“I’ll tell you what, sir. If Detective Binchy has time, he can call for technical assistance and get a scraping, at least verify that it is blood. If the crime scene specialists have time, they can also inspect the rest of the car. If that’s your desire.”

“What would they be looking for?”

“More blood, anything out of the ordinary. It might take some time.”

“So I’d lose the car for a few days.”

“Could happen.”

“Well,” said Heubel, “I didn’t see anything anywhere else — ” He flashed a sick smile. “I looked around with a flashlight. Guess I messed up forensically.”

“Have you vacuumed the car, sir?”

“No, but my fingerprints—”

“Your prints are going to be all over the vehicle because you’re the driver. If you haven’t vacuumed and some sort of notable stain or fiber was transferred, it can be found.”

Heubel poked a finger under an eyeglass lens. “Ten percent, huh? I’d have bet ninety. Guess I’m really out of my element.”

“That’s why we’re here, sir. Would you like Detective Binchy to call for tech support?”

“Would they need to take off the door panels?”

“No, sir. They’ll use swabs, maybe do some superficial scraping, wet whatever they get in saline solution, toss in various reagents — chemicals that react with body fluids. They can do an on-spot analysis for human protein, and if it is blood, obtain an ABO typing. We’re talking a few minutes but waiting for the techs could take a whole lot longer, maybe days, so it would be best if you didn’t drive the car. In the meantime, Detective Binchy can take all your information and write a comprehensive report for our files.”

Sean kicked one shoe with the other.

Heubel said, “I do have another car to drive. Let me think about it.”

“Your choice, sir.”

“Nice to have choices,” said Heubel. “Or the illusion of such.”

As we drove away, I said, “Comprehensive report? What’s that, Sean’s punishment for wasting your time?”

“I acknowledge no such vindictiveness.”

“Planning to follow up by grounding him and taking away his Game Boy?”

He laughed. “What I will cop to is butt-covering. Guy like Heubel just might know the mayor. Last thing I need — last thing Sean needs — is cocktail chatter about how the police don’t give a crap.”

“Ah,” I said. “You were protecting the kid.”

“That’s what Uncle Milo do.”

“And who knows,” I said. “The stain could lead somewhere.”

He swiveled his head toward me. “Appeasing the rich is one thing, Alex. Conjuring up retro-Goth-neo-Mansonite vampires roaming the streets of Brentwood to butcher commodity traders is another.”

“The original Mansonites roamed Beverly Hills and Los Feliz and butchered all kinds of rich people.”

“This is a no-damage car theft perpetrated by a joyrider considerate enough to park where the owner was likely to find the damn thing.”

“Okay,” I said.