He turned back to Sean. “If this was a serious case, I’d canvass the area, starting with the dump site, find out who has teenagers with behavior problems. But that’s a big if.”

“So I shouldn’t pursue it,” said Sean.

“Owner pushing you to pursue it?”

“He’s rattled by the blood, but says he doesn’t want to make a big deal ’cause there’s no damage.”

“It was me, Sean, I’d tell him to get out the Meguiar’s and forget about it.”

“What’s that?”

“Premium leather cleaner.”

“Okay, I’m good with that,” said Sean.

“Have a nice day.”

As we headed for the Seville, the door to the vanilla house opened and a man hurried out.

Late thirties to early forties, six feet tall, with long, loose limbs, close-cropped brown hair graying at the temples, and tiny, oval-lens eyeglasses. He wore a gray T-shirt, blue velvet sweatpants, brown boat shoes without socks. The glasses perched atop a narrow, straight nose. His lips were tight and bunched as if someone were squeezing his cheeks.

“Lieutenant?” Bypassing Sean, he headed for us, took in Milo’s elephant riot shirt, then my black polo and jeans. Squinted through his glasses, trying to figure out who was in charge.

“Milo Sturgis.”

A long-fingered hand shot out. “Nick Heubel.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Heubel hooked a thumb at his Bentley. “Bizarre, huh? I told Detective Binchy I didn’t want to make a production out of it, but now I’m having second thoughts. What if the bad guy was someone in the neighborhood and they’re after more than just cheap thrills?”

“More like expensive thrills,” said Milo.

Heubel smiled. “Buying it was one of those what-was-I-thinking moments. Drive it for a week and you realize it’s just a car and you got sucked into the whole illusion… Anyway, what I was getting at is what if some local delinquent with serious antisocial tendencies is running around and the theft was a symptom?”

“Of what, Mr. Heubel?”

“Taking whatever he wants.” Heubel’s eyes behind his glasses were light brown and active.

Milo said, “You’re worried he may come back and try something else.”

“I wouldn’t call it worry,” said Heubel. “More like… I guess I am worried. It was so blatant, just swooping in and driving away.”

“Do you have any idea when it happened?”

“I told Detective Binchy it could’ve been anywhere between eleven p.m. — which is when I got home — and this morning, when I stepped out of the house and found it gone. I was headed for the Country Mart to get some breakfast. For a second, I wondered if I’d parked it in the garage, then I knew I couldn’t have because my other car’s there and the rest is taken up by storage.” His eyes rolled. “Gone. I couldn’t believe it.”