Chapter 7 - Unearthing the Truth
We didn't wait for a warrant; we had probable cause and emergency search parameters given the threat to a minor. Armed with sledgehammers, crowbars, and industrial flashlights, Miller, Davis, and I descended into the unfinished concrete basement of the house.
The basement was damp, smelling strongly of earth and old concrete. For years, I had used it as a simple storage room for holiday decorations and old furniture.
"Where did Vance spend most of his time down here?" Officer Davis asked, sweeping his light across the concrete slab floor.
I pointed toward the far corner, near the water heater and the main support pillar. There was a section of flooring where the concrete looked slightly lighter in color, as if it had been poured at a different time than the rest of the foundation.
"Right there," I said.
We cleared away the storage boxes and old shelves. Miller struck the lighter patch of concrete with the heavy iron head of a sledgehammer.
Clang.
It didn't sound like solid concrete. It sounded hollow. Like a wooden trapdoor covered by a thin skim of cement.
"Get the pry bars," Miller ordered.
For twenty minutes, we chipped away at the brittle layer of concrete skim coat, exposing the edges of a heavy oak trapdoor secured by a rusted industrial padlock. Davis used a bolt cutter to snap the lock with a loud, sharp pop.
I grabbed the iron handle of the trapdoor and pulled upward.
A wave of stale, freezing air rushed out from the depths below, carrying the distinct, unmistakable scent of an old cellar that hadn't seen the light of day in a decade.
We flicked on our high-powered flashlights and aimed them down into the darkness. A steep set of wooden stairs led down into a hidden subterranean room.
And there, illuminated in the beam of our flashlights, was something none of us were prepared to see.
Sitting neatly arranged on a wooden table in the center of the underground chamber were personal belongings: children's toys, a framed family photograph of the Miller family from 2016, and a small, neatly made cot.
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Vance hadn't just been hiding in the walls of the upper floors. He had built an entire underground bunker beneath the house years ago, using it as a lair to trap and isolate anyone who crossed his path.
And resting against the far wall of the bunker was a secured, locked metal door leading even deeper into the earth.
