Chapter 5 - What Lies Beneath
CRACK.
The iron head of the hammer smashed into the center panel of the oak door. Splinters of dark wood exploded across the hallway runner.
I hit it again. And again.
CRACK. CRACK.
The antique brass lock groaned, bent, and finally snapped off its frame, falling to the floor with a heavy metallic clatter. The double oak doors swung open, releasing a wave of dry, dusty air that smelled of old paper, iron, and damp earth.
I pulled out my phone flashlight and clicked it on.
The interior of the armoire wasn't filled with shelves for bourbon or tax files.
The back wall of the cabinet had been completely cut away. Where the solid wood backing should have been, there was a dark, square opening cut directly into the drywall of the house—a hidden passage leading down into the space behind the kitchen pantry.
I held my breath, shining the light into the dark void.
A narrow set of wooden steps led down into a small, windowless basement room that wasn't on the house’s original architectural blueprints.
"Hannah?"
I spun around, raising the sledgehammer like a weapon.
Standing at the end of the hallway was a tall man in a navy trench coat. He had a stubbled jaw, sharp dark eyes, and a silver badge pinned to his belt.
"Don't move," I gasped, my arms shaking under the weight of the hammer.
"Easy, Mrs. Vance," the man said, holding up two broad, gloved hands. "My name is Detective Marcus Cole. Cook County Major Crimes. I was assigned to your husband's file an hour ago after the state tox reports came back from St. Luke's."
I lowered the hammer an inch, but I didn't drop it. "How did you know I was here?"
"I followed you from Pine Crest," Cole said, stepping slowly over the broken glass. "Dr. Vane called the precinct the second you left her office. She was terrified you were going to burn this place down."
"Look at this," I said, pointing the flashlight beam into the secret passage inside the armoire. "Look what he built inside my house."
Detective Cole walked up to the cabinet, unholstering his own high-powered tactical light. He shined it down the narrow stairs.
"Jesus," Cole muttered, his calm demeanor slipping for the first time. "Stay behind me, Hannah. Do not step down there until I clear it."
He drew his sidearm, flicked the safety off, and ducked his tall frame through the shattered oak doors, descending slowly into the dark hole.
I didn't stay behind him. I followed right on his heels, the sledgehammer gripped tightly in my right hand.
The room at the bottom of the stairs was six feet by eight feet, walled with rough cinder blocks and concrete flooring. It was freezing cold.
In the center of the room sat a single steel office desk, a heavy fireproof safe, and three large plastic storage bins labeled with dates stretching back seven years.
On top of the steel desk sat a digital recording rig connected to four small monitors.
I looked at the screens.
Screen 1 showed the interior of the Lake Forest master bedroom.
Screen 2 showed the nursery where Lily slept.
Screen 3 showed the kitchen.
And Screen 4 showed a live, infrared feed of Room 314 at Pine Crest Restorative Care.
He was watching her. Every hour of every day, Ryan had been sitting down in this cold, concrete cell beneath our home, watching his silent, institutionalized first wife sleep, while monitoring every breath my daughter and I took upstairs.
"He wasn't just hiding her," Detective Cole whispered, stepping up to the steel safe. "He was running a surveillance web."
"Look at the safe," I said, pointing the light at the digital keypad on the front of the steel door.
"It’s an armory-grade lock," Cole said, inspecting the dial. "We’ll need a forensic team with a thermal drill to open this."
"Try October 14th," I said.
Cole looked at me. "What?"
"The prescription bottle," I said, my voice empty. "The date it was filled. 10-14."
May you like
Cole hesitated, then reached out and punched the numbers into the keypad: 1 - 0 - 1 - 4.
The safe chimed twice. A green light flashed. The heavy steel bolt retracted with a loud THUNK.
