Compulsion

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.”

“What time this morning did you step out, sir?”

“Seven forty-five. If you want me to narrow it down, I doubt it happened after five a.m. because by then I was up and in my office, which is in the front of the house, so I think I would’ve heard something. Though I can’t be sure. One thing you can say about the darn thing, the engine’s quiet.”

“Five a.m.,” said Milo. “Early riser.”

“I like to be well prepared for the markets when they open in New York. Sometimes when I’m looking at the international bourses, I’m up even earlier than that.”

“Stock trader?”

“Dabble in commodities. This morning nothing enticed me, so I figured I’d get some breakfast, make some calls.”

“Must be successful dabbling.”

Heubel shrugged and scratched his head. “Beats honest labor. Anyway, I reported it, by the time I heard back from Detective Binchy, I’d found it.”

“Right in the neighborhood,” said Milo.

“Three blocks west, on Villa Entrada.”

“Any particular reason you went there?”

Heubel looked puzzled.

Milo said, “Are you aware of some delinquent living on Villa Entrada who might do something like this?”

“Oh,” said Heubel. “No, not at all. I just drove up and down, can’t even tell you why I did it because I wasn’t really hopeful. Probably just to do something – you know? Trying to take back control?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“If you’d asked me to bet, I’d have said it was in East L.A., or Watts or on a flatbed to Tijuana. You can imagine how surprised I was when I spotted it, parked right at the curb, keys in the ignition.”

“Speaking of the keys,” said Milo. “How did-”

“I know, I know, stupid,” said Heubel. “The main one’s in my desk drawer but who figured someone would find the other?”

“Spare set?”

“One of those magnetic dealies, I keep it in a wheel well in case the main one gets lost.” Heubel colored. “Dumb, huh?”

“Who knew it was there?”

“That’s the thing,” said Heubel, “no one. I’m so careful that when I go to the car wash I remove it. Guess I wasn’t careful enough. Maybe someone drove by and saw me removing it. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”

“All’s well that ends well,” said Milo.

“Absolutely. But the blood’s troublesome, isn’t it, Lieutenant? It wasn’t until I got home that I noticed it.” Blinking. “That’s what it is, right?”

“It’s possible, sir, but even if that turns out to be the case, there’s no evidence of violence.”

“What do you mean?”

“It really isn’t that much blood, and with violence you generally see what we call impact spatter – dripping or spray or sizable splotches. This looks more like someone wiped a cut on the leather.”

“I see,” said Heubel. “But still, someone bled in there and it wasn’t me.”

“You’re sure about that, sir?”

“Hundred percent positive. The first thing I did was to go inside and check my legs – maybe I got a mosquito bite and didn’t feel it. Not that it would bleed through my pants – I was wearing heavy jeans – my winter Diesels, they’re darn sturdy.” Patting his thigh. “I checked the front and the back of my legs, even used a mirror. Nothing.”

“That’s a lot of effort,” said Milo.

“I was a bit shaken up, Lieutenant. First the car gets taken right out of my driveway, then I find it, then there’s blood? I guess when you do the DNA and it doesn’t match to any crime victims, I’ll be able to put it to rest.”

“There’s no reason to do DNA, sir.”

“No?” said Heubel. “I heard the technology’s much better than back in the O.J. days. All these new tests, you can get results quickly.”

Milo glanced at Sean.

Sean said, “Quicker, but it still takes time, sir. And DNA’s a real expensive process.”

“Ah,” said Heubel. “This is low priority for you guys.”

“It’s not like we don’t appreciate your situation, sir-”

“The shock,” said Milo. “The feeling of violation.”

“You’ve got that right,” said Heubel. “But the main issue is what’s to say he’s not still out there plotting something?”

Milo gave him what he calls the Forensics Damage Control Lecture. An increasing necessity due to week after week of televised fairy tales.

The main points were: Forensic wizardry made for good entertainment but crime scene minutiae were relevant in less than 10 percent of crimes, the DNA logjam at the Department of Justice was so severe the department contracted with a lab in New Jersey for the overflow, and the backup was so bad only homicides and violent sexual assaults merited analysis.

“Even with a serious felony, Mr. Heubel, it can take months.”

“Wow. How in the world do you ever solve any crimes, Lieutenant?”

Milo smiled. “We bumble around and sometimes we get lucky.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – ten percent, that’s all?”

“At best.”

“Okay, I hear you… It’s just that one lives in a specific neighborhood in the belief that one can be relatively insulated from – I suppose that’s also a fantasy.”

“This is a safe neighborhood, sir. One of the safest in our division.” Holding back the nasty little Westside secret: Violence in the high-priced zip codes is rare but burglaries, including grand theft auto, aren’t. Because as one captured burglar put it, “That’s where the cool stuff is.”