Chapter 6 - THE MECHANIC
Caleb Rhodes looked older than forty-one.
Sunburned skin.
Deep lines around his eyes.
Hands that never stopped moving.
Ortiz interviewed him by video first.
Then federal agents brought him back east after he requested protection.
I sat behind the glass.
Caleb described the morning before Laura died.
“She brought the SUV in around eight.”
“What was wrong?” Ortiz asked.
“Brake warning light.”
“Who serviced it?”
“Victor.”
“Personally?”
Caleb nodded.
“That was unusual?”
“Very.”
“Why?”
“Owner didn’t turn wrenches unless the customer mattered.”
“What happened?”
Caleb looked toward the camera.
“Mr. Mercer came in.”
“Grant?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Went into Victor’s office.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“What happened after?”
“Victor told me to take lunch.”
“At nine thirty in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“When you returned?”
“The SUV was ready.”
Ortiz leaned forward.
“When did you realize something was wrong?”
Caleb swallowed.
“That night.”
He had seen the crash report on television.
He drove back to the shop.
The service bay camera had been wiped.
But an oily rag had been left under Victor’s workbench.
On it was a small brass compression tool used to damage hydraulic lines without obvious cuts.
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“Victor found out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“He threatened you?”
“He showed me pictures of my son leaving school.”
The room went silent.
“I left the state the next morning.”
Ortiz asked, “Did anyone pay you?”
Caleb shook his head.
“I ran.”
“Why talk now?”
He looked directly through the glass.
At me.
“Because I saw what they did to that little girl.”
Emma.
The study incident had leaked into court filings.
Caleb continued.
“I spent three years telling myself staying alive made me smart.”
His voice cracked.
“It just made me a coward longer.”
I looked away.
After the interview, Ortiz found me in the hallway.
“This connects Grant to the repair shop.”
“Not the sabotage.”
“Not yet.”
“And Victor?”
“Lawyered up.”
“Thomas?”
“Same.”
“Diane?”
Ortiz’s expression tightened.
“Missing.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She wasn’t at her house this morning.”
“Her car?”
“Gone.”
“Phone?”
“Off.”
I called Natalie.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
My heart started racing.
I drove to her house.
Front door unlocked.
“Natalie!”
No response.
Upstairs, Emma’s backpack sat on the bed.
Empty.
I ran back downstairs.
Then heard crying.
From the pantry.
Natalie sat on the floor.
Her lip was split.
Her hands trembled.
“Where’s Emma?”
“She’s safe.”
“Where?”
“With Mark. I sent them out the back when Mom arrived.”
I knelt.
“What happened?”
“Mom came here looking for Dad’s letter.”
My stomach dropped.
“How did she know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?”
Natalie pointed toward the garage.
“She took my car.”
“Why?”
“She said Grant was going to kill her.”
That evening, Diane turned herself in.
Not to local police.
To the FBI.
She arrived carrying a red leather folder.
Inside were bank records.
Property transfers.
Emails.
And a handwritten list of dates.
At the bottom was Laura’s name.
Beside it—
one sentence.
VICTOR - CAR - G. APPROVED
Ortiz looked at Diane.
“What does G mean?”
My mother stared at her hands.
“Grant.”
“Did he order Laura’s death?”
Diane closed her eyes.
“He said he would scare her.”
“What does that mean?”
“He said he would make sure she understood she needed to stop.”
“And you believed that?”
“I wanted to.”
Ortiz’s voice hardened.
“Did you know Victor would sabotage her car?”
“No.”
“Did you know afterward?”
Diane started crying.
“Yes.”
I stood behind the glass listening.
My mother had known.
For three years.
She had held me at Laura’s funeral knowing.
She had kissed Emma goodnight knowing.
She had watched me blame myself for Laura driving alone that night.
Knowing.
Ortiz asked one final question.
“Why did you keep Laura’s phone?”
Diane looked toward the observation window.
She couldn’t see me.
May you like
But somehow it felt like she knew exactly where I was.
“Because Laura recorded me.”
