Chapter 64 - The Detective's Darkest Discovery
Arthur’s scream ripped through the subterranean vault, bringing forensic technicians tumbling down the stairs.
Within an hour, the quiet estate was swarming with federal agents and the state medical examiner.
The basement yielded more horrors with every brick that the crowbar pried loose from the stone walls.
Three bodies had been concealed within the foundations, spanning three decades of Eleanor’s reign of terror.
Arthur sat on the stone steps, shivering uncontrollably as crime scene photographers flashed their strobe units.
Sheriff Miller walked down the stairs, his weathered face looking ten years older under the flickering basement light.
The sheriff crouched down beside Arthur and handed him a battered leather notebook found in Eleanor’s safe.
It was written in his mother’s immaculate cursive handwriting, listing dates, dollar figures, and chemical compounds.
Eleanor had used slow-acting potassium chloride and digitalis extracted from her own prized foxglove garden.
She had eliminated anyone who questioned her financial manipulations, starting with her eldest son.
Arthur stared at the name of his dead brother, remembered the funeral with an empty casket, and wept.
She had cried harder than anyone at the church, fainting into her husband’s arms while secretly pocketing millions.
A state trooper arrived at the bottom of the stairs, breathing heavily and signaling for the sheriff.
Detective Vance had just regained consciousness in the intensive care unit at Maine General Hospital.
Arthur jumped into the back of the sheriff’s cruiser, the siren screaming as they sped toward Portland.
The hospital corridors were quiet, smelling of bleach and antiseptic, guarded by two armed state troopers.
Arthur entered the glass-walled trauma room to find his father hooked to a maze of monitors and IV drips.
Detective Vance’s skull was heavily bandaged, his face swollen into shades of purple and black.
When his father saw Arthur, his good eye filled with tears of profound guilt and exhaustion.
The old detective raised a trembling hand, motioning for Arthur to lean down close to his lips.
Vance whispered that he had known about the offshore accounts for two months before the attack.
He had found Eleanor’s ledger hidden inside the hollowed-out base of the antique bronze candlestick.
When he confronted her in the parlor, she hadn't denied a single accusation.
She had simply told him that she wasn't about to spend her golden years in a state penitentiary.
She had taken the candlestick from the mantelpiece while his back was turned to call the attorney general.
Vance gripped Arthur’s sleeve with desperate strength, his monitor beeping faster with rising agitation.
He warned Arthur that Eleanor had confederates inside the judicial system, inside the prisons, and inside the police force.
She had built a network of compromised people who would kill to keep her ledger from ever reaching a courtroom.
Before Arthur could answer, the emergency alert alarms began screeching across the entire hospital floor.
The power in the ward abruptly plunged into total darkness, backup generators failing to kick on.
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Heavy footsteps echoed down the linoleum hallway outside the ICU room door.
A silhouette armed with a suppressed automatic weapon appeared in the doorway, cutting down the guard in a second.
