“Any idea why?”
At a loss, he said, “I don’t know.” He paused. “Holden says you think this might not be an accident?”
I shrugged. I told him my theory. “What are your thoughts on that?”
“Maybe he got himself in with some bad people. Owed some money. Turned CI. Who knows?”
I asked him to tell me about Tad, but he didn’t say anything I hadn’t heard before.
I gave him a card, talked to Cameron, Landon, and a few others. They all had pretty much the same thing to say. Some mentioned Tad. Some played dumb. Nobody offered a compelling motive.
We left the reception with full bellies after chowing down on finger foods, then headed back to theAvventura.
“What did Lacey have to say?” I asked Jack along the way.
He shrugged. "Not much. She knew that Wes was seeing Miriam from time to time. She didn't think he had gotten at odds withhis drug dealer. She couldn't name anybody whom she thought wanted to harm him. And she didn’t seem to know about any deep, dark secrets he was hiding. Nothing worth getting killed over."
“We need to find Tad Vickers.”
JD agreed.
The front had rolled in, and the sky was thick with angry clouds. Thunder crackled, and a light rain fell. The wind picked up. I wouldn't say it was cold, but the T-shirt and shorts weren’t really going to cut it.
Jack pulled into the lot and parked by the dock. We climbed out and hustled to the superyacht amid the chilly drizzle.
Buddy barked as we hurried inside. I petted the little guy, then climbed up to my stateroom and threw on a pair of jeans. I grabbed a light jacket. This was actually hoodie weather. I felt a little bad about taking Steve's hoodie, but I still hadn't ruled him out as a suspect. Though my focus was now on someone who knew Wesley. Most people are killed by someone they know. Miriam was collateral damage.
We headed back to the Nautilus to catch up with Tad. As we arrived, a red Ferrari Spider waited at the entrance. The valet hopped out and held the door for a blond-haired gentleman and his stunning raven-haired girlfriend as they approached the vehicle. Wearing a skimpy designer dress, stylish sunglasses, and spike-heeled shoes, she looked more expensive than the car.
I recognized Tad from his DMV photo.
He was mid-30s. The roots of his naturally dark hair showed through the platinum dye job. Unlike his clean-cut schoolmates,Tad had cultivated rockstar vibes over the years. His arms were sleeved in tattoos, and a silver chain dangled around his neck. He wore a few rings and wristbands. But Tad was anything but a rockstar. He gave off the aura of a guy trying too hard to be cool.
At six feet tall with a medium build, he could have been Miriam Renick’s shooter. It was hard to say.
“I think that’s our guy,” I said as Tad helped his girlfriend into the passenger seat.
I ran the Ferrari's plates through the online portal. It was registered to an LLC.
Tad hurried around the car and slid behind the wheel. He didn’t bother to tip the valet.
The engine roared as the Ferrari launched forward. Tad banked a U in the drive and darted out of the parking lot.
We followed.
The red demon zipped through traffic, weaving in and out of cars.
I called dispatch to see if we had any patrol units in the area.
“Mendoza’s on Palm Court, not far from Coralstone,” the dispatcher said.
“Tell him there’s a red Ferrari headed his way on Coralstone. I think he’ll find plenty of reasons to pull it over.”
“I’ll let him know.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
We hung back a few car lengths, trying not to be too conspicuous about it.
