Chapter 11 - The Police Crest
The stinging chemical smell dissipated quickly into the freezing mountain wind, but the sickening realization lingered heavily over the excavation site. Detective Vance slowly stood up from the trench, his professional composure visibly shaken. He stared down at the contents of the brass box with intense, unblinking focus.
“That pendant,” Vance muttered, pointing a gloved finger toward the silver badge inside the open container. “That belongs to Detective Thomas Miller. He was the lead investigator on Arthur Vance’s missing person case twelve years ago. Miller vanished off the grid just three days after closing the file as a ‘voluntary disappearance.’”
Elena stared at the items in sheer disbelief. The scope of Julian’s crimes wasn't just a sudden, horrific snap of passion involving Claire five years ago. It was a calculated, generational pattern of violence stretching back over a decade.
“Julian didn't just learn how to hide Claire’s body,” Elena whispered, her voice trembling violently as she looked at Grandmother Beatrice. “He learned how to manipulate investigations from the very beginning. He got rid of his own father... and the detective investigating it.”
Grandmother Beatrice covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. “My son... Arthur was difficult, yes, but he didn't deserve that. And Julian... I raised him. I watched him grow up in this house. How did I never see the monster hiding right behind those polite eyes?”
“You couldn't have known, Grandma,” Marcus said softly, wrapping a comforting arm around the elderly woman’s shoulders. He looked up at Detective Vance with a hard, determined expression. “Where is Julian right now? If he has a history like this, he needs to be locked in a maximum-security facility before he manages to manipulate his way out of county jail.”
“He’s being transported to the state penitentiary holding unit as we speak,” Vance replied firmly, pulling out his radio. He pressed the transmit button. “Unit One, report status. Do you copy?”
Silence crackled over the radio static.
Vance frowned, pressing the button again. “Unit One, this is Detective Vance. Report your location and status. Over.”
Still, nothing came through the speaker except a low, persistent hiss of static.
A cold spike of dread shot straight through Elena’s chest. She stepped forward, grabbing Vance’s heavy jacket sleeve. “What does that mean? Why aren't they answering?”
“The storm,” Vance said grimly, his face tightening. “It’s knocking out radio repeater towers across the mountain ridge. But they left twenty minutes ago. They should be halfway down the pass by now.”
“Unless they never made it off the access road,” Marcus pointed out, his eyes darting toward the dark, snow-choked forest trail that led down the mountain.
Before Vance could issue new orders, the distant sound of a roaring engine echoed through the valley. It wasn't the rescue helicopter. It was the deep, rumbling exhaust of a heavy-duty vehicle accelerating rapidly through the snow.
A split second later, a pair of blinding high-beam headlights flashed fiercely through the heavy snowstorm down the access road, sweeping across the trees near the edge of the clearing.
Elena’s heart leaped into her throat. She stared down the dark mountain path as the shape of a large vehicle materialized through the blinding white sheet of the blizzard.
May you like
It wasn't a police transport van. It was Julian’s black SUV, speeding recklessly back up toward the altar.
---
