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Inside the house, the atmosphere was different. It smelled of stagnant air and the peculiar, metallic scent of a home that has been deprived of life for too long. The floorboards groaned under the weight of the search team as they moved room to room, their flashlights cutting through the dust motes dancing in the air. Nothing seemed out of place in the kitchen or the bedrooms; the house had been scrubbed of its history, wiped clean by whoever had left it behind.
But the garage held a different story.
The freezer wasn’t just closed; it was fortified.
Thick, industrial-grade metal chains were wrapped around the body of the appliance, crisscrossing over the lid like a steel web. They were cinched tight, biting into the plastic casing, and secured with a heavy-duty, weathered padlock that looked like it belonged on a shipyard gate. The sight of it sent a collective chill through the team. In the world of criminal investigation, things are only chained this tightly when what is inside is never meant to see the light of day.
The property had no active electricity. The freezer was silent, a cold, dead weight in the middle of the humid garage. Forensic photographers moved in first, their flashes illuminating the rusted links of the chain and the grim determination on the officers’ faces. Every angle was documented, every link accounted for.
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