Compulsion Read Free Page A

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.
    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.”
    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