Chapter 5 - The Ground-Penetrating Radar
By three o'clock that afternoon, my parents' quiet suburban street looked like a military command staging area.
Three mobile crime lab units, two forensic anthropology vans, and four tactical police cruisers blocked off the entire block. Yellow tape stretched from tree to tree across the front yard, keeping back dozens of neighbors, local news reporters, and onlookers who had gathered under the grey, rainy sky.
I stood near the edge of the driveway, wrapped in Marcus’s heavy winter coat, holding a paper cup of warm tea that an officer had pressed into my hands. Lily was safe at the hospital under twenty-four-hour police guard with Marcus’s mother sitting beside her bed with a book.
Detectives Vance and Lee stood near the entrance of the catering storage building—the small brick structure located ten feet away from the dumpsters where Lily had been recovered seven hours earlier.
Two technicians dressed in white protective suits rolled a heavy piece of equipment across the concrete floor inside the building. It looked like a motorized lawnmower equipped with digital display screens—a ground-penetrating radar unit.
My father, Arthur Vance, was brought to the scene in the back of a police cruiser, handcuffed, his expensive suit wrinkled, his hair disheveled. He sat in the rear seat, staring straight ahead through the reinforced glass, refusing to look at me or the officers standing near the tape.
"Signal acquisition complete," a technician’s voice boomed out from inside the shed over a loudspeaker. "We are running Scan Line One."
I gripped Marcus’s hand so tightly my nails dug into his palm. He didn't complain. He pulled me closer against his side, his arm a solid, unyielding wall of support.
"Scan Line One clear," the technician announced. "Moving to Scan Line Two... near the western foundation wall."
Silence fell over the crowd of officers. The only sound was the steady beep... beep... beep of the radar unit analyzing the density of the soil beneath the four-inch concrete slab.
Then, the beeping tone changed.
It became a high-pitched, continuous drone.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
"Anomaly detected," the technician called out, his voice suddenly stripped of all casualness. "Sub-surface void at four feet. Rectangular dimensions, six feet by two feet. Organic material density detected inside."
Detective Vance looked at me across the yard. The look in his eyes told me everything I never wanted to know.
"Bring in the concrete saws," Vance ordered through his shoulder microphone. "And call the Coroner’s Office. Tell them we have a cold case recovery."
Within minutes, the high-pitched whine of a diamond-tipped saw sliced through the quiet suburban afternoon, sending clouds of white concrete dust billowing out of the shed doors into the rainy air.
As the technicians worked, Detective Lee walked over to the police cruiser where my father sat. She pulled open the rear door.
"Arthur Vance," Lee said, her voice carrying clearly across the quiet driveway. "Seventeen years ago, you filed a false police report regarding the disappearance of your son, Julian Vance. Care to update your statement before we pull his remains out from under your floor?"
My father slowly turned his head. His face was devoid of color, his skin hanging loose like old parchment. But his eyes were still dark, arrogant, and filled with bitter malice.
"He was an ungrateful parasite," my father spat, his voice loud enough for the reporters near the tape to catch every word. "Just like Maya. He thought he was going to ruin my reputation over a few financial irregularities. He threatened to go to the District Attorney."
"So you struck him down with an iron poker," Lee said flatly.
"He attacked me!" my father shouted, his composure finally breaking into a manic, unhinged fury. "I defended my home! Eleanor helped me clear the mess because we had a family to protect! We built this family! We gave them everything! And they repaid us with betrayal!"
A collective gasp went through the crowd of neighbors standing behind the police tape.
I took three steps toward the cruiser, stopping just inches from my father’s window.
"You didn't protect a family," I said, my voice cold, sharp, and steady as an ice pick. "You built a prison made of lies, murder, and greed. And today, the walls are coming down."
"Maya! You useless little bitch!" my father screamed, thrashing against his handcuffs as Officer Lee pushed him back into the seat and slammed the door shut. "You were nothing! You were an eighteen-year-old disgrace!"
"Take him to central booking," Vance commanded. "High-risk suicide watch."
As the cruiser pulled away, its tires crunching over the gravel, a forensic officer stepped out of the shed, removing his respirator mask.
"Detective Vance," the officer called out softly. "We've reached the layer beneath the concrete. We found a silver high school ring from the class of 2012, along with a rusted iron poker."
May you like
I closed my eyes, a tear cutting through the dust on my face, and whispered a name I hadn't been allowed to speak in seventeen years.
"Julian."
