Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

The Coroner had no time to let his feelings get in the way. He was professional and businesslike as he cast an eye over the silent crowd. ‘Where is her father?’

‘Gone many years ago. He was the Purveyor: Ansel de Hocsenham. Her mother is mad. “Mad Meg” we call her. Emma often slept in the hay barns during the summer when the weather was mild, and stayed inside with friends during the winter.’

The Coroner grunted. He lifted his head and indicated two men standing nearby. ‘You two! Come here and roll her over for the jury to see.’

Peter and Vin approached. They each grabbed a leg and an arm and lifted her from the stable floor. Vincent looked as though he was ready to throw up, but Peter had a certain eagerness about him. Almost a ghoulish excitement.

The jury was agog as the naked figure was hauled over and over before them. When her entire body had been displayed, Roger began measuring the wounds, calling out to Simon, who tried to concentrate on the paper and ignore the girl’s body.

‘A leather thong about her neck. The same form of ligature as that used on Aline. No stabs, but plenty of bruises, which means that the child was beaten before she died.’

Simon swallowed and concentrated on making his notes legible. Little Emma’s death was rendered all the more horrific by his knowing her, if only vaguely.

‘Whoever did it hacked at her thigh like a haunch of meat. Does any man here know who could have done this?’ Coroner Roger called, and there was a short silence. ‘Well?’

‘It was him. Thomas must’ve done it. Why else would she be here?’

Simon peered in the direction of the voice but could not see who spoke. He let his gaze wander over the surrounding villagers. Ivo was standing near the back of the crowd, a sneer on his face as though he was delighted at this turn of events.

Nearer was the tall, dark-haired man who lived here, Ivo Bel’s brother, Thomas Garde. Garde’s frame was rocked by this accusation, and he licked his lips and swallowed like a man whose throat was blocked by a dry crust. It seemed as though he was incapable of speech, that shock had left him dumb.

About him men were staring at him with dawning horror. More than one had gripped his knife’s hilt, and was watching Garde darkly.

‘Speak, Garde!’ the Coroner commanded.

‘Sir, I had nothing to do with this child’s death.’

Simon looked up to see Baldwin watching Nicole. She stood with her fist at her mouth while the questioning carried on, the Coroner’s voice slow, grave and relentless, Garde’s growing more highly pitched and with a slight tremor of passion as he rejected the accusation.

‘Garde, the girl was found in your own yard,’ Coroner Roger thundered at last. ‘Who else could have put her there?’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a glance and Baldwin nodded to himself as Garde weakly shook his head. It was, Baldwin thought, one indication that Thomas might be telling the truth.

Baldwin felt a sudden rush pass through his body like a charge of strong wine. It felt as though his mind was being used again for the first time in weeks. Until now he had been directed witlessly by the melancholy atmosphere of the vill because the deaths were all so ancient and the likelihood of identifying the murderer so remote; however, now he had a recent murder to consider, he began to see the first indications of a pattern.

Of one thing he was convinced: no man would leave such proof of guilt in his own yard. Unless his wife and children were party to the murder, he would keep the body far away, and he would conceal it better than merely stuffing it under some sheaves. No, Baldwin was almost certain that someone else had planted it there. Presumably the true killer.

People suspected Garde because they wanted to. It was there in their eyes: the hatred of villagers for a stranger. For all that Garde had lived here for several years, he was still a foreigner. He hadn’t been born here.

Baldwin noticed Roger cast him a quick look, and correctly interpreted it as an invitation. He muttered a command to Aylmer to stay where he was and walked to the Coroner’s side, contemplating the accused man, at last seeking out Swetricus in the crowd. ‘Your daughter went missing when?’

‘Four years ago.’

‘When did you arrive here, Garde?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I… think it was five years ago.’

His stammering did not affect his upright posture. He was a proud man, this Garde. Just like his brother, Baldwin thought to himself.

Simon was also thinking of Garde’s brother, seeking out his face among the crowd. Bel had told him only that morning that Thomas Garde had arrived before the famine – and the only reason he could have had for lying was in order to put the blame for the murders of Denise and Mary onto Thomas. Simon felt his anger begin to simmer even as he grew convinced of Garde’s innocence.

Baldwin continued, ‘Do you recall the disappearance of Aline, Swetricus’s daughter?’

‘I do.’

Stiff now, wondering whether he was condemning himself, Baldwin noted, but not lying. It would be foolish were he to do so, of course, since the rest of the vill would know the truth.

‘Before that where were you?’

‘During the famine I was in France. That was where I met my wife. We married and had our daughter there.’

‘It is important, of course,’ Baldwin told them all. ‘If he were here only after the famine, for example, he could not be guilty of the murder of Denise, could he? She died during the famine seven years ago.’ He allowed his eyes to range over the men in the jury, to see whether his shot had struck home, and he saw that it had – but it had no effect. The men knew that if they didn’t convict this stranger, the guilty man must be sought from their own ranks.

‘Swetricus, what do you believe?’

Baldwin watched as the large man bowed his head. Swetricus cleared his throat. ‘I think Samson might have killed some, but Aline and Emma… I think Thomas could have killed them.’

‘There you are, Keeper. Thomas must be attached or gaoled,’ said Alexander.

Baldwin stared long and hard at the Reeve. ‘I think you know, or have a good idea, who was guilty, but you are trying to protect him. Or,’ his eyes narrowed in a quick suspicion, ‘or is it simpler? Was it you, Reeve? Did you commit these crimes?’

‘No, I did not!’

‘You seem insulted by the suggestion, but that could be a counterfeit emotion. Some men are good at play-acting. No matter, I will find out.’

‘I have nothing to hide,’ Alexander stated firmly.

‘That is a lie in its own right,’ Baldwin said. ‘No man is that innocent.’

‘How dare you speak to me–’

‘We dare easily. You have lied about the death of Denise, and Mary too,’ Coroner Roger said. ‘Oh yes, Reeve, we have heard about Mary. Which makes us wonder whether you have told the truth at any point.’

Alexander rallied. ‘Whether you like it or not, the body was here. I demand that Thomas Garde be amerced – arrested on suspicion of felony.’

‘Nonsense!’ Baldwin snapped.

‘Quite,’ said Coroner Roger. ‘As First Finder, you must yourself be amerced, Reeve.’

As the Reeve reddened and swelled ready to explode, the Coroner raised his hand. ‘I will adjourn this inquest. Reeve, I want the truth from you, or by Christ’s own blood, I’ll have you gaoled in Exeter until you learn to tell it!’

‘Before you do, I declare that Samson was responsible for the earlier murders,’ Alexander stated loudly. ‘I believe that now he is dead, this man Thomas decided to punish the girl Emma for some insult or slight, and that is why her body is here.’

‘What evidence do you have?’ Baldwin demanded coldly.