Page 9 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

I shake my head, laughing. “Oh my God, Katie. Get a hold of yourself, woman.”

“I’m just saying he’s smokin’ hot!” She giggles.

“I’d seriously let that man have his way with me, if you know what I mean.

Well, everything but murder, of course. That seems excessive.

” She pushes her drink away and makes a sad little clucking sound in the back of her throat. “His poor, naive fiancée.”

“He didn’t do it,” I blurt.

Even if I have my own sneaking suspicions, I’m certainly not going to let on to Katie what I really think about my client. She may be my best friend, but I never forget who signs her paychecks.

“Uh-huh.” She props her chin on her hand, unimpressed. “You have to say that. You’re his counsel.” She swirls her straw around, thinking. “It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain the guy did it. I mean, let’s be real—someone that perfect has to have a flaw.”

I roll my eyes. “That kind of twisted logic is not how our legal system works, and you know it.”

“Maybe not, but it’s how vibes work.” She smirks before taking another sip of her drink.

“I heard from some girls in Junior League that the guy is still planning to attend the All Hallows Gala in a few weeks. Can you believe that?” She scoffs, chewing on her lower lip.

“Those crazy bitches are lining up for a chance to go out with a murderer.”

“No way.” I frown. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Apparently, he hasn’t missed it in, like, forever,” she says. “Biggest donor, blah blah blah. But, like, read the room, dude.”

“Obviously, we’ll instruct him not to go.”

Katie snorts into her drink. “Pfft. Good luck telling a man like that what to do.”

I grab a few nuts from the dish on our table and chew thoughtfully.

“Speaking of the Gala—any idea if the DA has security tapes from last year’s party? The night Blackhollow’s fiancée was murdered?” I try to sound all nonchalant, and not at all like the desperate person I really am. “We’re trying to get them, but the museum isn’t exactly being cooperative.”

Katie frowns. “You know I’m not supposed to give out information about an active case.”

Ugh, I love her to death, but Katie is such a goody-goody sometimes.

It really grates. To be fair, it’s not her fault.

She’s rich, attractive, smart, and well connected; her life is pretty much a cake walk.

I suppose it’s easy to have black-and-white morality when you’ve never had to face any adversity.

“Oh, come on, Katie. Our offices talk all the time and share information. It’s called discovery,” I say.

“It’s not like you’re giving me classified intel.

I’m just asking if the tapes exist. That’s all.

” I sigh and pop a few more peanuts into my mouth.

“Besides, the law isn’t a gotcha. Our jobs are to make sure the right person is behind bars and justice is served, right? ”

She hesitates for a moment, then sighs, nodding her reluctant agreement. “See, this is why you got the top grade in Negotiations class. You’ve always been way too good at getting what you want.”

I grin. “Thanks—I think?”

“Yeah, the tapes exist,” she says. “I heard about some kind of investigation hold, but you’ll have to subpoena the museum if you want access.”

I groan, feeling my frustration rise. “That could take weeks. We don’t have that kind of time.”

“I’m really sorry, James,” Katie says, giving me a sympathetic look. “I wish I could do more, but you’re just going to have to go through the proper channels.”

Screw proper channels.

Katie doesn’t know it, but she’s already given me everything I need.

Now that I’m certain the museum tapes exist and they’ve already been given to the prosecution, I’m determined to get them for our side.

Sure, I can obtain them legally through discovery, but that takes time.

The sooner we get those tapes, the sooner we’ll know what we’re working with.

The next day at the office, I know exactly what to do. I take a deep breath and dial the museum’s Executive Director’s number again. This time, when she answers, I don’t bother with pleasantries.

“Hi, it’s James Woodsen again from Whitehall & Rowe?—”

“Ms. Woodsen, as I told you yesterday, I don’t have time for?—”

“Do you have time for Damien Blackhollow, one of your biggest donors?”

She sputters into the phone, caught by surprise. “Well, yes, of course. But what does this have to do with Mr. Blackhollow?”

“Well, Sherri, I represent Mr. Blackhollow. He’s aware that these tapes exist, and he asked me personally to contact you and ask for a copy ASAP.”

This is a lie, of course.

Damien doesn’t even know I’m calling this woman, but I think if he did know, he’d approve of my tactics doing whatever it takes. Something tells me that Damien and I have that in common.

“If you don’t want to upset one of your most important patrons,” I continue, “I suggest you release them to us right away.”

Moments later, I’m confirming her address and arranging for our courier to pick up the tapes by lunchtime.

I’m elated and can’t wait to tell Quinn all about how I got the tapes—well maybe not everything , I might leave the tiny white lies out of it—but my initial excitement fades as soon as I start watching the videos.

At first glance, the footage shows exactly what I expected: party guests milling about the valet drive, talking, laughing, the usual.

Damien arrives on schedule, right around 7 p.m., stepping out of his limo and looking especially dapper in a classic Tom Ford tuxedo.

He’s all by himself. No fiancée in sight.

Then I see him leaving the Gala at 2 a.m., just like he said. That part is all good.

The problem is that his limo shows up a third time, right around 10 p.m. I can tell by the license plate that it’s the same one. It’s right around the time Damien would’ve had to leave the party to make it back to his house to commit the murder.

Unfortunately, I can’t confirm who actually gets inside the limo. There’s a weird blur on the screen right after the limo pulls up. The footage skips, almost like a glitch, and by the time it stabilizes again, the limo is gone.

That blur—it could be anyone. Even if it is Damien’s own personal limo, his driver could be dropping off someone else at his order. A friend. Family member. Work associate.

But then I think back to something my Criminal Law professor once told us. When looking for clues in a case, if you hear hooves, think of horses—not unicorns. Sure, the blur could be all those things and any of those people, but the most obvious answer?

Damien Blackhollow.