Chapter 2 - The Clip
By nine o’clock, the video had been watched forty thousand times.
By midnight, it had been watched two hundred thousand times and given a title Mara hated: BUS DRIVER DESTROYS TEEN BULLIES.
She learned this from her daughter, Nia, who sat cross-legged on the living-room floor with Mara’s phone in one hand and a bowl of cereal in the other.
“You’re famous,” Nia said.
“I’m employed.”
“That’s not what the internet thinks.”
Mara took off her work shoes. “The internet thinks a man in a red jacket is named Soldier Killer.”
“That’s his username.”
“That makes it worse.”
The clip had been shot from the opposite sidewalk. Whoever filmed it had caught the fall, the laughter, Mara’s approach, and the moment Elias stood. The image was shaky but clear enough to identify the jacket, the rings, and the red transit bus behind them.
The city transit authority had called Mara before she reached her apartment.
“You’re not in trouble,” her supervisor, Leonard Pike, had said.
“That sentence usually means someone is in trouble.”
“We need a statement.”
“I already gave one to the passengers.”
“A formal one.”
“I told three men to stop harassing an elderly passenger.”
“Three teenagers.”
“That distinction doesn’t improve their behavior.”
Pike had sighed. “The police want to know whether you physically touched anyone.”
“I handed Elias his cane.”
“Elias?”
“The passenger.”
“We’ll need his full name.”
Mara looked across the room at Nia. Her daughter had stopped eating.
“I’ll ask him tomorrow,” Mara said.
She had not seen Elias after he left the bus. He had stepped down at Grand Avenue, refusing her offer to call a rideshare. Before leaving, he had written a number on the back of an old grocery receipt.
If the camera is blank, call me.
Now Mara unfolded the receipt and dialed.
Elias answered on the third ring.
“You’re late,” he said.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“That is late.”
“How did you know the camera was disabled?”
“Because I asked someone to disable it.”
Mara looked at the video on Nia’s phone. “Who?”
“The same person who was supposed to meet me at Hawthorn.”
“Did they meet you?”
“No.”
“Were you expecting trouble?”
There was a pause long enough for Mara to hear a clock ticking through the phone.
“I was expecting a conversation.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“No.”
“Do you want to press charges?”
Another pause.
“Not yet.”
Mara’s patience thinned. “Mr. Rook, three people cornered you, took your cane, and made fun of your disability.”
“I know what they did.”
“Then why not report it?”
“Because the young woman did not laugh.”
“She didn’t stop them.”
“Neither did anyone else at the stop.”
The answer struck harder than it should have. Mara glanced at Nia, who had heard enough to understand.
“What are you asking me to do?” Mara said.
“Tell the truth.”
“I did.”
“Not about the bus.”
Mara sat down. “Then about what?”
“About whether you saw a black sedan parked behind the pharmacy.”
She remembered it. The car had been idling with its headlights off. She had noticed because the driver’s side window was open in the rain.
“I saw it.”
“License plate?”
“No.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“No.”
“Then we have nothing.”
“You have three witnesses and a video.”
“The video was cut.”
Nia sat up. “What?”
Mara put the phone on speaker.
Elias said, “There are eleven seconds missing between the boy taking my cane and your arrival.”
Mara replayed the clip. He was right. The image jumped from the varsity jacket bending toward Elias to Mara stepping off the bus.
“Who cut it?” she asked.
“That is what I’m trying to learn.”
“You said the camera on my bus was disabled. If someone wanted to hide something, why film the stop?”
“To make sure people looked at the wrong thing.”
Nia whispered, “Mom.”
Mara lowered the phone. “What was in those eleven seconds?”
“A handoff.”
“Between whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there.”
“I was on the ground.”
“Did someone take something from you?”
Elias did not answer.
Mara closed her eyes. “Mr. Rook.”
“Call me Elias.”
“Did someone take something from you?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“What?”
“A key.”
