I could compare Leon’s prison time with Darby’s and check for overlap, I thought. I could do the same for Spada, once I found out his real name. Had Darby crossed Spada somehow? Had Darby crossed Leon? No honor among thieves.

I looked under the table and chairs, but found nothing but a few wadded-up nubbles of chewing gum. The office was a bust. The shop was a bust. Whatever was going on here wasn’t going on here now, and there was little chance anybody would be back. I swept my flash along the ceiling, my beam landing on a dusty skylight.

“Who puts a skylight in a garage?” I said loud enough for Whip to hear me.

“What?”

“There’s a skylight.”

“And?”

I stared up at it. “There is no ‘and.’ I just don’t see the point, do you? It’s a chop shop. Who’s going to sit in here and gaze up at the stars on a clear night?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“It’s a Benz. A two-door coupe. Stripped clean. Nice job, too. Leon’s guys are good.”

I walked out of the office to find Whip standing at the car, admiring Leon’s handiwork. The car was black, or had been before being liberated of most of its exterior panels. Darby drove a black Mercedes two-door coupe. I’d tailed it the first time I met him. I drew closer.

“Tell me they missed the VIN plate,” I said, checking the car.

Whip chuckled. “No self-respecting chop artist misses the VIN plate. What’s it to you?”

I swept my light over the car. “I think I tailed this car. Last time I saw Darby, he was driving a Mercedes just like this. It belonged to his boss, which I can’t prove without the VIN.”

“Well, if he drove it in here, he sure as hell wasn’t in any condition to drive it out.” Whip padded over to the passenger side, checked inside. “Nothing in here says Darby or Spada. It could be any black Benz.”

“Could be, but what if it’s the black Benz? Why leave it?”

“You’re forgetting the time factor.”

“No, if they were worried about covering things up, they’d make damned sure they took this car first.” I moved to the trunk, opened it, and found a knotted rope, like the kind sailors use to batten things down. I immediately thought of Tim’s boat. Is it Tim’s? I picked the rope up and found beneath it a single sheet of paper, which I picked up and read: I WIN. Just the two words. Written in big block letters. I held the note up for Whip to see.

“Doesn’t say it’s for you,” he said.