"Everything I just said to you, I said to the police," says Karl. What did the police do with this information? nothing.

Karl had this slightly modified "hobby" car -- something between a 1988 Chev Cavalier Z24 and a 2003 Ferrari Enzo. For argument's sake, let's call it a Robitussin, because I've always thought it too cool a name for just cough syrup.

And since we're being vague, I'll tell you his real name isn't Karl. (I'm calling him Karl, because it sounds somewhat Kazakhstanian, and Kazakhstan is cool right now.)

Why the secrecy? You'll see as we progress through this story.

Anyway, one afternoon Karl walks over to where he usually parks this thing and finds...nothing. To be precise, he finds nothing, plus pending heartache. He scratches his head, wondering if he has stumbled into a parallel universe where car ownership doesn't exist. He walks around the neighbourhood a few times. Calls the city to see if it has been towed. Then he calls the police.

He relates the details to an officer, who then files a stolen vehicle report. "That was the extent of police involvement," says Karl. "No one came to the scene, nor the house, or phoned back to get more information."

He does the usual thing with his insurance company, but goes through some grief trying to convince them of the worth of his ride. It is a somewhat rare and original model of Robitussin, and was meticulously maintained by Karl, who is a full-on gearhead.

But they settle on an amount, and while he waits for the cheque to come in, he comes across a vehicle that intrigues him. The same rarish model, but the vehicle has been off the road for a few years. It has some minor issues, but nonetheless, looks like a great candidate for a project.

"It was hard to resist, I like those cars so much. So I bought it and towed it home."

One of the things it needed was a jack. So instead of going to his usual parts store, he wheels into one of the local wrecking yards. Not only do they have the jack, one of the employees thinks he knows who stole Karl's car. Someone was in not long ago, offering major pieces off a vehicle that sounded like Karl's ride. The wrecking yard guy couldn't remember much about him, except that his buddy was driving a souped-up compact with a weird paint job.

Our man Karl gets on an Internet forum that specializes in that marque. It doesn't take long before he finds pictures of the car that matches the description. One of the pictures even has the car posed in front of a house, with the house's street number visible.

"This guy posted quite a bit on this site," says Karl. "From those postings I garnered a lot of info...like what area of town he lived in."

The next night Karl makes like Magnum P.I. and bikes over to this part of town. Soon he finds the house in the photograph, and behind the house is a garage. The garage is open, work lights are on, and two guys are stripping items off a metal carcass. He thinks he recognizes his Robitussin's front seats at the back of the garage. He goes home to get binoculars and a camera, but when he returns, the garage is already shut tight.

"Everything I just said to you, I said to the police," says Karl. What did the police do with this information?

Nothing.

They said there was not enough there to issue a search warrant.

In subsequent weeks, Karl follows this guy's postings on the forum. He's asking questions about removing and installing various Robitussin components. The guy also phones back the aforementioned wrecking yard, reminding them he still had those Robitussin pieces he mentioned before, including a whole engine, and even leaves a phone number.

Karl gives all this information to the police too.

"At that point they suggested I place an ad on the site, noting I'm looking for that particular type of engine. If the guy answers my ad, then the police officer and myself would go see him together and I would try to identify the engine, maybe through a serial number. Then we would leave. If I could positively identify the engine as mine, then the officer would come back without me, and issue a search warrant."

Karl declined the generous offer.

"My main beef with that scenario, is that it puts me in the middle of a law enforcement issue, and these things can get nasty...I'm sure this guy is not working alone; he could even be connected to organized crime. He could bear a serious grudge. If he does get busted, I don't want him knowing I was the guy that figured out what he did." (Insert prison images here, viewer discretion advised).

And at this point Karl doesn't even want the car back. Why would he? It's most likely in pieces.

Frustration with the policing situation aside, he's willing to move on, and enjoy finishing, and then driving, his project car, but one thing is sorely bugging him -- that surely the thief knows Karl may soon have a very-cool replacement vehicle on the street again, ripe for the picking. Another car with lots of invested labour and attention to details -- stuff that will likely not be recoverable in an insurance settlement.

What would you do?

To top it off, this is Karl's second brush with police inaction.

About 15 years ago, thieves made off with another Robitussin of his, that time from the underground parking garage of a high-end hotel. When Karl viewed the security's videotape of the night in question, it showed no sign of his car leaving via the exit ramp. But at one of the few instances where the tape showed the security guard not at his booth, a reflection could be seen of the taillights of a car leaving via the entry point. Karl obviously suspected that that security guard was in collusion with a tow-truck driver, and asked the police to check into the matter. They said they would.

Not long after, the security guard quit. Karl followed up with the police, asking how they were progressing on the case. The police told him that they had called the security guard in question on several occasions during regular office hours, but the guy was never there when they called, because he worked nights...and he never returned their messages.