The state park was located in Union County, and the county’s website enabled visitors to search their records based on property owners’ names. Days ago, when he’d found this site, he’d tried the Vance brothers’ names without success. But now he had dozens of names, thanks to CeCe.
He started at the top of the list. By the time he’d typed in every surname CeCe had provided, he’d compiled three possibilities.
Ken’s daughter was married to a man named Cody Ollenburger, and a couple named Cliff and Stacy Ollenburger owned property in Union County.
Jeff had a close friend named Thomas Smith, and a T. Smith owned property in Union County.
And Dennis’s wife’s sister was named Connie Collins, and a woman named Dorothy Collins owned property in Union County.
Luke’s pen scratched across paper as he wrote down the address of each of the three properties.
He opened Facebook and located the profile associated with the first name. Cody Ollenburger posted often and wasn’t touchy about privacy settings. After several minutes of scrolling, Luke found a picture from Father’s Day last year of two men who resembled each other, though separated by a few decades in age. In the post, Cody wrote about how much he appreciated his dad. He’d tagged only one person in the post.
Cliff Ollenburger. His father.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Shortly after dawn the next morning, Luke followed his GPS along a dirt road that carried him upward through dense forest toward the Ollenburger property. He’d expected to follow the address to a neighborhood, but this wasn’t that. He’d call these structures vacation cabins, not houses. As he continued, the cabins became fewer.
No streets connected this area directly to Vogel State Park. But as the crow flies, it was probably only about six miles from here to Blood Mountain. Ken and his brothers could have crossed that distance in an ATV in thirty to forty-five minutes.
He passed by Ollenburger’s address, taking a long look at the small, brown-shingled cabin set far back from the road. No cars parked there. No lights on.
After reading more of Cody and Cliff’s Facebook posts last night, he’d learned that Cliff and Stacy had moved to the Middle East for a year for Cliff’s job.
As soon as the road widened, he parked his truck, then doubled back on foot through the woods until he reached the structure. It appeared to be thirty or forty years old but had been kept up well.
Cupping his eyes against a window, he saw that the interior had been updated. Vacuum tracks marked the rug. A folded throw blanket rested over an armchair that looked new.
He moved to the next window and the next, peering in each one. He didn’t see a stash of gold bars. Then again, he hadn’t expected to. What he did see? A large gun safe spanning one wall of the second bedroom. Had Ken and his brothers borrowed hunting gear and semi-automatic guns from here? It seemed likely.
He went to the free-standing garage. A gap in the wood gave him a view of the odds and ends that surrounded a rectangle of empty floor space. The empty floor space was approximately the size of a four-seater ATV. To cover their tracks, Ken had probably moved the ATV used in the attack. But no doubt it was usually parked in this exact spot.
Luke turned and studied the backyard, hands on his hips.
A picnic table. A firepit. Lots of pine needles and a few fallen branches.
Taking his time, he walked forward.
His eyes narrowed. What was that?
Set to the side under the cover of trees, a small pipe sprouted from the earth. It was topped by a conical roof. Luke knelt next to it. This was a ventilation duct. Unlike the house, this had been built in recent years. Maybe around the time of the renovation.
What were they venting way over here?
And then it struck him.
They were venting something underground.
He yanked his phone from his pocket and ran a search.What does a ventilation pipe for an underground bunker look like?
The first image populated. His pulse and his focus intensified as he held up the image on his phone’s screen, comparing it to the scene before him.
It turned out that a ventilation pipe for an underground bunker looked just like .. .this.
What better place to store stolen gold than in a bunker, on a remote property, owned by someone not named Vance?
Certainty flooded him.
