CHAPTER 6
Within fifteen minutes, Elm Street was completely cordoned off by bright yellow crime scene tape and dozens of Cedar Rapids police cruisers.
Three emergency medical vehicles idled in the driveway, their high-intensity floodlights illuminating the decaying Victorian house like a stage set under a spotlight.
Paramedics carefully loaded Aunt Sarah onto a gurney, rushing her toward the trauma unit while Thomas Granger was escorted away in heavy chains under federal marshal guard.
Special Agent David Vance from the FBI's Evidence Response Team arrived on scene, stepping onto the porch with a heavy briefcase and a team of forensic technicians.
"Officer Reed," Vance said, extending his hand as he looked over the chaotic scene. "Dispatch reported a multi-victim scenario with potential historical cold cases linked to this address."
"It's worse than a cold case, Agent Vance," I replied, leading him toward the cellar door where forensic lights had already been set up down the concrete stairs. "The boy led me straight to a reinforced subterranean structure beneath the main foundation."
We descended the narrow wooden steps into the cold, damp basement, where the smell of old concrete, damp earth, and iron hung thick in the air.
At the back wall of the cellar, behind a heavy plywood partition that Thomas had recently pried away, stood a massive, rusty steel door equipped with a mechanical combination lock.
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The door had been forced open using industrial tools, revealing a flight of stone steps leading even deeper into the dark earth below the house.
"My God," Agent Vance whispered, driving his high-powered lantern into the tunnel opening. "This isn't a storm shelter. This is a black-market bank vault from the 1970s."
