This was a high-end part of Brentwood, west of Bundy, north of Sunset, where the streets narrow and sidewalks are replaced by grass. Shaggy eucalyptus hovered above much of the street. The vanilla house’s immediate neighbors were one-story ranches, sitting on residential death row as they awaited the wrecking ball.

Sean pointed to a wide stone driveway leading to twin garages. A black Bentley Arnage sedan sat in front of one of the doors.

“VIP wheels,” said Milo. “Just what I need.”

“Hi, Loot. Hi, Dr. Delaware.”

The conventional department contraction for Milo ’s rank is “Loo.” Milo is not one to deal with the small stuff.

“How was Hawaii?”

Milo said, “I got you some macadamia nuts.”

“Thanks – great shirt.”

Milo ’s eyes shifted to the Bentley. “Someone stole that and had the nerve to leave blood?”

“Or something that looks a whole lot like blood.”

“As opposed to?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s blood, Loot. Haven’t called for analysis because I wanted to see what you thought.”

“Who recovered it?”

“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

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.