and Fletcher spat viciously. ‘God, how I’d like to cut that bastard down to size.’
‘Never mind that/ Morgan said. ‘We’ve got more important things to think of.’
They went back into the living room and found Cos-tello in a chair by the fire, a glass of whisky in his hand. ‘Where’s the girl?’ Morgan demanded.
‘Making me a sandwich in the kitchen/
‘Did you see Pope?’
The old man nodded. ‘He’s staying at a small hotel just outside Ambleside-The White Grange. I told him you’d ring him some time tomorrow/
‘And how in the hell do I do that?’
‘There’s a public call box at the bottom of the valley where the track joins the main road/
Morgan sat on the edge of the table, a frown on his
face, then turned and looked down at the map. ‘I’d like to know what Rogan intends to do.’
‘He won’t know that himself till he’s looked things over/ Fletcher said.
Morgan shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure. He’s got it up here, that one.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘He’s thought of something already, I could tell.’
‘Then sooner or later, he’s got to tell us what it is,’ Costello said. ‘He can’t pull the job on his own.’
He laughed foolishly, whisky dribbling from the corner of his mouth and Morgan grabbed him by the tie, pulling him up from his chair. ‘You’d better lay off that stuff, Dad. You’re beginning to make me nervous. Just remember you’re in this with the rest of us right up to your chin, and Rogan’s no fool. The slightest slip from any of us and he’ll smell a king-sized rat and a minimum of fifty thousand quid each is too much to lose because an old soak like you can’t keep off the booze.’
A draught touched him lightly on the face and he turned and saw Hannah standing in the doorway, a tray in her hands. She moved in, her face expressionless and placed the tray on the table.
‘You keep on sneaking around as quietly as that and we’ll have to put a bell on you/ Morgan said.
She ignored him and spoke to her uncle. ‘Coffee and sandwiches. If you want any more you’ll have to get them yourself.’
She left the room, and a moment later they saw her pass the window and cross the yard to the gate. ‘Do you think she heard anything?’ Fletcher said.
Morgan frowned. ‘One thing’s for sure. We’ll have to keep an eye on her. I don’t like the way she looks at that big Mick.’