Part 29 (1/2)

The men jumped the steps and disappeared into the church hall. Sensing that something was up, the crowd that had been loitering in the yard began to hurry up the steps after them.

*What do you think?' Patricia asked.

*I saw them earlier, they were guarding Mary Reilly.'

*I thought that was the cop's job?'

*It was.'

*So?'

*We better find out.'

I started to move towards the steps.

*You are going to give me a hand with this pram?' Trish said.

I stopped. I looked back. *No,' I said, *you shouldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place.'

I pushed through the church-hall doors. I half fancied that the word *b.a.s.t.a.r.d' followed me in, but I might have been mistaken.

Inside a crowd had formed at the bottom of the hall, surrounding the door which led into the church. I spotted Duncan Cairns hovering near the back and gave him a tap on the shoulders.

*What's up?' I asked. *Somebody win the lottery?'

*Lottery's banned.'

*Figures.'

*Sensational evidence has been found which proves Mary Reilly's innocence.'

*Has it?'

*No.'

He smiled.

A sense of humour.

Maybe he wasn't the complete a.r.s.e I'd taken him for.

Then the crowd began to move back as the doors were slowly opened from within. Father Flynn appeared, followed by Father White and the members of the Council. They were all grim-faced. A dozen questions were shouted as they entered, but ignored. Flynn raised his hands, then moved them up and down like he was patting an invisible horse, waiting for quiet. The men with shotguns hovered by the church doors.

Slowly the excited jabber faded and Flynn lowered his hands. *Thank you. Ahm, ladies and gentlemen,' he said gravely, *I'm afraid there's going to be a bit of a delay in today's proceedings.' He glanced at one of the gunmen. *In the eloquent words of Marcus Farrell, Mary Reilly has done a runner.'

Gasps.

*Yes, she seems to have escaped.'

Father White wasn't able to hold himself back. *But she will not escape divine retribution!'

A roar of approval. A stamping of feet.

*No, thank you, Father, she will not,' Flynn replied with quiet authority. *As I was saying, she has disappeared from Constable Murtagh's house. And so, it would appear, has Constable Murtagh.'

Gasps upon gasps.

Again he waved calming hands. *Settle down. There's no point in getting into a state about it, let's all just try and remain calm. At the moment we just don't know exactly what is going on. The house is empty, the police car is still there, so they must be on foot. She may have overpowered the constable and forced him to go with her. She might have injured him and left him somewhere. There's even the possibility that he has decided to go with her of his own accord. We just don't know.'

A man in the audience shouted: *I thought we were keeping an eye on her?'

*Yes, Jimmy, we were. As far as we can establish they slipped out the back way. I should warn you all that Constable Murtagh has a gun, so we can only presume that Mary Reilly has access to it and is loose somewhere on the island. So we're all going to have to be very careful until she's back under lock and key.'

*What about Christine?' Duncan Cairns asked. *What if Mary goes after her again?'

*Christine is already under armed guard. We also have men down at the harbour, so they won't be making their escape that way.'

*They won't be making their escape at all!' Father White bellowed, and got a rousing cheer for his effort. He stepped in front of Flynn. *We need everyone who has a gun to go home immediately and collect it. Ask anyone who couldn't make it today as well. Meet back here in thirty minutes, then we'll search every inch of this island. She won't get away!'

There was another cheer for him.

*The rest of you, go on home, lock your doors and pray that we find her before she hurts anyone. Go now!'

It was last in, first out. I was carried along on a wave of aspiring vigilantes and deposited in the churchyard beside Patricia and the pram. She handed me a plastic bag. It was warm.

*What's this?' I asked.

*A bag of s.h.i.+te.'

*Right.'

30.

By noon a rag-bag of some sixty agitated islanders had congregated in the churchyard. They were all men, and they all had guns. Most were shotguns, but there were a few weapons of an altogether more sophisticated hue, which was, frankly, surprising. I'd expected slings and arrows, cudgels, rolling pins, Moses crooks and fish hooks. Not AK-47 a.s.sault rifles.

Father White addressed them from the steps of the church. Father Flynn stood by the church gates. He intended to bless them as they went a-hunting. Not the gates, the hunters. He had delegated the actual mechanics of the search to Father White, although I wasn't altogether convinced that he had much choice about it. *He's neither younger nor fitter,' he explained, *but he could have planned the invasion of Normandy in half the time.'

It was said with grudging respect. He looked worried. His voice was dry, his eyes were pinched up pensive. The mob was excited, baying to be off, and though they didn't need it, Father White was whipping the frenzy up further. It was a simpleton's version of a fox hunt, chasing a big girl around half a dozen square miles of bramble, scrub and wind-bent tree.

*That's an awful lot of hardware for an island this size, Father. What's this, the forgotten wing of the IRA?'

He laughed. *No . . . of course not . . . we get a lot of s.h.i.+ps call by, and they're usually keen to trade. Particularly the Russians. G.o.d love their impoverished wee souls. There's a fair bit of bartering goes on.'

*You mean like half a dozen cabbages for a Kalashnikov.'

*Actually, you're not that far off. They've no shortage of weapons but their rations leave a lot to be desired. Poor scrawny half-starved wee men. You could probably equip a small army in exchange for sixty-four of Mrs McKeown's meat pies.'