Brian sat back slowly. So that was it. The smaller house. The buried box. The tape. They had meant to come back. He searched again, this time for James Whitaker. That got him somewhere almost immediately. A LinkedIn profile. Mid-twenties. Same county. Same eyes as the boy in the photograph.
Brian stared at the screen for a moment, then copied down the phone number listed on the company page and called. The man who answered sounded distracted at first. “James Whitaker.”