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IT WAS A WEEK BEFORE the circus could move because it was a week before the final sentencing of Frank Jeffries. The justice system in this part of Vespasia normally went quickly in cases like his, but since they had no record of him that made any sense, it slowed the process some. It took the intervention of Rupert French to bring about the final result. That and some help from Frank Jeffries himself.
Monroe and Bo were among those who were behind the court house to witness the execution of the sentence passed by the district judge to this stranger known only as Frank Jeffries. Rupert French was also there, along with his wife and son. They wanted to watch the man responsible for the death of their son hang. Joseph was there with the other police to escort Jeffries to the small platform where the sentence was to be carried out.
It was Grimes and Sandy who escorted him up the stairs to the trapdoor beneath the noose. An executioner from Wildemarsh had been brought in to carry out the task. It wasn’t necessary. The good people of Pinecone Grove would applaud the man who executed the man responsible for the deaths of some of their most loved women. It’d be worth free drinks for a year, and membership to the Golf Club.
Jeffries stood and glared at Monroe as a white-haired official from the court took his place to read the charges.
“This isn’t over Bernard,” Jeffries called out.
Monroe looked at the silver snake head on his walking stick, then smiled to Jeffries.
“Frank Jeffries!” the court official announced. “You have been found guilty of abducting one Melody Tyler for the purpose of unlawful penetration. You have been found guilty of complicity in the murders and unlawful penetrations of Deborah Higgs, Marie Schwartz, Geraldine Huff, Brittany Shirk and Elizabeth Shipley.”
“You left out Francine Ward and Heather Wiltshire,” Jeffries said. “Don’t you want to know where they are?”
The court official looked to the crowd.
“He’s playing for time!” Rupert French yelled.
“You are also held responsible for the death of Stanley French,” the court official continued. “The sentence handed down to you is you are to be hanged by the neck until dead. We are here to ensure this sentence is carried out in accordance with the wishes of the court. Do you have anything to say before we execute this sentence?”
Jeffries shook his head. “Just get on with it,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of things to do today, so I’d appreciate it if you’d hurry it along.”
The official nodded to the executioner who put a black bag over Jeffries’ head. Then the noose was placed around his neck and tightened.
“Frank Jeffries,” the court official began. “In accordance with the judgement—”
“Just pull the fucking lever already!” Jeffries snapped.
The official looked at the executioner and nodded.
The trap door opened beneath Jeffries and he fell two feet before the rope stopped his fall.
Jeffries remained still for some seconds before he started twitching.
Monroe looked at the silver snake head on his cane again. It’s eyes had a red glow.
Jeffries’ twitching started to become writhing.
Monroe’s walking stick became too hot to touch. Trying not to draw attention to himself, he laid it on the ground in front of him.
Jeffries’ became desperate, kicking and twitching his upper body. Not like he was trying to escape, more like he was trying to swing, perhaps trying to reach the stage and get himself out of the hole. Whatever he was doing, it didn’t work. After less than ten minutes he was limp but not lifeless. It would be another half hour or more before he was dead. Realising his victim wouldn’t be suffering, the executioner went to the bottom of the stairs, went beneath Jeffries, took hold of his feet and pulled them hard. Something dark poured from Jeffries’ body which was quickly consumed by a swarm of small dark shadows.
Darkness consumed darkness like shadows consuming smoke, Monroe mused and looked at his walking stick. The silver snake head had stopped glowing.
Jeffries was dead.
Mattie stood behind the lifeless body. Beside her was her father Percy and her son Bradley. Monroe never knew if anybody else saw them, and didn’t ask.
***
MONROE AND BO STOPPED at the Brown Bull on their way back to the circus. Jenna Cage was behind the counter.
“Is it done?” she asked as they came in.
“Frank Jeffries won’t be hurting anyone ever again,” Monroe told her.
“You be having a steak sandwich?” Melody asked as she came from the kitchen. Her face was sullen and her voice was deeper, lacking the life Monroe remembered the first time he’d met her.
“I will,” he said and looked at Bo.
“I’ll have a hamburger,” Bo said. “With everything I shouldn’t.”
Melody nodded like she understood and went into the kitchen.
Monroe looked at Bo.
“I been here with Karla the other day. She heard Karla telling me off for what I have in my burger.”
Monroe nodded.
“I told her to have the next few weeks off,” Jenna said like she’d been asked. “She won’t.” She glanced at the kitchen door. “Joseph won’t either. They’re spending a lot of time together. I hope they’re alright.”
“Joseph Ringer is a fine man,” Monroe said. “I’m sure they’re alright for each other. Like Michael Conroy is a fine man and he’s good for that fine woman, Cassandra Porterfield. And she’s good for him.”
“Porterfield?” Jenna asked.
“For now,” Monroe said. “I’m sure you’ll be notified before that changes.”
“Take a seat.” Jenna smiled. “I’ll bring your food and coffee over.”
Monroe turned to Bo. “Lead the way,” he said.
“Is it really finished?” Bo asked as they sat at the table near the door.
“It’s finished.” Monroe sat back and looked at him.
“How do you know?” Bo asked.
There’d been some trust lost, which was sad. He’d have to rebuild some bridges if Bo was to become concession manager.
“Once Cassandra marries that man she loves there’ll be no more Browns from that branch of the family tree. And now, there’s no more Frenches.”
“Isn’t there still the old man, Rupert, and Stanley’s older brother?”
“Rupert’s not a French. He’s the bastard son of one of the Estate’s gardeners. That means older brother Martin isn’t a French.”
“Then how come Stanley was a French?”
“Stanley was the bastard son of a timber getter.”
“Who was the bastard son of another French?”
“Rupert’s... father, for want of a better word, Andrew French. The man Rupert got his last name from.”
“Well what about the timber getter?”
“Rupert had the man killed as soon as he realised his wife was having an affair with him. The French line would have stopped then if Rupert wasn’t too stupid to realise Stanley wasn’t his.”
“And Stanley never fucked anybody?”
“Nobody he didn’t kill. The only trace of French blood in this town I can sense is the Winkle girl who works in the site office. Her offspring won’t be Frenches. That comes down from the father. It’s how it works.”
“Yeah,” Bo nodded and leaned back. “I hope you’re right.”
Jenna came to the table with Monroe’s steak sandwich and Bo’s thick hamburger. “There you are gentlemen,” she said. “I’ll just get your coffees.”
Monroe looked at the sandwich in front of him. “I’m going to miss these,” he said.
“Cassandra knows how to make them,” Jenna said. “Perhaps you can ask her. How much longer are you here for?”
“We’re off to Orsvonton next week,” Monroe said.
“Well tell Michael I expect him and Cassandra around for a meal before you go.”
“Tell me when you want them and I’ll make sure to send them,” Bo said.
“If you can spare them this Friday.”
“They’ll be here,” Bo declared.
“And I want you all to come around this Sunday, lunch time. I’ll get Lance to barbecue.”
“The whole circus?” Bo asked.
“No.” Jenna smiled. “You, your lady, Mister Monroe and his lady. Michael and Cassandra, of course, and anyone else you think you should invite. I’ll have Joseph and Melody, and Sandy and Alina, and Claudette and her fella. It’ll be our thank you.”
“In that case, you should consider Graham Tyson as well,” Monroe said. “Without him... well, he was a big help.”
“I’ll ask Ed and Louise Grimes along to keep you all under control.”
“Can I ask Jacinta and Victor?” Bo asked.
“Who’re they?” Jenna asked.
“Jacinta was taken when Karla was taken and Victor’s her new fella,” Monroe said. “He’s teaching her trapeze.”
“Of course. Sunday it is then,” she said and went to make the coffee.
THE END