Chapter 11 - THE VOICE ON THE PHONE
Ortiz played the voicemail three times. On the last pass, she recognized the caller's name from an old incident report.
"Owen Pike," she said. "Outside contractor. He serviced the garage ventilation system before your crash."
"What does a ventilation guy know about brakes?" Adrian asked.
"Let's ask him."
Owen agreed to meet at a public library with his attorney present. He was forty, with worn boots and dark circles beneath his eyes. He spent most of the meeting staring at his hands.
"I got paid to do something terrible," he said. "I can't sleep anymore. I keep seeing his car going through that rail."
Adrian felt his stomach tighten. Emma, seated beside the detective, didn't reach for his hand. She let him steady himself.
Owen explained that Graham had hired him through Bellweather to make a vehicle "unreliable" before a late-night drive. Owen claimed he thought they wanted Adrian stranded long enough to miss a company vote. That story sounded thin even to Owen.
"Who told you that?" Ortiz asked.
"Graham. Vanessa was in the garage. She said he'd be fine if he stayed on the city streets."
"He took Lake Shore Drive," Adrian said.
Owen looked up, eyes wet. "I know. I watched the news."
He handed Ortiz a sealed storage drive and a signed statement prepared with his lawyer. The drive held a message from a disposable phone instructing him when the sedan would be unattended. It also contained photographs of the damaged part he'd removed after the job.
"I've been waiting for somebody to ask," he said.
"You could have called seven months ago," Adrian replied.
"I should have. Whatever happens to me, I know that."
Ortiz escorted Owen out through a side entrance. Adrian remained seated, trying to get air into his chest. Emma broke the silence.
"The next question isn't whether you can walk," she said. "It's how many people they were willing to hurt to keep you from doing it."
May you like
The detective returned and placed a new photograph on the table.
It showed Vanessa handing Owen the keys.
