“What do you mean, tomorrow morning?” Henry Harris’s voice was unusually excited, making Julian Grant wonder just how much coffee she’d had.

“We’ll head over now, do a quick search on the way, and it’ll be almost morning by the time we arrive. I’ll call two colleagues on the night shift to set out immediately. How are things arranged on your end?”

Of course, Julian Grant just wanted to go back to sleep. Serving the people should be divided between day and night—no one was paying him overtime.

He turned his head to glance at The Vault, who was looking at him with clear eyes, calling out hopefully, “Brother He…”

Julian Grant suddenly felt as if he’d been dosed with a cup of toxic coffee himself.

It had nothing to do with beauty or anything like that; it was mainly a matter of mental resolve.

He cleared his throat and, looking refreshed, said, “We’ll head over now! See you there!”

Chapter 120: Regret

In the deep of night, the cold wind whined through the mountain forest, tree shadows swaying and casting sinister shapes on the ground. The dim moonlight was blocked by thick clouds, and only loud conversation could dispel a bit of the eerie atmosphere.

Julian Grant pushed aside the weeds in front of him. Seeing The Vault struggling to walk, he simply took her hand and pulled her along.

The two moved slowly, and by the time they arrived, Henry Harris had already brought her team, showing off her driving skills, and was on site conducting an investigation.

Yellow light shone from the windows, and the sound of hurried footsteps came and went inside the house.

Henry Harris got the news and poked her head out of the second-floor window, waving at them.

The furnishings inside were simple, mostly basic furniture. Several forensic technicians were hard at work.

Henry Harris came down the stairs, saying as she walked, “There are daily toiletries and living supplies in the house, so someone must have been here not long ago. But the rooms and floors have already been cleaned. We’re looking for complete fingerprints.”

Julian Grant clicked his tongue. “Would they really be that careful?”

Could someone really erase every trace of themselves?

Henry Harris laughed, “That’s probably not the case. The cleaning wasn’t thorough.”

Everyone believed that the female victims weren’t just Nina and Sean Hall. These two were considered failures in Zachary Campbell’s eyes and were discarded early on. Besides them, there should be several other women who were unaware. They might have already been harmed, or, like Sean Hall, simply lost track of Zachary Campbell.

In a way, Zachary Campbell was incredibly bold. He enjoyed the thrill of manipulating others’ emotions and the risks of human nature, so beyond luring women, he also incited murder.

Such nerve could only be cultivated through repeated success and attempts.

Sean Hall was still in the ICU, and the other witnesses had already passed away. They hoped to find clues about new individuals in this house to help the police testify against Zachary Campbell.

Henry Harris didn’t have time to say much more, told them to arrange things themselves, and went back upstairs to investigate.

Because there weren’t enough officers on the night shift, Julian Grant was temporarily assigned to help, taking photos and recording evidence.

The Vault wandered around the house but found nothing, so she walked out of the cabin alone.

Julian Grant thought The Vault would just find a place to sit, but when he turned around, she was gone. He couldn’t find her anywhere, and, alarmed, hurried outside to look.

As soon as he stepped out, he saw The Vault standing under the yard’s white light, her gaze deep as she stared in his direction, unmoving, half-shrouded in shadow like a wandering spirit of the night.

Julian Grant felt a chill from her stare, goosebumps prickling his skin. But as he walked over, he realized The Vault wasn’t looking at him at all.

Following her line of sight, Julian Grant looked back and whispered, “What are you looking at?”

The Vault slowly turned her head, her black-and-white eyes fixed on him, and replied in a whisper, “Did you notice that the perspectives in both paintings are actually the same? Judging by the direction, lighting, and position, Zachary Campbell was observing and drawing from this very angle.”

Julian Grant lowered his head, looking at the ground beneath his feet.

He didn’t know why, but the secluded environment and The Vault’s tone made him want to silently recite the core socialist values for protection.

Without a word, The Vault suddenly took a step back, putting some distance between them.

Julian Grant glared. “What are you doing?”

Bending low, The Vault searched the grass under the dim light, then said, “Go find a shovel and dig here.”

Julian Grant asked in horror, “Are you serious?”

“Serious.” The Vault scraped the ground with her toe, pressing down the withered wild grass. “Even though the autumn grass is sparse, this patch is even shorter than the rest. I think it’s odd.”

The wild grass was already withered, but the blades still clung tenaciously to the soil. Around them, the dead grass was piled in clumps, still showing signs of spring and summer’s lushness. In the middle, only a few short, withered leaves remained, as if they were new shoots that hadn’t had time to grow.

Julian Grant couldn’t find a reason to refute her, so he simply went along. “Wait here, I’ll go look.”

Soon, Julian Grant managed to find two small shovels in the cabin. He handed one to The Vault, and the two of them squatted down and started digging.

After about half an hour, a forensic technician, bleary-eyed from exhaustion, stopped working to get some fresh air. Stretching his arms, he hadn’t even taken a breath before he saw The Vault digging in the yard.

The young officer’s heart skipped a beat, afraid that The Vault’s actions would inspire Henry Harris, and then everyone would have to join in the digging.

He hurried over and whispered, “You’re not really going to dig up the whole yard, are you? It’s not that serious, consultants. Let’s search inside first, no need to rush.”

The little shovel wasn’t made for heavy work. After all that time, The Vault had only managed to dig two shallow holes, and the front of the shovel was already bent.

The Vault glanced up at the officer, unmoved, and kept working.

The forensic technician thought her silent demeanor made her seem like some reclusive expert and couldn’t help but ask, “What are you digging for?”

The Vault replied casually, “Just digging at random.”

The economic crime officer said, baffled, “How can you just dig at random? Finding a spot to dig is all about feng shui!”

The Vault stuck the shovel into the ground. Suddenly, there was a metallic clang—not the sound of metal hitting stone, but metal striking metal, ringing briefly in the air.

All three of them froze.

The technician and Julian Grant looked up at The Vault, eyes shining.

The Vault used the shovel to clear away the top layer of soil. The technician, seeing her rough movements and afraid she’d damage evidence, quickly stopped her. “Don’t move, don’t move! Let me do it!”

He dashed back to the cabin, soon returning with his toolbox. Henry Harris and the others followed the commotion. A group gathered around the spot, squeezing The Vault out.

They worked carefully and finally dug out a box. It was clearly old, the surface completely rusted and oxidized, its original markings unrecognizable.

Henry Harris had someone pry off the small lock and open the box. Inside were several casually stacked photos of women.

Putting on gloves, Henry Harris took them out one by one to examine.

At some point, the sky had turned from pitch black to gray. The morning wind blew, dispersing the forest mist and revealing the lush green landscape.

A young man nearby shone a flashlight on the photos to help his colleagues use software to identify the people.

There were seven photos in total, representing seven women. In addition, the box contained a USB drive and several cell phones. Everything was sealed in bags, each labeled with the names of three witnesses.

Without a doubt, these items were the leverage Zachary Campbell used to coerce the three witnesses into falsely accusing Harry Forrest.

Everyone started chatting excitedly, a hint of laughter in their voices, and the atmosphere instantly lightened.

“Not bad, this Zachary Campbell.”

“This overtime was worth it tonight. We deserve a hotpot feast!”

“A big win—when the shift changes tomorrow, we have to make them treat us!”

They loved suspects who kept such detailed records for them.

At this point, the evidence might be even clearer than they’d imagined.

Henry Harris suppressed her wildly beating heart, stood up, and said, “Take everything back for testing! Everyone, pack up and make a record.”

She’d been kneeling too long, and when she stood up suddenly, she felt a bit dizzy. The young man beside her reached out to steady her, but she brushed him off.

Seeing this, Julian Grant couldn’t help but say, “Captain He, you should rest a bit too.”

“By the time we get back, it’ll be almost work hours.” Henry Harris used the classic excuse of working people everywhere. “Tomorrow.”

Julian Grant instinctively wanted to recite the poem “Song of Tomorrow.”