A minor collision in the alley behind Mozza brought the neighborhood together in unexpected ways. (photo by Edwin Folven)

An upper-middle class Los Angeles neighborhood, whose residents didn’t know who lives two doors down let alone the distant land across the street, ended up being, well, a neighborhood recently because a car got scratched.

Now, this was not just any car. This was the 2023 Porsche 911S of beloved chef Nancy Silverton, who happens to be my girlfriend for the last 22 years.

Several Fridays ago, she noticed her chalk-colored car had a three-inch-by-one-inch black scrape on the fender just behind the driver’s side rear tire. She had parked her car on Highland Avenue, 30 yards south of Melrose Avenue and immediately past the entrance to the valet station of her Mozza restaurants. Knowing it’s eligible for a parking ticket after 6 p.m., she had someone move the car around 5:30 p.m. and put it in the alley behind Mozza. It was here, hours later, she noticed the scratch.

A cursory check of Mozza’s and Valet Girls Parking’s cameras revealed nothing. What upset Nancy most was whoever scratched the car did not leave a note. Scratch a car, dent a car, leave a note. If one scratches a car and doesn’t leave a note, it’s generally thought the driver loses points on the Universal Good Person meter.

That next day, I got on the case.

My first interrogation was across the street at the Valvoline oil change shop. There, I talked with manager Kevin Martinez. This guy couldn’t have been more accommodating. In his cramped office, after giving him the date and approximate time, we started watching a 12-inch monitor. At 1:42 p.m., on a Friday, Nancy pulls up in her car and gets out. For the next almost three hours, Kevin and I watch a screen of fuzzy quality. Since the camera is across the street from Mozza, the angle is not good.

But a big break in the case comes at 4:32 p.m. of that fateful day. A woman, a blonde, walking up Highland Avenue, stops at the curb and looks at the Porsche. Then, as Kevin and I watch in near disbelief, she walks to the street side, and as cars streak by, squats down and stares right where the scratch is. After a few seconds, she walks away. About 10 seconds later, she reappears on camera holding a towel or rag, and get this, she starts rubbing the scratched area. No lie. Kevin and I stare at each other. After another 10 seconds of rubbing, she gives up, and runs, yeah, runs southbound on Highland Avenue and out of view.

We have a major suspect.

I leave the Valvoline shop, only to return 30 minutes later with four pizzas for the staff. The neighborhood has begun to unite.

Then a Mozza manager, aware now that 4:32 p.m. is a key time, relooks at the pizzeria’s camera and gets another view of the female suspect. She is “blonde and 30ish,” he says, and wearing a long black dress.

My next move is to the LAPD, who have been at Mozza at least a dozen times over the years for a variety of offenses including assaults, vehicles thefts and accidents. Investigative journalist Michael Hastings died in a fiery 2013 crash 150 feet from where Nancy’s car was parked.

I called a robbery detective, a burglary detective and a sergeant I know from LAPD’s Wilshire Division, which handles Mozza’s neighborhood. But my ace was to call an old friend I knew from my days at the Times covering Watts – homicide detective Sam Marullo, now at West Bureau Homicide. I knew he and his wife had been badly injured when an errant driver smashed into their car nearly three years ago and I know his disgust with bad drivers is unrivaled. He said he would get West Bureau Traffic on it. I sent him the tape of the blonde lady and his advice was, “Connect this woman to a car with a license plate.”

It’s back to Valvoline to review the tape. A few cars are possible suspects. One of them is a black Toyota SUV that looks like one parked five houses south of Mozza. Longshot, but I went and took a photo of it. Later, Nancy, bold as she is, walks onto their driveway and examines the SUV. She reports there’s no damage on the front right side of this SUV.

Then I walked the neighborhood in search of folks who had security cameras. Three neighbors answer, all pleasant, even intrigued by my tale, especially when I mention whose car I’m talking about. But they don’t have the view I need.

As she does every day, Nancy asks, “Any progress in the investigation?”

“No, but I’m meeting nice neighbors.”

The next day, a neighbor, Stefanie, comes out to walk her big dog. I tell her the story. “My husband and I love Mozza. And we are going tonight. I’ll tell him to check our security tapes,” she said.

That night, Caleb Marker, a managing partner in Zimmerman Reed law firm, and Stefanie came to Osteria Mozza and ate at the bar. They get free appetizers and desserts and Nancy and I get a view of their security footage around the time of the incident. Nothing. But we get to know two more neighbors.

The next day, more door knocks and more pleasant neighbors. One is Shahnaz, three doors down from Mozza, who is from Bahrain and London, drives a Maserati SUV and has a 13-year-old daughter whose favorite restaurant on Earth is Osteria Mozza. When she asks me if I work at Mozza, I tell her, “No, in my real life, I’m a crime reporter.” She is speechless. She loves crime reporters.

“I’ll help you. I’ll start asking around,” she said.

Our little ‘hood is growing.

That evening, Nancy’s director of operations Kate and I go to the upstairs office to fiddle with a security camera there. It wasn’t wired properly, so Kate calls the security camera installer and the next day he fixes it. Nancy and I had gone to Ojai when Kate calls with breaking news. The camera guy fixed the screen and the view of the alley was now available. She sent stunning footage. A black Toyota SUV exiting the alley makes a right turn and clearly scrapes the Porsche.

This is the Zapruder film.

Wait. A black Toyota SUV. I send Kate the photo of the license plate of the black Toyota SUV I took, the one Nancy examined. It’s a match. Bam! Book ‘em, Danno.

I tell Kate not to go to that house alone. I’ll go when I get back on Monday. But she said the security camera guy, who is Jewish, wants to go with her. They knock and the homeowner, Moshe, with a long beard, answers the door. The security guy blurts out an icebreaker, “Shalom.”

Kate reports Moshe readily admits his daughter did the deed. Kate tells him Nancy’s guy will be by Monday.

Two days later, I knock on the door. Moshe answers. He was expecting me, and he seems, surprisingly, kind of pleasant. I sure wouldn’t be pleasant if someone knocked on my door accusing me of anything. In a minute, his wife, Esther, comes to the front door and she is not kind of pleasant – she’s straight out pleasant with a nice warm smile. Then their daughter comes to the door. She is that “30ish woman” we saw on the security video. She’s 17 and feels bad about the scratch. I tell her Nancy and I just wanted a note. “My dad and I went back later, but the car wasn’t there,” she said. Her Universal Good Person points come back.

I tell them my old friend Vic, my body and paint man, saw a photo of the scratch and guesstimated between $600-$800 to fix it. Knowing Vic, this means it a $1,200-$1,500 ding elsewhere.

The man hesitates, but Esther says, “Have Vic take care of it and we will pay you.”

The girl smiles shyly and apologizes. I’m taken by their kindness and offer them a pizza. They decline the offer, adding they only eat kosher food.

A week later, I come back with a receipt from Vic. It was $700. Esther, with a smile, writes me a $700 check made out to “cash.”

I tell the other neighbors the case is solved. They are glad to hear it.

Nancy and I are out of town for a few weeks, but when we get back, maybe our new neighbors – Caleb, Stefanie, Esther, Moshe, Shahnaz, Kevin and others, plus detective Marullo – should have a block party. If we do, I’ll get the cake from a bakery nearby on Beverly Boulevard near La Brea Avenue called Mensch that I hear good things about. Plus, Moshe will approve. After all, it’s kosher.