Chapter 5 - The Driver's Daughter
Teresa Flores came to the diner with a box of her father's things and a tire iron tucked under her coat.
"You carrying that for us?" June asked.
"For anyone who follows me." Teresa placed the iron on the seat and slid into the booth.
She was twenty-four, worked nights at a shipping yard, and had her father's eyes. They had met at the crash inquiry, when a Voss attorney called Luis reckless. Mara had wanted to cross the room and say something. She'd been too broken and too ashamed that she hadn't.
"I should've found you sooner," Mara said.
"Yeah," Teresa answered. "You should have. So should a lot of people."
She opened the box. Inside were a bus driver's cap, a cracked watch, a packet of mints, and a small digital recorder.
"Dad recorded every shift after his boss accused him of being late," Teresa explained. "He kept receipts for everything. I listened once, right after he died. Could barely hear anything over the engine. Yesterday I found a guy who cleaned the audio."
She pressed play.
A voice crackled through the speaker. "Brake warning's still on. I need a replacement bus."
Then another voice, sharp and impatient: "You have donors waiting for a live arrival shot, Luis. Get them over the bridge."
"It's not safe."
"The mechanics signed off. Do your job."
Mara knew that second voice. Celeste Voss had used it at the pool when she said the word ruin.
Teresa stopped the recording with a trembling finger. "They told everyone my dad was drunk. His blood test was clean. I have the lab copy."
June leaned forward. "Will you go on record?"
"I want everyone who laughed at him to hear this."
Mara covered Teresa's hand with hers. "I should've defended him at the hearing."
"Then do it now."
Outside, a dark sedan idled across the street. It had been there when Mara arrived. The driver lifted a phone toward the diner's window.
May you like
Teresa's eyes followed Mara's. She shoved the recorder back into its box.
"That's the car from my apartment," she whispered. "They followed me here."
