Page 28 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

Our conversation still lingers in my mind as I step outside onto the streets of Salem’s Fall, the cool morning air biting at my skin.

It’s one of those crisp fall mornings where the sky is heavy with clouds but there’s no rain yet, just the promise of it.

There’s a certain energy in the air, a mixture of anticipation but also something darker than just simple holiday fun.

Every day the town inches closer to Halloween, the energy seems to grow more intense.

It’s like a ticking time bomb is hanging over my head now, thanks to everything I’ve learned about Veil Night and the impending fourth sacrifice.

I don’t know what Lucien’s angle is, but the information he gave me is too important to ignore.

If even half of what he said is true, Damien is far more dangerous than I’d feared.

If Lucien is to be believed, Damien is somehow responsible for not only his fiancée’s death but his father’s, and who knows how many others.

After a short walk, the Salem’s Fall Police Department appears before me.

Its stark brick exterior, all business, stands in contrast against the cozy, whimsical small-town shops and restaurants surrounding it.

I push open the heavy steel doors and step inside, leaving the kitschy charms of Salem’s Fall behind for the cold gloom of the government building.

A middle-aged woman with short-cropped hair and a scowl sits at the front desk, barely looking up as I approach.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

I step forward, forcing a polite smile. “I’d like to speak to someone in homicide, please.”

Her eyebrows lift, a bit rudely. “Do you have an appointment?”

I suppress an annoyed sigh, reminding myself to stay calm.

“No, but this is about an ongoing investigation in Boston,” I say and pull out my business card, sliding it underneath the plexiglass.

“My name is James Woodsen, and I’m an attorney with Whitehall & Rowe.

I need to speak with someone regarding some recent murders in Salem’s Fall that may be connected to my case. ”

Quinn would lose his mind if he knew I was doing this, using the firm’s good name and reputation to seek information without his sign-off.

We usually follow formalities like filing discovery motions or subpoenaing records from law enforcement, or we hire a private investigator, but all that takes time. Time is one thing I don’t have.

Halloween is in two weeks.

“An attorney, you say?” the woman asks, suspicious. “Shouldn’t you be going through official channels for any active cases?”

“Of course, ma’am. We’re already in contact with the Boston DA’s office, but I’m looking for information on past homicide cases in Salem’s Fall—ones that might have connections to our defense.

” I lower my voice, like I’m letting her in on a secret.

“Actually, I’m representing Damien Blackhollow.

” I pause, watching for a reaction. “I was hoping you might be able to help me out.”

I wait, hoping that dropping Damien’s name will get me somewhere. Everyone in this town seems to be either in awe of the Blackhollows or terrified of them.

Her expression changes right away. She straightens, her demeanor softening. “Let me call Detective Harris’s office. He handles most of the homicide cases around here,” she says, and I can tell the mention of Blackhollow has done the trick.

She presses a button on her phone. “Detective Harris? There’s someone here to see you—she says she’s with Damien Blackhollow’s legal team.” A pause. “Uh-huh. Okay. I’ll have her wait here for you.”

A few minutes later, a tall Black man steps out from the back office, his good looks slightly undercut by exhaustion.

He’s middle-aged, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a five o’clock shadow that suggests too many late nights on the job.

His suit is wrinkled but well-worn, like it was tailored years ago and has seen more stakeouts than press conferences.

“Ms. Woodsen?” he says, extending a hand. “Detective Harris. Come on back.”

I follow him down the narrow hallway to his office.

It’s small and cramped, papers stacked high on his desk.

A corkboard on the wall behind him is covered in crime scene photos and notes.

The space is chaotic, and I can tell just by looking that he’s swamped.

Maybe this will work in my favor. Busy detectives don’t have time to waste.

“What can I do for you today?” he asks and gestures for me to sit.

“I’m here as part of Mr. Blackhollow’s defense team,” I say. “You may have heard about the charges brought against him in Boston?”

He gives a grim smile. “I’d have to be dead not to hear about that.”

“Yes, well, I’m looking for information regarding any murders that may have taken place in your jurisdiction on or around Halloween in the last few years.

We have reason to believe that at least two murders occurred here in Salem’s Fall or very nearby, possibly similar in style to the murder of Blackhollow’s fiancée. ”

He sits up, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “You think there’s a pattern here? Like a serial killer?”

“We’re investigating the possibility.”

“That’s… interesting.” He steeples his hands below his scruffy chin.

“I have to be honest with you, I try to avoid getting into Blackhollow business as much as possible. It’s very, uh, difficult when that family is involved,” he says, his voice low and weary.

“But I’ll try to help you if I can, within reason. ”

I open my laptop to take notes of our conversation.

“I appreciate that, Detective. Anything you can tell me would be very helpful.”

He sighs and taps his fingers against the arm of his chair.

“There was one murder here two years ago, like the type you’re looking for.

A woman named Carla Moretti. She worked at Blackthorn Manor—housekeeping staff.

She was found deceased the day after Halloween.

Multiple knife wounds. Very gruesome. Bloody.

” He clicks his pen against the desk, staring at me for a beat before speaking.

“The case is still active, so I can’t disclose anything beyond what’s already public record.

Sharing investigative details could jeopardize the case. ”

My frustration spikes.

“I understand that, Detective, but this is critical to my client’s defense.”

He sighs heavily. “Look, I wish I could help more, but it’s standard policy.

And if the Blackhollows are involved, there’s even less room to maneuver.

” He leans forward. “If you want official records, you’ll need to file a discovery motion.

But I’ll be straight with you—ongoing investigations are usually sealed.

You’re not getting much, if anything.” He lets the words hang, then shrugs.

“Maybe you should be asking your client instead. He might have answers I can’t give you. ”

I repress my sigh. If only I had a client who was forthcoming about these sorts of things…

“Was it ritualistic? Was it connected to the Blackhollows?” I press, refusing to back down. I didn’t expect much from the local police, but knowing I’m on the right track—and still hitting a wall—only sharpens my frustration.

“Ms. Woodsen, please?—”

“Can’t you tell me anything? Anything at all?”

He sighs and lowers his voice. “You might check the local papers,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

“There may be articles still floating around from before the Blackhollows shut that all down. Most of it has been scrubbed from the Internet, but you might find something at the library archives.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” I say. “What about older cases? Are there any cold cases you could share with me that may be similar in style to Ms. Moretti’s death? Any murders from, say, two or three decades ago—on or near Halloween? Maybe with a connection to Damien’s father, Ian Blackhollow?”

“I’ve only been in this position for the last few years.

Any cases that far back would have been handled by Detective Murphy—he retired a few years ago.

” He frowns, tapping his fingers on the desk, thinking.

“But I imagine you could probably find something in the library archives for those as well.”

“You sure you haven’t heard anything else you can share? Even rumors?”

He leans forward, lips tightening. “I don’t know what you’re hoping to find, but if it involves the Blackhollows.

.. good luck.” He holds my gaze, and I catch something flicker behind his eyes—something wary and afraid.

“Everything tied to them has a way of disappearing. Records vanish. Stories change. Maybe you’ll find something useful in the archives, but. .. don’t hold your breath.”

His words settle heavily in the room. This is exactly what I feared.

Apparently, Damien’s family controls everything here, including the criminal justice system.

Whatever happened decades ago—and even two or three years ago—is likely locked up behind a wall of wealth and influence.

I stand, knowing this is as much as I’m going to get from him.

“Thanks for your time, Detective.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. “I really do hope you find what you’re looking for.”

I’ve already got my hand on the doorknob when he clears his throat. “Oh, Ms. Woodsen?”

I turn back.

“You might want to try searching nearby towns. Danvers. Peabody.” There’s something in his eyes—hesitation, a warning. “And… good luck.” A beat passes before his voice drops, quieter this time. “You’re going to need it.”