“The main lot. Maybe other people, I dunno. I just started working here a couple months ago.”

“So there could be copies of the key floating around?”

“That would be stupid,” said Chacon.

I said, “The lock looks new.”

Chacon said, “So?”

Milo said, “Someone did manage to unlock the chain. Boosted the Benz, put forty-three miles on it, cleaned it up, brought it back before nine, and laid the chain back in place — if it was in place when you got here.”

“It was.”

“What time was that?”

“Like I said, they want me here at nine.” Chacon’s eyes rose to the ceiling again.

“Maybe you were a little late?”

“That would be stupid.”

“So you arrived on time.”

“Yeah.”

“When you got here at nine, nothing unusual made you look twice.”

“Nope.”

“Who’s responsible for locking the chain at four thirty?”

“Me.” Chacon licked his lips. “And I did it.”

“What if a car comes back after four thirty?”

“If it’s from the main lot, they unlock and put it in.”

“That happen often?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about last night?”

Chacon got up and opened a file cabinet next to a watercooler. Miss January smiled down as he leafed through folders.

“Yesterday was no bring-backs. Right now, we only got one car out, period. Black Phantom over to the L’Ermitage on Burton. Some Arab sheik and his driver are using it for three weeks.”

“Business is slow?”

“It comes and goes.” Chacon’s eyes took another ride, this time from side to side.

Milo said, “Anyone come by recently, show interest in the cars?”

“Nope.”

“Know why we’re asking these questions, sir?”

“Nope. Sir.”

“The car was used in a murder.”

Chacon blinked twice. “You’re kidding. Who got murdered?”

“A nice old lady.”

“That’s bad.”

“Real bad,” said Milo. “She mighta been killed by a not-so-nice old man.” He described the blue-capped killer.

“No way,” said Chacon, over the music.

“You think it’s impossible an old guy would do something like that?”

“No, what I’m saying is I never saw no one like that.”

“How about anyone walking around the lot, checking out the wheels?”

Chacon shook his head. “It’s real quiet here, the only time someone comes is when a car’s broke and the main lot sends a mechanic.”

Milo turned off the music. The silence made Chacon blink repeatedly.

“No one loitered. Or just hung around? Anyone, even a homeless guy?”

“For sure no.”

“For sure?”

“There was someone I’d tell you.” Chacon reached for the radio dial. Thought better of it.

Milo said, “’Cause you want to cooperate.”

“Yeah.”

We returned to the car. Running Chacon’s name through the system brought up a Boyle Heights address, no outstanding wants or warrants. Three arrests ten years ago.

Two gang-related assaults and a burglary pled down to petty theft, all in Rampart Division.

“Old gangbanger,” I said.