Chapter 10 - The Second Box
Detective Vance’s expression hardened instantly. He turned on his heel, jumping down from the rescue truck and sprinting through the snow toward the excavation site, with Marcus hot on his heels. Elena exchanged a terrified glance with Grandmother Beatrice before struggling to her feet, wrapping her heavy blanket tighter around her shoulders, and following them out into the storm.
At the altar platform, three forensic investigators stood in a semicircle around the open trench, their flashlights focused intensely on a dark cavity beneath the main support beam.
Detective Vance dropped down into the trench, his knees sinking into the slush. He grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight and aimed the bright beam into the deeper recess of the earth.
There, tucked neatly behind the rotting roots of an ancient pine tree, sat a second metal container. Unlike the rusted, decaying box belonging to Claire, this second box was made of heavy, polished brass. It was noticeably larger, and its surface was completely free of rust, protected by a thick layer of industrial waterproof grease.
“Careful,” Vance instructed the technician beside him. “We don't want to compromise any fingerprints or exterior trace evidence.”
Using gloved hands, the technician gently slid the heavy brass box out from the recessed dirt and lifted it onto a clean plastic sheet spread over the snow. The harsh floodlights illuminated the top of the box. There was no name engraved on this one. Instead, a complex set of initials and a series of dates were stamped directly into the brass plate: J.K. – 1998 – 2012.
Elena stepped up to the edge of the trench, her breath catching in her throat as she stared down at the brass container. “What is that? Julian was born in 1990... those dates don't match his age.”
“Those aren't Julian’s dates,” Grandmother Beatrice whispered as she limped up beside Elena, leaning heavily on Marcus for support. The old woman stared at the brass box with a look of dawning horror that seemed to age her by a decade in seconds. “Those are... those belong to Julian’s father. Arthur.”
Detective Vance looked up sharply from the trench. “Arthur Vance? No relation to me, but I know the name. Arthur Vance was a prominent local real estate developer in this county who mysteriously disappeared twelve years ago. The police department at the time ruled it a voluntary desertion.”
“It wasn't voluntary,” Beatrice said, her voice shaking violently as tears froze on her cheeks. “Arthur didn't run away with another woman. He and Julian fought constantly. Julian was barely twenty-two when his father vanished, and they hated each other with a passion.”
Elena slowly backed away from the trench, her mind racing as horrifying puzzle pieces snapped violently into place. “Arthur discovered something about Julian. Or... Julian learned how to hide a body from the person who taught him.”
“Get me the bolt cutters and a containment crate,” Detective Vance ordered the forensic team, his voice razor-sharp. “We’re transporting both boxes and the remains to the state lab tonight under armed guard.”
Before the technician could touch the brass box, a sharp, metallic click echoed from beneath the lid.
Everyone froze. The forensic technicians instantly drew back, their hands hovering in the air.
“Detective,” one technician whispered, his voice tight with alarm. “The latch... it’s spring-loaded. It wasn't locked from the outside. It was rigged.”
Before Vance could yell an order to clear the area, the brass lid popped open on its own with a sharp, echoing snap, releasing a thick puff of chemical fumes into the freezing air.
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Inside the box lay a collection of items that made Detective Vance’s face drain completely of color: a vintage gold pocket watch smeared with dark stains, a set of legal deed papers transferring all family properties solely to Julian, and a small, bloodstained silver pendant bearing the exact crest of the local county police department.
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