When he spoke, the little mouth sort of blew a kiss; combined with the other thing that orifice reminded me of, that was disturbing.

He said, “I was intrigued when I heard who it was. Who you are. My father used to get a kick out of reading about you in the papers, back when you stirred things up around town.”

I just smiled and nodded. Everybody’s father seemed impressed with me.

He sat forward, cocked his head and folded his hands; on the low-slung cabinet behind him, a trio of green monitor screens glowed, their cursors pulsing. “What’s this about my Ferrari?”

Yes, one of the two F40 Ferraris in Manhattan had turned out to belong to an employee of the Colby brokerage firm—this young exec, in fact.

I had called the other F40 owner, an attorney named Randall with Weiss & Lambrusa, a firm with a pricey Broadway office and a big reputation. The attorney had told me that his vehicle was housed at a private garage and that he’d used it just this past weekend. It hadn’t been stolen and he had not noticed signs of damage. I took down the information about where he stowed the wheels, to see if somebody there might have “borrowed” the Ferrari.

But that could wait.

An F40 owner who worked at Colby, Daltree & Levine seemed a more logical priority, and a higher one.

Despite what Captain Chambers had said about my thriving on coincidences, really I was just as wary about them as the next detective. I just didn’t view every coincidence as an impossibility or, for that matter, a conspiracy.

After all, this young exec had a high-paying enough job to be one of that elite group of Manhattanites who could afford to own a Ferrari F40.

I had made this appointment by phone through that Red Riding Hood out there. The receptionist had checked with Mr. Owens while I waited on the line; all she had available to pass along were my name and my desire to talk to Owens about his Ferrari. I hadn’t expected that paltry info would lead to him getting on to talk to me directly, and was surprised when I got the go-ahead to come around. Right around, if possible.

Which I had.

“Obviously you’re aware,” I said to my mysteriously cooperative host, “that your associate, Vincent Colby, had a narrow scrape with a hit-and-run recently.”

His shrug was a tossed-off thing. “Of course. And I’m relieved, all of us are, that Vincent wasn’t badly hurt, although…well, we’re all relieved.”

I put an ankle on a knee. “If you were about to say that you’re concerned about the aftereffects of his concussion, that’s no surprise to me. I’m working for Vincent’s father, looking into the ‘accident.’”

The tiny mouth tightened. “Yes…I know.”

I frowned. “Vance Colby told you?”

Owens widened his eyes but they didn’t lose their sleepy look. “Well…I work closely with Vincent. He’s more the big-picture guy around here. I’m essentially the office manager. We’re friends since college. Not a lot of secrets.”