Michael JECKS - The Sticklepath Strangler

‘She’s lying. She pushed him,’ Felicia said calmly.

‘She did it, Samson, not me!’ Gunilda said suddenly. She was staring at Baldwin with intense fear twisting her features. ‘ I couldn’t have done it. You were talking to me, weren’t you, through the window? And then she pushed you out.’

‘Shut up, you old fool,’ Felicia said brutally. ‘You’re mad. Your brain’s addled like sour milk.’

‘There is no need to hide the fact, Felicia,’ Baldwin said. ‘You only did what you knew was necessary.’ His voice was gentle, but even as he spoke he could feel the horror deep in his belly. Madness was always terrifying, and Felicia was quite insane.

‘What did they matter?’ she said. ‘The girls were just things . They were only bodies for him to cover, like a stallion with a mare or a dog with a bitch.’

‘So you killed them to stop your father sleeping with them?’

‘He loved their young bodies,’ Felicia said, and suddenly her eyes brimmed. ‘He left me for them. He raped me in our bed, and when he had used me, he found others. He scared them into doing what he wanted.’

‘And you were jealous of them?’

‘ Jealous ?’ Felicia gaped at him, and then laughed. ‘Christ’s ballocks! Is that what you think? I hated him, Keeper! I hated him with a loathing that was so pure and strong that I could have done anything to hurt him. I killed his little lovers, I slaughtered them and ate them to show my utter contempt for them and him. And when the most recent of his little bitches came into heat and tried to wrest my Vin from me, why, I slaughtered her too. Only you should have thought it was Thomas Garde who killed her.’

‘Emma?’

‘Yes. The slut! She was making moony eyes at Vin, so I tempted her into the yard with a promise of sweetmeats, and then strangled her.’

‘Tell me, how did you know where Ansel was buried? How did you know to bury Aline there?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I was waiting for Vin, but he didn’t come. When I heard voices I hid, and saw the Reeve and Forester at the body. I walked after them to see what they did. Later I thought I could use that same hole.’

‘And you killed your father.’

‘He had raped me that morning. I was bruised and sickened, and when he leaned through the window, I saw my chance. I hit him with a rock, and out he went. The paddle hit him, and that was that.’ She giggled.

‘You saw her?’ Baldwin asked Gunilda, but she wasn’t listening. Her attention was fixed upon her daughter, horror in her eyes.

‘You killed your own father! And you admit it so boldly.’ She shuddered. ‘How could you do that – and how could you be so cruel as to slaughter the others – and eat them ! My God, my God. They were only little girls, Felicia.’ Gunilda was standing now, her dough forgotten. ‘It wasn’t their fault your fiend of a father raped them!’

‘But he regretted their loss!’ Felicia spat. ‘Don’t you see? It spoilt his fun!’

Baldwin nodded. ‘That explains it all,’ he said. ‘And now I think we should go to speak to Sir Laurence de Bozon and Reeve Alexander.’

‘Why? I’ve got nothing to say to them.’

‘They shall want to meet you, to talk about these deaths,’ Simon said.

Felicia shrugged, but said nothing. She crossed the floor towards the door, passing near Gunilda as she went, and took up a cloak.

‘Felicia, tell them it’s not true,’ the woman pleaded.

‘I find it hard to believe such a feeble-minded, ugly old crone could actually be my mother,’ Felicia said, curling her lip. ‘Leave me in peace.’

Gunilda’s mouth dropped wide open, but then she flew at her daughter, scratching, kicking and screaming. Felicia drew back, her hands up to protect her face, shrieking in fear and rage, and while Baldwin attempted to separate them and Simon tried to get behind Gunilda to hold her back, Felicia turned and ran towards the machinery. Gunilda chased after her, but Felicia was waiting for her. She had reached up to the rafter, and now she held her father’s rope. It whistled through the air and Gunilda howled as it streaked down her cheek and breast. To Baldwin’s horror he saw the blood welling on her face. Felicia brought it down again, and it was Gunilda’s turn to retreat, crying pitifully.

The two returned towards Simon and Baldwin, but as the women approached, Gunilda tripped and fell on her back. Instantly Felicia was on her, raining blows on her head, and it took both men to grab her hands and lift her away.

Panting with the effort, Felicia screeched, ‘You dare try to hurt me? Do that again, and I’ll kill you!’

‘Come with us,’ Baldwin said strongly.

Felicia shook her arm free from him and walked to the door, waiting demurely while Simon and Baldwin stood back to let her leave first, and then suddenly exploded into action again.

In an instant she drew a knife from beneath her apron, and stabbed Simon in the hand, whirling to strike Baldwin in the forearm. Just for a moment, the men were stunned, could see only her blade, wavering between them both, and then she pulled the door to with a slam and was gone.

Recovering from his shock, Simon snatched at the door and yanked it open. He rushed out, through the yard and up to the roadway, but when he peered back towards the vill, he could see no sign of the girl. Surely there hadn’t been enough time for her to disappear?

‘Simon!’ Baldwin shouted, and the Bailiff turned to see Felicia’s figure flying away along the track towards Belstone.

Baldwin was already speeding after her, but when Simon saw Drogo and his men almost at the Parson’s gate, carrying the rug rolled between them, he dashed over to them and blurted out what had happened. Immediately, Peter was off after Baldwin. Drogo swore, his eyes attracted to the blood trickling from Simon’s fingers, then he grabbed for his horn and blew loudly on it three times. ‘Murder! Murder! Murder!’ he roared as loudly as he could, and then launched himself after Baldwin, overtaking Simon in a matter of a few yards.

The road passed along the valley at the side of the river heading southwards, wandering with the water. Baldwin splashed through thick puddles, black with peat, and almost copied the Coroner, turning his ankle on a large, slippery pebble, but recovered himself in time and pounded on. Soon he was jumping from one rock to another as the ground became wetter, but all the time he could see the bare footprints of the girl in the soil, or gleaming wetly from stones.

She crossed it where there was a slight broadening of the river. Too deep to be termed a ford, it nonetheless provided easier passage, and Baldwin didn’t hesitate. He was into the water and through it to the other side in a moment. Here there appeared to be a rough track, little better than a sheep’s path, climbing the hillside at the edge of a stream. A print or two further up showed that Felicia had taken this route, and Baldwin forced himself upwards as quickly as his legs would allow, his feet slipping on loose scree, once almost falling and catching himself by throwing his hand out into a furze bush and feeling the thorns puncture the flesh of his palm, fingers and wrist. Cursing, he carried on.

There was a lip and then the ground eased, giving onto a shallower plateau, and at last he could see her. She was running hard still, rushing up the hillside, then was out of view over another hillock. Baldwin took a deep gulp of air and was off again. His thighs aching, his lungs feeling as though they might burst, his head thundering with the rushing of blood in his temples; the bruises at his flank and torso throbbed as though they were licked with fire.

He had no idea where he was exactly, nor did he care; all he knew was that Felicia was attempting to escape by running over the moors, perhaps to hide somewhere down by the coast. She must not be allowed to escape. The girl was prepared to murder and eat her victims; she was a monster. She had to be stopped and executed before she could murder again.