by Matt Hilton
It had later come to light that Corbin – through his legal intermediaries – offered Al Keane certain incentives should he accept all responsibility and exculpate Corbin from any involvement in, or knowledge of, any wrong doing; the incentives came with a caveat that if the promise of reward didn’t win Keane’s loyalty, then Keane could expect a visit from an ‘associate’, one not as crazy as Cleary Menon but every bit as terrifying. Fearing for his life Keane had accepted the terms. Corbin believed himself untouchable, a Teflon man. He should have kept his fearsome ‘associate’ close by.
Three days after making bail he was found dead in his office in New Orleans.
Corbin had been stabbed in the heart with a knife. The assassin was never discovered, and nobody but Corbin knew what he’d whispered in his ear as he plunged the blade between his ribs. ‘Darius Chatard sends his regards.’
When hearing the news of Corbin’s manner of death they’d shared a wry look. ‘Good job we’d already returned to Maine by then or some people might have thought you were responsible,’ Tess said.
‘It was indirectly through his greed that my sister became a victim of the Menon’s. Corbin got his just deserts, Tess.’ Po shrugged the man’s death off. He wouldn’t be missed. ‘I’ve killed, and would kill for my loved ones, but I’m no murderer.’
‘Hopefully now you won’t have to kill again. Not since Clara brought you and Emilia together and healed the rift in your families.’
‘I’m confident there’ll be no more trouble from the Chatards,’ he’d agreed. In the coming months they would have to return to New Iberia to attend the court cases of the various conspirators in Emilia’s kidnapping and the murders of the other four victims. They would be in close proximity to the Chatards throughout, and happily to Emilia in particular, until the legal system was done with them. Though their anticipated court appearances were quickly diminishing in number.
Two days after Corbin perished, Zeke Menon also died. With his upper body held together with surgical pins, and encased in tight dressings, he couldn’t defend himself when a fellow prisoner stole into his sick room and hammered a makeshift shiv through the swastika scar on his forehead. There was no whispered message this time, but there were rumours about who had put the prisoner up to the job. A pot of money once set aside as a bounty on Po’s head had been freed up and put to good use elsewhere.
Now, in the autoshop office, Tess clucked her tongue, deep in thought. ‘There’s a bit of me that regrets that the Menons were killed. They’ve escaped proper justice.’
‘That depends on who you’re talking to. Justice isn’t always found through legal process. They got what was coming to them.’
‘Cleary Menon too?’
‘Especially Cleary.’
‘He was mentally ill.’
‘So are all murderous psychopaths,’ Po said. ‘It doesn’t exonerate them from their actions.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I spoke with Pinky earlier about him and Emilia visiting soon. Apparently they’ve been in touch quite a lot and are becoming bosom buddies. He’s had a few heart-to-heart conversations with her about what happened that night, and has put her mind at rest. You ask me he had it right about how Emilia killed that lunatic with the Toyota. Cleary believed he was a werewolf; he got put down like one when she hit him like a silver bullet. End of story.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks to all the team at Severn House Publishers and also to my agent Luigi Bonomi and his team at Luigi Bonomi Associates for making this book happen. Thanks are also due to my wife, Denise, who keeps everything in order around me as I sink into the fictional worlds I create.
Speaking of fiction, I should make it clear that the events depicted in Raw Wounds are figments of my imagination. The oil pipeline mentioned in the narrative does not exist, and has no relation to any business or company in the region (or elsewhere for that matter). Being a fiction author I have taken a liberty with the terrain and actual locales mentioned in the story for the purposes of creating drama and action. No actual rougarou was hurt during the writing of this book.