Page 31 of The Fourth Option
“I think he was out there asking questions. I didn’t know at the time. If I had…” She trailed off. Her shoulders slumped. “My schedule at the ER is chaos. I wasn’t always here for him.”
“What evidence do you have that there was police involvement?”
“As you read through the journals, you will see there is a code name, ‘Slate.’ Some of the people he interviewed mentioned a cop involved in the trade. Connor calls him Slate. I did some Google searching and asked a few police officers at the hospital but have not found anyone with that name. Could be code for someone or maybe a nickname.”
“You said drugs were found in his car?”
“That’s what the police report says. Heroin bricks in the trunk. They said he was a dealer, that he OD’d on his own stash.”
“Where is the car now?”
“In the garage. Cops impounded it for a month. I just picked it up a few days ago.”
Walker raised an eyebrow.
“Can I take a look?”
“Sure. Come on.”
Outside, the light had softened to gold. Leigh Ann led him through the yard to a detached garage where a late-model Range Rover Sport with a few dings sat beside a green Jetta.
“It’s open,” Leigh Ann said. “He loved this car. Took it apart more than he drove it.”
“Man after my own heart,” Walker offered.
He leaned inside. The air was tinged with age, dust, and vinyl, and something faintly mechanical. The stereo was original. The glove box door was loose.
Walker grabbed the keys from a tray in the center console and then walked around and used them to unlock the trunk. He lifted the lid. The interior was lined with clean black carpet. He folded it back to find the spare tire.
“Their evidence photos showed five bricks of heroin around that tire,” Leigh Ann said.
Walker ran a hand along the inside edge of the trunk before shutting it gently.
“Did Connor have friends, maybe a girlfriend I can talk with?”
“There was a girl that he saw from time to time. She was trouble. His friends had scattered, different schools, jobs. He was focused on this story and getting ready for Columbia.”
Leigh Ann looked him in the eye. “I want justice for my son. But I need help. If John were still alive, it would be different. Everything would be different.”
“I know.”
“So, what now?” she asked.
Walker studied her face, finding resolve behind amber bloodshot eyes. He thought of his friend, the barrel-chested man with the huge smile and even bigger heart, the man who would have been around to raise and guide Connor had it not been for the philosopher standing in his garage.
He took a breath.
“I pick up where Connor left off. Find out who Slate is. I finish what your son started.”
“You think you can do that?”
“I’m not a cop, Leigh Ann, but I’ll do what I can.”
“My husband always told me you were, well, different.”
“I’m guessing that wasn’t a compliment.”
“No, it was. John said you were a good man.”
