Page 52 of Salem's Fall
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’ssmall 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 wasfound 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?”
