back to my face. “Oh, yeah, you.”
I pocketed the shield and stepped forward.
He didn’t move.
“You want to talk in the hall?” I asked, letting the edge to my voice match his.
He shrugged.
“It’s your case we’ll be talking about. If you want that broadcast through the building …”
Across the hall the sound of a television was lowered. The building was supposed to be commercial now, but probably ninety percent of the “offices” doubled as apartments. Some tenants didn’t even bother with the pretense of work.
Ott stepped back and I followed him into the ten-by-twelve room. An old wooden desk dominated it. Behind that were two file cabinets and the leather desk chair that held the yellow sweater. There was a soot-coated window next to the files and a bookcase on the far side of it. Through the connecting doorway I could see the second room, with its unmade folding bed, a formerly overstuffed chair that was now understuffed, and clothes and blankets and books strewn on top of everything. But the office where we stood now looked as if it belonged to someone other than the sloven who slept next door. Here, every file on the desk was in order, messages were in a pile next to the phone, and pencils and pens were in a mug. It was the office of a man who could put his hands on anything he needed.
But it was not an office I pictured Ralph Palmerston in. “Ralph Palmerston is dead.”
Herman Ott’s eyelids flickered, then his face became immobile. “So?”
“We found a notation and your phone number in his glove compartment.”
Still, he didn’t move.
“I need to know what you were doing for him.”
“Officer, I can’t tell you that.”
“Your client’s dead, murdered. What you’ve found out for him will be evidence.”
“You know I can’t reveal—”
“I know you can. It’s just a question of when. You don’t have a client now. I can go through legal procedures. I can waste a lot of time. I’m serious about this. In case you’ve missed it, it’s midnight, I’m soaking wet, and I’m not willing to wait around while you play hard to get.”
“I’m within my rights.”
“For the moment. There’ll come a time, soon, that you’ll be withholding evidence.”
“I’ll wait.”
I leaned back against the doorjamb. He was still standing beside his massive desk. “Look, I know Palmerston was your client. He’s not going to be coming back for your report; he’s not going to care what you’ve told me.”
His pale, narrow mouth hardened.
“And Ott, he’s not going to pay you.”
“His heirs—”
“I’ve talked to his heir. His heir doesn’t know anything about this.” His mouth opened slightly. I could see I’d gotten to him. “Now it’s possible, Ott, that we’ll use your information when we go to trial. It’s possible that the DA will need some background on Palmerston’s killer. He has to hire someone—”
“I don’t work for the DA.”
Damn. I should have remembered that. “We have a discretionary fund. We may need to buy some of your work. You can deal with us or not deal at all. No one else is going to want it.”
His pale brown eyes were set deep. Now the lids half closed over them as he considered. “What are you offering?”
“Tell me what you have and I’ll put in a request.”
“Not good enough.”
“You’ve got my word that I’ll make the request for what you’re info’s worth. It’s the best you’re going to get. I’ve only been on this case since this afternoon; it’s not even officially a homicide yet. You wait another day, and I’ll have a lead on this Shareholders Five from someone else.”
He laughed. “Who else? The research is mine.”
“The information is about someone, five someones. Given a few days I’ll come across them. It just saves time for you to tell me.”
He let the lids droop over his eyes again. I glanced at the map of Berkeley on the wall beside his desk, at the phone directories stacked atop the
I pocketed the shield and stepped forward.
He didn’t move.
“You want to talk in the hall?” I asked, letting the edge to my voice match his.
He shrugged.
“It’s your case we’ll be talking about. If you want that broadcast through the building …”
Across the hall the sound of a television was lowered. The building was supposed to be commercial now, but probably ninety percent of the “offices” doubled as apartments. Some tenants didn’t even bother with the pretense of work.
Ott stepped back and I followed him into the ten-by-twelve room. An old wooden desk dominated it. Behind that were two file cabinets and the leather desk chair that held the yellow sweater. There was a soot-coated window next to the files and a bookcase on the far side of it. Through the connecting doorway I could see the second room, with its unmade folding bed, a formerly overstuffed chair that was now understuffed, and clothes and blankets and books strewn on top of everything. But the office where we stood now looked as if it belonged to someone other than the sloven who slept next door. Here, every file on the desk was in order, messages were in a pile next to the phone, and pencils and pens were in a mug. It was the office of a man who could put his hands on anything he needed.
But it was not an office I pictured Ralph Palmerston in. “Ralph Palmerston is dead.”
Herman Ott’s eyelids flickered, then his face became immobile. “So?”
“We found a notation and your phone number in his glove compartment.”
Still, he didn’t move.
“I need to know what you were doing for him.”
“Officer, I can’t tell you that.”
“Your client’s dead, murdered. What you’ve found out for him will be evidence.”
“You know I can’t reveal—”
“I know you can. It’s just a question of when. You don’t have a client now. I can go through legal procedures. I can waste a lot of time. I’m serious about this. In case you’ve missed it, it’s midnight, I’m soaking wet, and I’m not willing to wait around while you play hard to get.”
“I’m within my rights.”
“For the moment. There’ll come a time, soon, that you’ll be withholding evidence.”
“I’ll wait.”
I leaned back against the doorjamb. He was still standing beside his massive desk. “Look, I know Palmerston was your client. He’s not going to be coming back for your report; he’s not going to care what you’ve told me.”
His pale, narrow mouth hardened.
“And Ott, he’s not going to pay you.”
“His heirs—”
“I’ve talked to his heir. His heir doesn’t know anything about this.” His mouth opened slightly. I could see I’d gotten to him. “Now it’s possible, Ott, that we’ll use your information when we go to trial. It’s possible that the DA will need some background on Palmerston’s killer. He has to hire someone—”
“I don’t work for the DA.”
Damn. I should have remembered that. “We have a discretionary fund. We may need to buy some of your work. You can deal with us or not deal at all. No one else is going to want it.”
His pale brown eyes were set deep. Now the lids half closed over them as he considered. “What are you offering?”
“Tell me what you have and I’ll put in a request.”
“Not good enough.”
“You’ve got my word that I’ll make the request for what you’re info’s worth. It’s the best you’re going to get. I’ve only been on this case since this afternoon; it’s not even officially a homicide yet. You wait another day, and I’ll have a lead on this Shareholders Five from someone else.”
He laughed. “Who else? The research is mine.”
“The information is about someone, five someones. Given a few days I’ll come across them. It just saves time for you to tell me.”
He let the lids droop over his eyes again. I glanced at the map of Berkeley on the wall beside his desk, at the phone directories stacked atop the
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