Page 39 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

Look into Orlando. He’s done this before. Montreal.

“Probably just somebody making shit up, because Orlando pissed him off,” Thomas said, though his facial expression didn’t support his comment. “Who’s it from? May I?”

Samson traded places with Thomas, whose hands immediately flew over the keyboard, opening different windows.

“Looks like a bogus email address,” Thomas said after a few moments. “Have you done an internet search yet?”

Samson shook his head. “Orlando and I always had an understanding that I would never ask him about his past, but I don’t have a good feeling about this.” He didn’t want to go behind Orlando’s back, but an accusation like this had to be investigated.

“Well, let’s see.” Thomas pulled up the browser and began typing different parameters into the search engine.

It took only a few seconds for the hits to come back. The top two were sponsored links, advertising a hotel in Orlando, Florida and a restaurant in the same town.

The next search result looked more promising.

“Montreal Massacre,” Samson read. “February 26, 1981.”

Thomas clicked on the link. The window that opened on the monitor showed the front page of Le Journal de Montréal, a French newspaper.

“My French is a little rusty,” Samson said.

“I’ll give you the gist,” Thomas offered. “The prominent Arnaud family was wiped out on the night of February 24, 1981. Claudette and Jean-Pierre Arnaud, their twenty-five-year-old son Jean-Phillipe, their fourteen-year-old daughter Celine, their thirty-one-year old daughter Margarite, and Mr. Arnaud’s eighty-one-year old mother Louise, were found dead in their home. They were murdered savagely. Jean-Phillipe appears to have made an attempt to escape his killer, but only made it out into the garden, where his body was found in a pool of blood. All other members of the family were found in the living room, except for Margarite Arnaud, who was found dead in an upstairs bedroom.”

“I can’t possibly believe that Orlando has any connection to this,” Samson said in disbelief.

“There’s more,” Thomas said. “All family members found in the living room and garden died from multiple stab wounds resulting in massive blood loss. Margarite Arnaud was found with her throat ripped out, though very little blood was found at the scene, which leads the police to believe that she was killed elsewhere.”

Samson met Thomas’s eyes. They both knew what this indicated. “A vampire kill.”

“Orlando Tremont, the spouse of Margarite Arnaud has disappeared. It is believed that he killed his wife and her entire family. Mr. Tremont was known for his violent outbursts, and neighbors of the couple report frequent arguments between the married couple. A friend of the family, who wanted to remain anonymous, calls the murders savage and says he’ll do everything to get justice for his friends. The police are seeking help from the public as to the whereabouts of Orlando Tremont. A reward has been—”

Thomas scrolled farther down, and stopped abruptly. A grainy black-and-white picture of Orlando appeared on the screen. Below it, it read, the suspect, Orlando Tremont. But Samson knew him under a different name.

“Orlando Carlisle.”

“It’s him,” Thomas agreed. “No doubt.”

“Fuck!”

Samson cursed and ran his hand through his hair, thinking about the next steps. The shock that the man who’d saved his own life and whom he trusted, was a stone-cold killer, settled in his bones. He couldn’t shake it off. But he was also a man who didn’t take anything at face value without doing his due diligence.

“Thomas, check everything about this story. Make sure it wasn’t just planted recently to throw suspicion on Orlando. If it’s true, there would be several sources, more pictures, police records. Do we have contacts in Canada who can verify this locally?”

“If the story holds, I’ll figure out who to talk to in Montreal. I’ll take care of it.”

“And see if you can figure out where this email came from. I want to know who gave us this breadcrumb. And why.”

“I’ll get right on it.” Thomas was already heading for the door.

“And Thomas.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Nobody can know about this until we’re a hundred percent sure it’s true. Leave Eddie out of this. It’s not that I believe that Eddie would tell anybody, but I don’t even want the possibility that anybody overhears you talking to him about this.”

“As you wish.”

Thomas left the office. When the door closed behind him, Samson looked back into the monitor, Orlando’s black-and-white picture staring back at him.