Yukon<\/i>
Canada,<\/i>
1873.<\/i><\/p>\n
Many murders do baffle me as to why a man would slay another man, taking his life, and be able to live with that guilt for the rest of their days. Over something like money, or a woman, or something trivial like a horse, a donkey, or a piece of land. What makes a man do such a thing to a fellow human? Is it bred in us since the dawning of time? Or is it something pure evil within that person, something so dark and forbidden that breaks through the surface, anger or jealousy that causes the person to lash out and murder their victim? The story I\u2019m about to relate is about that: anger and jealousy, a mixture of two evils. Two of the deadliest sins. ***<\/p>\n It was the commotion outside on the street that drew my attention. I was breakfasting over an article I was composing when I heard shouting outside on the main street. I got up from the desk and looked out of the window when I saw a man leading a packhorse with what looked to be a body slung over the saddle. Doctor Campbell, a Scotsman, came hurrying out of his surgery towards the horse. The man who was leading the horse stopped so Doctor Campbell could examine the stiff before pointing to the rear of the surgery. By this time, I was out on my small veranda and crossing the snow filled street. The cold wind blew in from Mount Logan; snow fluttered and started settling on my jacket as I crossed the street. Doctor Campbell saw me and nodded. He looked grimed as he stood there in his bear coat with snow powdering the collar, his hands dug deep into the pockets with snow settling in his big red beard. ***<\/p>\n \u201cYer fookin mad, boyo,\u201d Campbell said as he passed the glass of whiskey toward me. I told him about what Edouard told me and he shook his head. \u201cYer fookin mad. What if them two rascals, the Brothers Grim as I call them, are still fookin lurking \u2018boot? What if they catch yer unaware? Then what? Yer fooked that what, boyo. Think about it, Harry. I\u2019ll git in contact with the Mounties, it\u2019s their fookin job, not yers to go chasin\u2019 crooks and the likes. Fer fook\u2019s sake, boyo, yer a bloody journalist, not a bloody detective, not the way yer like tae think yer are.\u201d ***<\/p>\n I left early the next day as the snow was coming in from the west bringing with it that cold wind that would tear the skin of a dead man\u2026 so to speak\u2026 Before I left, Campbell brought me into the surgery so I could have a last look at Camille\u2019s stiff. He explained to me that whoever sliced the poor blighter\u2019s throat did it with aggression. I noticed that the blade the killer used was a skinning knife. I frowned and leaned in a bit closer. Jock saw the expression on my face. ***<\/p>\n Throughout the day I rode my horse through the snow filled forest. Mist danced around me like ghostly lovers, chasing in and out of the trees, now and then a white hare would appear before disappearing into the swirling mist. It was eerie traveling through that forest. The only sound was the horse\u2019s hoofs crushing the virgin snow and the creaking of the branches from the weight of the snow. Now and then the high peaks above me would emerge from the firs majestically, towering over the plains before disappearing again among the mist and trees. ***<\/p>\n Campbell was standing on his porch when he saw me arriving early the following morning. He gave me a wave as I approached his surgery. I wasn\u2019t sure how to approach the topic but I knew I had to play it carefully, play it by ear. I smiled and climbed off the horse and tied it up. He had his hand out and I shook it. It was like shaking hands with The Grim Reaper and I didn\u2019t like it. ***<\/p>\n I never did tell the full story until just then. I was at first accused of murder (even though I was tied to a chair) but after an examination of Campbell\u2019s body, it was seen as self inflected. I found out where he buried Sabina\u2019s body and made a marker for her grave. I had no idea where the other two were and nor did I learn their names. I am now in my office writing this for my own journal. One day the truth will come out but at the moment is better if it was kept secret. The two brothers I never saw again. They left the area and vanished into the great white wilderness. Wherever they are, hope they\u2019re keeping themselves out of trouble. Me? I\u2019ve still many more adventures ahead and still writing for the paper.<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n [Image Credit : Photo by Pawel Czerwinski<\/a> on Unsplash<\/a>]<\/p>\n For a few years Kevin was in a rock-blues-folk band as a guitarist, harmonica player, singer\/lyricist and was nominated for an award (which he missed out on to his disappointment. He still reckons it was rigged).
\n<\/p>\n From there, Kevin struggled with his writing before finally in 2013 he got a break and suddenly four stories were published. He writes horror and crime. Kevin owns his own property, and damned proud of being an Irish-Australian. His hobbies include writing, photography, bushwalking, reading good books mostly on history, and gardening. He had travelled through NZ, Ireland and for three months throughout Canada and Alaska. He had recently finished writing a YA novel that is now ready to be published as well as a ghost story novella.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n
+++++<\/span>My name is Harry Doyle. I\u2019m a journalist for a small town newspaper but also, I\u2019m an amateur detective, a great reader of Sherlock Holmes and C. Auguste Dupin. I like to try and solve crimes, fiction mostly but one crime, a real crime, came to hand. A crime with a twist. This, my dear friends, is the story I\u2019m about to relate to you about the strange death of Camille Poulin.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cWho is it?\u201d I asked when I arrived by his side. I can see my breath in the fine morning air. Behind the buildings, mist crowned the peaks of Mount Logan, with snow icing the canopies of the Douglas firs that carpeted the mountain face. Campbell coughed gently and in a voice that sounded tired and a hint of sadness as he spoke.
+++++<\/span>\u201cCamille Poulin, the fur trader,\u201d he replied in his thick Scots accent. \u201cFound deid there a wee while ago by Gerard Leblanc by the riverbank. Poor wee bugger, his throat wes cut and wes left for deid.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnything I can do?\u201d I asked. I knew it was a futile question but still needed to be asked.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNae, not at the moment, boyo, except mabbe pray for the poor bugger\u2019s soul, but yer not a prayin type anawe.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I\u2019ll do more than that, I thought inwardly, I\u2019ll catch the bastard or bastards who did this and watch them swing. I watched Doctor Campbell entering his surgery before I headed back to my office. I poured myself a coffee and stood looking out at Mount Logan which loomed over the village.
+++++<\/span>You see, Camille Poulin was a well-liked character and he was also a good friend of mine. Over a few drinks, we would share stories. I would share stories of my time fighting in the American Civil War on the Union side and on the Australian goldfields as a gold panner, and he would share his tales about his travels across Canada as a fur trader. He was born in France but came to Canada, the Eastern Seaboard when he was just seventeen and became a fur trapper slash trader. Recently as I recall he went in partnership with two brothers, Andre and Baptiste Girard, two shiftiest characters that ever walked the earth. I didn\u2019t trust either of them as far as I could throw them, which isn\u2019t very far. I have no idea where they came from or how Camille first met them but he somehow became friends with them and formed a partnership in fur trading. Andre, the eldest, had a bad reputation for being a bully, especially when he was drunk, which was almost all the time while his brother, Baptiste, was an abusive drunk who enjoyed fighting anyone weaker than him. The two brothers were hated throughout the town and surrounding villages. If there were anything fouler that walked this earth, it was those two. The two brothers were what you would call a mixed breed. They were French mixed with Native Indians and bits of African thrown in for good measure.
+++++<\/span>I sat back in my chair and sipped my coffee as I thought more about the demise of Camille Poulin. I finished the coffee and went out in search of the man who brought Camille in. He was in the stables rubbing down the horses when he saw me. He was a small man with a pencil thin moustache, dark hair with matching dark and sad eyes they were that seemed to have seen a lot in life. I\u2019ve seen him around a fair bit but always by himself. He saw me and gave me a nod.
+++++<\/span>\u201cMonsieur Doyle,\u201d he said in a soft voice. He spoke good French and English. \u201cWhat can I do for you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMonsieur Trembley,\u201d I answered back as I shook his hand. \u201cMay I speak to you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYou are already speaking to me, Monsieur,\u201d he gave me a small smile. \u201cBut oui,<\/i> you may.\u201d
+++++<\/span>We found two seats and sat down facing each other. He poured some coffee and handed me one as he sat down. He took out a leather pouch and looked at me. \u201cYou don\u2019t mind?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cPlease, go ahead, does not bother me. In fact, I might even join you,\u201d I answered.
+++++<\/span>He opened the pouch from the strings and poured a generous amount of tobacco out onto the rice paper then handed the pouch to me. \u201cWhat do you want to speak about, Monsieur?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAbout where you found Camille Poulin\u2019s body,\u201d I handed the pouch back and accepted a light. \u201cWhen and where?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAh, is this the scribbler asking or is it you the detective asking?\u201d He gave me that small smile again. He knew about my fascination with detecting.
+++++<\/span>\u201cBoth,\u201d I said smiling then went serious. \u201cCamille was a good friend of mine and I would like to know how he died and where he was found.\u201d
+++++<\/span>Edouard Tremblay looked out at the falling snow, deep in thought. Smoke dribbled from his nose and formed a ghostly mist in the stables. A small fire in the grate was keeping us both warm. He took the pot off the stove and filled our mugs up before replacing it back. He sighed.
+++++<\/span>\u201cI found Monsieur Poulin\u2019s body twenty miles upstream, on an embankment. It was \u00e9trange,<\/i> Monsieur Doyle. It was nowhere near where he and the brothers Girard would lay their traps. There are non<\/i> beavers where I found him. I was riding on the ridge when I saw something\u2026uhhh\u2026 lying near water edge. I made my way down and found a remain of a campsite. \u00c8trange<\/i> part, Monsieur Doyle, was that there were no des oiseaux<\/i>\u2026 um\u2026 birds. No birds. Nothing. Not even bear. I found poor Camille lying there faced down. I turned him over and\u2026\u201d he sighed and took a deep breath before continuing. \u201c\u2026And found he had his gorge sliced. His eyes were staring sightlessly, Monsieur. It was a sad sight.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNo one else around?\u201d It was a stupid question to ask but I had to ask. \u201cI mean like no footprints? Hoof prints? What about his horses and trapping gear?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNon,\u201d<\/i> he said shaking his head. \u201cRien.<\/i> Nothing. Not even merde decheval<\/i>\u2026 uhhh\u2026 shit\u2026 from horses. His trapping gear I saw nothing off. Just poor Camille Poulin lying there at water edge.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I had my suspicions that it was the brothers but I can\u2019t go around accusing someone. They might be\u2026 might be\u2026 innocent. I threw the remainder of the cigarette into the fire and stood up then shook Edouard\u2019s hand. I thanked him before I went back out into the snowy day and made my way slowly to my office. Millions of thoughts rushing through my head like a train in the night. I was going to where Camille\u2019s body was found. The mouth of hell.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019m doing it for Camille.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYer doin\u2019 it fer yerself,\u201d he muttered. \u201cDid Edouard tell yer exactly where he found Camille? Maybe yer should take him along with yer?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll get him to draw a mud map for me.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat \u2018boot the weather? It\u2019s bloody minus twenty out there and yer freeze yer wee balls off.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cLeave my balls out of this,\u201d I grinned. \u201cI\u2019ll be fine, Jock. Nice of you to care about me. And my wee balls.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI wasn\u2019t fookin carin\u2019 \u2018boot yer. I was thinkin\u2019 off havin\u2019 to identify yer skinny wee fookin body. Anyway, yer the luck of the devil. Survivin\u2019 that war down South and the Australian gold fields as well. When are yer thinkin\u2019 of leavin\u2019?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cOn the morrow,\u201d I replied.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThen better get yer gear ready. And God bless yer, boyo, yer gonna need it, \u2018specially if them Girard bastards are still lurkin\u2019 \u2018boot.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWe don\u2019t know if they did it, Jock.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll bet me granny\u2019s smelly wellingtons they\u2019ve somethin\u2019 to do with it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cJesus, hope I lose the bet then,\u201d I laughed but something was squirming inside me, something telling me to watch my back. Something dark was lurking.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, Harry?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe cut,\u201d I said pointing at it. \u201cNotice it\u2019s from the left?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMeanin\u2019?\u201d He tried to hurry me along.
+++++<\/span>\u201cMeaning the killer must be left handed and who do we know who\u2019s left handed?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBaptiste Girard?\u201d Suggested Campbell.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThough doesn\u2019t mean a thing but yes.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe Girard Brothers murdered Camille,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cI\u2019ll fookin tell yer, that pair of fookin weasels\u2026\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cMaybe not,\u201d I said. \u201cWho else we know who\u2019s left handed?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Campbell stared at me. \u201cMe of course\u2026 hope yer not suggestin\u2019 I killed Camille,\u201d his voice had a hard edge to it but I held my hands up. \u201cWhy the fook would I wanna kill Camille?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNot suggesting anything, my old Scottish friend. I\u2019m going to where the body was found and maybe away for a few days.\u2019
+++++<\/span>He just nodded and then handed me two bottles of whiskey. \u201cTake care of yerself, boyo.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAs always,\u201d I smiled as I tucked the bottles into my saddlebag and left the surgery. Again, that strange cold feeling washed over me. Something bad was heading my way.<\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>My mind was on Camille\u2019s untimely demise. The cut on his throat was deep and I recall seeing how the blood froze from the dropping temperature. I have no idea how long poor Camille was lying there, alone by the river. Days, hours? Only the good Lord knows that answer. I stopped the horse and looked at the rough map Edouard drew up for me. I can hear the roaring of the river close by so I must be near the murder spot. I led the horse through the woods until we came to an embankment. The river was wild that afternoon. Water raced by, smashing against the rocks like fists pounding furiously in anger. I tied the horse near a silver birch and made my way down to where Camille was found dead.
+++++<\/span>It was a small beach that looked out over the raging river. I can see the other side surrounded by mist. Now and then ice would race by. I made my way along the shoreline until I came to the spot where Camille must have been found. I found a remnant of a fire but nothing else. I touched the ground and rubbed the dirt between my fingers before wiping my fingers on my trousers as I stood up. I suddenly heard the snorting of a horse and swung around where I saw the ugly faces of the Girard brothers. They were seated on their horses, smiling evilly at me. Andre was the biggest. He was built like a brick outhouse with a dark beard covering his ugly face. His hair was dark and long with a beaver pelt hat perched on top, and he carried a Sharps 1867 Carbine rifle and had a Manhattan Navy tucked in his belt while the brother, who was equally just as ugly, had me covered with a Palmer 1865 model rifle. He too wore a beaver pelt cap with earflaps covering his big ears.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhy, look who it is, little fr\u00e8re,\u201d<\/i>\u00a0mocked Andre with a savage grin. \u201cWhy it\u2019s the Scribbler\u2026 Doyle, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d I was surprised he knew who I was for as far I knew he and his brother Ugly can\u2019t read nor write. He hacked a spit and spat near my feet. I didn\u2019t move. Their accent was strong, French-English. \u201cWhat brings you here, Scribbler?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCamille Poulin,\u201d I answered, hoping I didn\u2019t sound frightened, which I was in a way. Behind me, the river rumbled angrily as it smashed against the shoreline. I could feel the icy breeze from the water stroking my exposed neck like the fingers of death.
+++++<\/span>Andre looked puzzled, his left eyebrow cocked. \u201cI non<\/i> understand\u2026 Camille Poulin? What he got to do with you being here?\u201d
+++++<\/span>It was how he asked the question. It wasn\u2019t asked in a mocking tone. It was asked as if he was baffled by what I said as if he didn\u2019t understand it but I was still on my guard. I had to word what I was going to say next carefully or I\u2019ll be joining Camille on a cloud plucking away at a harp.
+++++<\/span>\u201cCamille was found dead,\u201d I said warily and calculatedly in a precise tone. \u201cHis body was found near here with his\u2026 um\u2026 throat sliced.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd you came here to?\u201d Asked Andre.
+++++<\/span>\u201cTo investigate,\u201d I watched the reaction of the two brothers but detected nothing.Either they were bloody great actors or maybe they had nothing to do with Camille\u2019s demise. Andre climbed off his horse but Baptiste still had me covered as his brother walked over towards me. He walked like a bear that had haemorrhoids then stopped before me. I could smell dry sweat wafting from his unwashed body and wood smoke from his clothes. He had the rifle cradling in the crook of his arms. He towered over me and looked at me with them dark, bottomless eyes of his as if he exposing my soul for the world to see.
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd you think that me and my fr\u00e8re meurtre<\/i>\u00a0Camille Poulin?\u201d His voice thundered over the roaring river, bouncing off the cliff faces, echoing through the forest around us. It put the fear of God into my heart as he shoved the Carbine into my face. I squeezed my eyes tight but tried not to show fear, which was hard not to. \u201cYou insult me and my fr\u00e8re. Je m\u2019en fou<\/i>\u00a0what you think of us but let me tell you, Petit homme<\/i>, it is that t\u00eate rouge Filis de pute<\/i>Scots man, the docteur<\/i> you should be talking to. Ask him about where he was a few nights ago, eh?\u201d He spat near my feet.
+++++<\/span>I swallowed hard. \u201cWhy Doctor Campbell?\u201d
+++++<\/span>Andre shoved his face near mine. I could smell the rottenness of his breath as it brushed against my skin as he spoke. \u201cBecause that homme has a dark secret. Camille stumbled upon that secret and Camp Bell killed him for it.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAnd this\u2026um\u2026dark secret, what was it?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cHe killed three women\u2026he was an\u2026what is that word of someone who kills foetus inside woman?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cAn abortionist?Doctor Campbell is an abortionist? How did Camille stumble upon this?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBecause his sister was one of Camp Bell\u2019s victims.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCamille\u2019s sister was\u2026\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWhat?\u201d Andre looked at me in horror. \u201cNon<\/i>, it was not his enfant<\/i>. It was Camp Bell\u2019s enfant<\/i>. She was only seventeen when she was expecting the docteur\u2019s<\/i> child so he got rid of it and\u2026killed her\u2026Camille was heart broken. My fr\u00e8re<\/i> and I wanted to kill Camp Bell for we knew Sabina. Belle<\/i>\u00a0Sabina. But Camille said he was confronting Camp Bell by himself. Baptiste and I decided we should leave area, go trapping and meet up with Camille here. Instead, we meet you, Scribbler.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I believed him for some reason. Campbell had been acting strangely. Especially yesterday morning when Camille\u2019s body arrived. The body action I saw but took no notice. Out of the bag I took out one of the bottles of whiskey and handed it to Andre. He took it and nodded his thanks. \u201cWhat are you going to do now, Doyle?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cGo back and confront Campbell myself,\u201d I replied.
+++++<\/span>\u201cWant us to come back with you?\u201d Andre asked.
+++++<\/span>I shook my head. \u201cNo, I should confront himself myself.\u201d
+++++<\/span>He held out his hand. \u201cBrave homme<\/i>. I am sorry if we\u2019d frightened you.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I smiled. \u201cI will have to change my long johns soon.\u201d
+++++<\/span>The two men laughed and I gathered my things and climbed onto the horse but Andre walked over. \u201cMaybe you stay the night?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cBetter if I kept going, Andre. Take care.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cOui<\/i>, same with you,Petit homme. <\/i>You will be our blood fr\u00e8re\u00a0<\/i>as you were Camille\u2019s. He spoke highly of you, Scribbler, go and bear the\u00a0fils de pute
+++++<\/span>At that, I rode off into the cold, swirling mist. I felt somewhat comfortable knowing that the two brothers now have my back. Campbell I am going to confront but how? I let that decide itself. He had a lot to answer. Especially about his relationship with Camille\u2019s sister. I let that thought twirl in my mind.<\/i><\/p>\n
+++++<\/span>\u201cHow did it all go?\u201d He asked as we entered the warmth of his office. A fire was blazing in the grate and a pot of coffee was sitting on the stovetop. He poured me a mug and handed it to him. I tried to read his body but guess I was tired so I sat down in the spare chair. \u201cDid you find anythin\u2019?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cOnly a burnt out campfire,\u201d I replied. I didn\u2019t want to alert him that I met the Girard brothers and what they told me. \u201cNot much else. Except it was bloody cold.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cTole yer, boyo, that it\u2019ll freeze the bollocks off yer. Did yer manage to find them two brothers?\u201d A black look across his face.
+++++<\/span>\u201cNo,\u201d I lied. \u201cOne thing I did remember while coming back. Camille had a sister, what was her name again? Sabina?\u201d I had to play my cards carefully. I saw something dark cross his face, slightly stiffened but played it coolly. \u201cYou knew her, didn\u2019t you?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cYes, I did,\u201d he said slowly. \u201cWhat are yer implyin\u2019, Doyle?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cNothing,\u201d I said sweetly. \u201cHow well did you know Sabina?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cWell enough,\u201d again he said slowly. He placed his mug down on the table and folded his arms. \u201cShe was a beautiful young thing if that what you\u2019re asking but I don\u2019t see the point of this?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I ignored the question. \u201cWhatever happened to her?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cThe blazes am I supposed to know that?\u201d He thundered, slapping his hands hard on the table, making his mug do a jig for a few seconds. \u2018She left toon, that\u2019s all I know.\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cCalm down, Jock,\u201d I said with my hands up. \u201cI was just asking, okay?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDon\u2019t tell me to fookin well calm down, damn yer fooking eyes. Yer the one who\u2019s askin\u2019 these fookin questions. What are yer gettin\u2019 at, Doyle?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I decided to get to the point by pushing my luck. \u201cThree young women vanished from here in the past three months. One was a young Blackfoot Indian, another was a young girl, another Blackfoot from another village and the last was Sabina, Camille\u2019s sister,\u201d I really pushed the envelope here, \u201ctell me about Sabina. How long were you bedding her?\u201d
+++++<\/span>He shoved back his chair and stood up, pointing to the door. \u201cOot, yer fookin Fenian bastard! Oot! Fookin accusing me fer some fookin murders. Fookin Fenian.\u201d
+++++<\/span>I stay seated, taking no notice of the anti-Irish jibe, legs crossed as well as the arms. \u201cIs that guilt, Jock? Was it a few months before she fell pregnant to you? You tried to abort the child but killed her as well as the child. Same with the others? They were yours?\u201d
+++++<\/span>\u201cDamn yer fookin soul, Doyle,\u201d he pulled out a Navy Colt from the bottom drawer and had it pointed at my head. Twice in two days, I had guns pulled out on me. He stood there with rage on his face then a sudden change in his mannerism exposed itself. \u201cAye, they were mine,\u201d he said with a sneer as he held the gun steadily in his hand at my head. \u201cYeah, I was screwin\u2019 em girls and they fell pregnant to me, stupid b\u00f3<\/i>. I had to rid them off \u2019em child\u2019ern. Think I was gonna support em, eh? Not bloody likely so, aye I killed the babees and the mudders but they\u2019re only fookin Indians, who\u2019s gunna miss \u2019em? I buried em out in the woods fer the bears and the cougars and the wolves tae feast upon. Two were Indians. They won\u2019t be missed and Sabina, ah dear Sabina, silly young girl she was. Yer know what the young nigheans<\/i> are like,\u201d he sneered at me, still with the Navy Colt aimed at my skull. Funny enough I didn\u2019t feel fear. No life flashing before me kind of thing just felt somewhat calm. I let him rave on.
+++++<\/span>\u201cThen she came tae me, like the other two silly hoors<\/i>, saying that she was havin\u2019 me child. I couldn\u2019t have that, now could I? Not with me standin\u2019 in town. Town\u2019s doctor is an important position tae have. I couldn\u2019t have a girl goin\u2019 \u2019round with me child. Imagine what the town elders would say, the council would strip me of me standin.\u201d He went quiet for a few seconds as if gathering his thoughts.
+++++<\/span>\u201cYer know how long it bloody took me to get this far, Doyle? Nae yer wouldn\u2019t because you\u2019re just the journalist, a low rung on the society ladder. Yer just write for a yellow paper, a rag writer,\u201d he laughed at his description of me then went serious. \u201cBut I had a lot ridin, my dear boy. An important standin. I had tae git rid of the child and, of course, her. And I did. I thought I did a gud job until Camille, the stupid bloody frog, came to town askin awkward questions \u2018boot Sabina. He knew, didn\u2019t he? He knew so I had tae git rid of him so I did. Cut his throat down by the fookin river. I arranged to meet him there and he waited. I crept up on him and cut his throat deep. Left him fer the bears and wolves but that fookin prick, Tremblay came into toon with Camille\u2019s body. I knew I was stuffed unless I blamed the Girard Brothers. Yer met them, did yer?\u201d
+++++<\/span>I nodded. He smiled heartlessly. I thought my end was about to come as he stood staring at me with the Colt pointing at me then instead, he turned the gun on himself. I had no chance as he shoved it into his mouth and pulled the trigger. The roar of the Colt deafened me and seeing Campbell\u2019s skull exploding will haunt me for the rest of my born days. His body tumbled back as I sat in horror mesmerized. I heard screaming and shouting outside and someone pushed the door open to find Campbell\u2019s body lying on the floor and me still sitting, tied to a chair, blood spattered on my suit and face. Then my world went black.<\/p>\n![\"Facebook\"](\"https:\/\/www.close2thebone.co.uk\/wp\/wp-content\/plugins\/social-media-feather\/synved-social\/image\/social\/regular\/48x48\/facebook.png\"\/ "\\"Share")
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