Chapter 31
Tad had a clean record. A few speeding tickets here and there, but nothing much to speak of. No drug possession charges, no DUIs, no aggravated assault. Nothing to raise red flags. He’d been doing a good job staying under the radar.
Jack pulled up behind Mendoza's squad car. He killed the engine, and we hopped out to join the party.
"Driver’s license and proof of insurance, please," Mendoza said as he reached Tad’s door.
"Certainly," Tad replied, cautiously digging into his glovebox. He handed the necessary paperwork to Mendoza, who looked over it.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?”
"You liked the car and wanted to get a closer look?" Tad said with an optimistic smile.
"It is a nice car, sir. But you were going 65 in a 35, changing lanes without signaling, and you ran a red light."
Tad smiled again. "I could have sworn it was yellow. Was I going that fast?"
Mendoza nodded.
"Did you clock me on radar?"
"We’ve been trained to estimate speed. You were going twice as fast as anyone else on the road. I think 65 is a generous estimate."
"Do you think that's really going to hold up in court?"
Mendoza's face tensed. "Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?”
It was a bullshit line, and Tad knew it. He wasn't happy about the direction this was going. His face wrinkled, and he said, "No!”
"Do you have any drugs in the car?"
Tad's scowl deepened. "No. What does that have to do with anything?”
"I'm going to need you to step out of the vehicle."
"What? Why?"
"I gave you a lawful command. Are you failing to comply?”
Mendoza was doing everything everyone hates about traffic stops. A seemingly unnecessary escalation. It was a lawful command that would often lead to non-compliance, which was a violation. The subject could then be arrested for resisting or obstruction.
"Why do I have to get out of the car? This is ridiculous. Is your bodycam rolling? Are you recording this?”
"I am.”
Tad said to his girlfriend, "Record this."
She started to dig into her purse.
"Ma'am, I would ask you to move slowly and keep your hands where I can see them." Still in its holster, Mendoza's hand found the grip of his pistol.
I didn't blame him. Mendoza had been shot before.
By this time, JD and I were on the passenger side of the vehicle, ready for anything.
"Sir, I'm going to ask you to step out of the vehicle once again. If you fail to do so, I will arrest you for obstruction and resisting arrest."
Tad frowned, but complied. He unbuckled his safety belt, pulled the door lever, and climbed out of the low-slung sports car.
Mendoza escorted him to the rear of the vehicle, where we joined them.
Tad said, "I do not consent to any searches."
I flashed my badge and made introductions. "Special Crimes. We have a few questions for you."
The scowl on his face deepened. "Is that what this is about? Just pulling me over to harass me?”
We took over, and Mendoza walked back to the driver's side and scanned the vehicle, looking for any obvious signs of drugs or paraphernalia.
"You know Wesley Oliver, right?"
Tad's face soured. "Yeah. We went to school together.”
"Kinda surprised you weren't at his funeral today." I wasn't surprised at all. I didn't think a guy like Tad would want to show up to see his handiwork.
"I don't think Wes cared one way or the other whether I showed up today or not. Besides, I don't like to see my friends in caskets. Makes me depressed."
"I would imagine so, especially after you sold him the dope that killed him."
His brow lifted with surprise. "What!?”
"Cut the crap, Tad. We all know what you do for a living. That stuff you sell kills people.”
"I don’t know what you're talking about, man. I hadn’t seen Wes in a long time. Last I heard, he’d gotten clean. Good for him.”
"Maybe he got on your bad side. Maybe you dosed him up with enough fentanyl to kill a small army.”
His brow knitted, and he huffed, dismissing the notion. "Now, why would I want to do something like that?"
"Maybe you found out Wesley was working with the DEA as a confidential informant."
Panic filled his widened eyes.
I made it all up, but it had the desired effect.
Tad swallowed hard and said, "Wes was working with the DEA?"
It was a look of genuine surprise. I didn't think Tad was that good of an actor. It kind of crushed my theory.
"You know if someone dies from an overdose on junk you sold them, you can be charged with murder.”
Tad remained silent for a moment. "I think there's been some kind of mistake. Someone’s giving you bad information. You're operating under incorrect assumptions."
“Is that so?”
"I'm a legitimate businessman. I don't sell drugs. I don't do drugs. I don't hang around with people who do either.”
"This is a nice car. How do you afford something like that?”
"Smart investments." His eyes flicked between the two of us.
"How about you clowns write me whatever tickets you’re gonna write me.
I'll have my attorney get them dismissed.
This is a bullshit harassment stop if ever I've seen one.
You can think whatever you want, but it's not true. You got nothing on me.”
I stared him down for a long moment.
Mendoza wrote him a citation for running the red light. He knew the speeding ticket would likely get tossed.
Tad signed the ticket, got his driver's license back from Mendoza, and hopped into the Ferrari. He cranked up the engine, and the exhaust snarled as he pulled back into traffic and sped away.
"Did you get what you needed?" Mendoza asked.
"Sort of,” I said.
“Well, by his reaction, we know he didn’t think Wes was a snitch?”
“Maybe Wes was deep into him for money. Who knows?”
We thanked Mendoza for the assist, and he climbed back into his patrol car and drove off.
JD and I walked back to the Porsche. We hopped into the car, and I called Dr. Halford. She answered after a few rings. “Do you recall if Miriam’s shooter had any tattoos?”