Page 156 of The Fourth Option
“When you load up here with a truck, where do you go?”
“I deliver it to their depot in Metairie. A distribution center.”
“Who picks it up there?”
Gormley’s eyes shifted. “I don’t know. I leave it at the edge of the warehouse.”
Walker shifted the cruiser into gear and edged closer to the end of the pier.
“I need a name.”
He inched forward farther.
“Oh, come on, man.”
“Name.”
He gunned the engine again.
“Walt Kimbel,” Gormley blurted.
“Who’s he?”
“Senior exec at Genyra. Oversees deliveries. We code pallets for him. That’s all I know.”
“Does he work for the DA?”
“The DA? Isaacson?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t fucking know, man! I’m just a low-level cop trying to get by. I swear!”
“What about Connor Staub?”
“Who?”
“You know who I’m talking about. You kill him?”
“No.”
“Did NOPD kill him?”
Walker floored the accelerator, ate up a few more feet, and then slammed on the brake, sending Gormley careening into the partition.
“Stop! Stop!” he screamed. “Rayne and Hendrick found out he was snooping around, asking questions, putting together a story. Dumbass kid. He wasn’t even a reporter. They tried to warn him off, but he kept investigating. Started getting close.”
“So, you killed him?”
Walker inched the car forward.
“The end of the pier is getting close, Gormley. Who killed Connor Staub?”
“Oh fuck. We outsourced it. I don’t know how, exactly. My boss handled it.”
“Bates?”
“Oh shit, yeah, Bates,” he said, through the snot and tears that were now falling down his face.
