Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

Surely all the deaths were committed by the same person. Peter was presumably innocent. One of the victims was his own child, and although parents did kill their offspring, Baldwin had never heard of any being tempted to cannibalism. Likewise, he was inclined to believe that Swetricus was not the murderer because of his daughter Aline’s death. And the Reeve would always have had enough food. He wouldn’t have needed to kill.

Baldwin was content with his earlier reasoning. He could imagine someone killing the Purveyor and then taking the opportunity to fill his empty belly. But why should that person then turn to killing children? Presumably because they were easier to kill, less able to defend themselves.

Baldwin frowned. He seemed to recall someone telling him that Ansel de Hocsenham had been a large, brawny fellow. That would mean that only a similarly large fellow would have been able to overwhelm him, surely, or a group. Perhaps the Foresters had had a part in his death, for all their protestations of innocence.

Or could it have been Drogo alone? The Forester appeared to be as concerned as the Reeve to conceal whatever had been going on in the vill. He had been surly and uncommunicative from the very beginning. And Vin too was an odd fellow.

Baldwin recalled thinking that there was a pattern, and then he realised that it was the girls’ ages. There was something about their ages which appealed to their killer. He was considering this when Simon spoke.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘You are awake too? I had thought I was quiet enough to leave you sleeping,’ Baldwin said, shuffling along the bench.

Simon donned his shirt and sat with him, scratching at his groin. ‘Damned fleas get everywhere.’

Baldwin moved a little further away.

‘So what do you think?’ the Bailiff yawned.

‘We must speak to Swetricus and see what he has to say,’ Baldwin said with decision.

He was determined to leave early and get to Swetricus before the peasant left to go out to the fields. The Coroner asked them to go ahead without him. Roger’s ankle had swollen considerably overnight, and now he was unable even to pull his boot on. Baldwin and Simon drank a little water, and walked out, Aylmer trotting from one scent to another.

The clear sky promised good weather, with a thin veil of clouds which looked very far away and insignificant, and Baldwin felt almost ridiculous as he walked up to Swetricus’s door. To be talking in the broad daylight about ghosts and vampires felt ludicrous – and even to discuss a murderer seemed out of place. Nothing so appalling should exist in the glare of this perfect weather.

Another thing he noticed was that as they passed houses, there was chattering and even a couple of people laughing. The fear which had apparently lain over the whole vill had departed.

Swetricus opened the door and stood blinking at the two men.

‘We want to talk to you about these murders,’ Baldwin said, and Swetricus ungraciously stood aside for them to enter, Aylmer following.

About a low table were three children, all girls. As Baldwin walked in, all three rose and fled to their father, hiding behind him and peering around him at the two strangers. Baldwin smiled and tried to put them at their ease. He gave Simon a glance, and saw the quizzical expression on his face.

‘It is obvious that you are a good father,’ Simon said to Swetricus.

‘Try to be.’

‘I have a daughter myself,’ Simon said, looking at the eldest of Swetricus’s girls. ‘She is about your age, I would think. Her name is Edith. What are you called?’

‘She’s Lucy,’ Swetricus said, looking down. There was unmistakable pride on his face as he tousled her hair. ‘Pretty as her mother.’

‘She died?’

‘Not long after this: Katherine. Bleeding.’

‘I see. Sad,’ Simon said, automatically copying him and falling into a monosyllabic frame of speaking.

Baldwin was less empathetic. He propped his backside on the table and peered about him. The house was a typical peasant’s hovel. No rushes to cover the floor, so the bones and detritus stood out against the packed earth. There was a bed, which was a pile of fresh ferns with a rug thrown atop, three stools, and one tiny chest that looked as though Swetricus himself must have made it with ill-designed tools. Aylmer went to investigate the garbage about the table.

‘We are here to ask about the deaths.’

‘Denise, Mary, my Aline, and now Emma.’

‘And the curse.’

‘We all feared.’

‘Because of the dead Purveyor?’

‘And Samson. He was a devil.’

‘Your daughter Aline – did he rape her?’

Swetricus looked away. ‘I never guessed. No one told me. She disappeared; thought fallen in mire. Now I think different.’

Baldwin looked at the girls. ‘Would they know?’

The three were undernourished and filthy, but from the way that Swetricus put his hands on them, it was obvious to Baldwin that the man loved his girls and that his love was reciprocated. His protective stance didn’t alter as he said, ‘No, they don’t know.’

‘What of you? Do you think that Samson killed all those girls?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And the Purveyor? Would Samson have killed Ansel de Hocsenham?’

‘Maybe. Samson hated taxes.’

‘Did the miller suffer from hunger during the famine?’ Simon asked.

‘The miller, he had food. Not hungry like others, like his wife and daughter.’

‘They did not eat so well as him?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He said he needed to eat to work, to feed them. Took most for himself.’

Baldwin nodded, considering the man. ‘Swetricus, I am confused about much which has happened here in the vill. One thing that niggles at me is, why should your girl Aline have been buried? Denise and Mary were left where they had been killed. So was Emma. Why was Aline different?’

‘Don’t know. It hurt. Hurt lots. Not knowing… It was cruel to hide her like that.’

‘Do you have any idea who could have done such a thing?’

Swetricus looked at him, and a cold, bitter anger glittered in his eyes. ‘If I knowed, I’d kill him.’

‘One last question, Swetricus. Where was Emma supposed to be sleeping on the night she died?’

‘At the mill, I think. They let her stay in the barns.’

They left shortly afterwards. The Reeve had sent men to recover the Purveyor’s body, and the group could be seen wielding their spades up on the hill. Baldwin stood a while watching, trying to ignore Aylmer, who was crunching at a bone of some sort just behind them.

It was Simon who broke into his reverie. ‘Isn’t that the Foresters up there? Shall we see if Vin is there?’

Vin didn’t notice them at first. It was only when Adam stopped and muttered a curse under his breath that Vin glanced around and saw them. ‘Shit! Are they here for you, boy?’

‘Shut up, old fool,’ Vin said boldly. If Adam called him ‘boy’ one more time… Somehow he knew that they were coming to question him again. Leaving his spade, he rubbed at his back and stretched. To Baldwin he looked as though he was tense, preparing himself for an interrogation.

The other Foresters were watching and no doubt listening with interest, but Drogo seemed furious as he greeted the two men with: ‘What do you want now, eh? Not happy yet? You’ve seen off Samson, you’ve seen the ruin of Reeve Alexander and probably me, and now you’re determined to attack my Foresters, is that it?’

‘It’s nothing for you to worry about. We just have some questions to ask this fellow,’ Simon said.

‘I have nothing to hide,’ Vin said.

‘Glad I am to hear it,’ Baldwin smiled. ‘Where can we talk in peace?’

‘I have nothing to hide. We can stay here,’ Vin repeated.