“The owner.” Binchy thumbed his pad. “…Nicholas Heubel. Solid citizen, didn’t have to call us in the first place.”

Milo walked over to the Bentley. Unfettered sunlight bore down on a paint job so shiny it looked like molten tar. “How’d he find it?”

“Drove around and spotted it three blocks away.”

“Not much of a joyride.”

“If you think I should forget it, I will. I just want to make sure I wasn’t missing something.”

“Car unlocked?”

“Yup.”

“Give me some gloves and show me this alleged blood.”

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER
3

Several cows’ worth of premium hides, a tree or two of burl veneer.

All of it smelling like a private club in Mayfair.

The Bentley’s interior was off-white piped with black; missing the stain was impossible. The blemish in question was a smear about an inch square, on the right side of the driver’s seat. Sloping down toward the welting, at its lowest point more diluted. Rundown or someone had wiped it that way.

I supposed it could have been old ketchup, but my bet was on hemoglobin.

Milo said, “Not too impressive.”

Sean said, “There could be more, but with the carpet black it’s hard to spot anything without an up close and personal.”

“Check the trunk?”

“I popped it and did a visual scan. Looks like nothing’s ever been in there. I mean literally. There’s a couple umbrellas still rolled up and belted to the firewall. Owner says they were an option, cost eight hundred bucks and he hasn’t used them once.”

Milo stretched latex over his paws, leaned in, stuck his head close to the smear but didn’t touch it. Studying and sniffing, he checked out the carpet, the door panels, an array of glass gauges. Opening a rear door, he said, “Car smells new.”

“It’s a year old.”

“Three thousand miles on the odometer. Looks like it’s not just the umbrellas the owner doesn’t use.”

“He has a Lexus,” said Sean. “Says it’s less showy and more reliable.”

Milo examined the smear again. “Looks like blood but I’m seeing no impact, high or low velocity. Some asshole, probably a neighbor kid, took a joyride and cut himself on a chipped bong. Was the car taken from the garage?”

“From the driveway.”

“Wheels like that, owner doesn’t lock up?”

“Guess not.”

“Keys left in the ignition?”

“Owner claims no. I was going to ask him more but he had to go inside and take a call.”

Milo said, “They probably were left in, no one wants to look stupid. Boosting something this conspicuous says immaturity and impulsivity. Which fits with a neighborhood punk. So does dumping it close by. What do you think, Alex?”

“Makes sense.”