Free Cop Out by Susan Dunlap Page A

laughed?”
    “No. Because I talked about the client, even to him.”
    I nodded. “Did anyone else stop by? Friends, relatives?”
    “Does Ott have relatives?”
    It was an odd concept. I couldn’t really picture him with friends, much less relatives. What would he do with them if he had them? I could hardly imagine Ott taking a couple of nephews to the A’s game. “So no one came by?”
    “Right.”
    “What about Brother Cyril? You know who he is, don’t you? Did you see Ott with him or his followers?”
    “Ott? You’re kidding, right?”
    “He had a little tin cross not an inch long. Bottom comes to a point, like a sword. Did he ever show it to you?”
    “Ott? A cross? You gotta be kidding.”
    Exactly what I would have said if I hadn’t asked the question. Still, I wondered…“How about on the street? Who did he meet there?”
    Kid thrust back in his chair. “You want me to tell you everyone Herman Ott talked to on the street? We’ll be here till next month. Or would if I knew folks here well enough to remember one from the other. I can tell you there’s not a guy sitting on the sidewalk he doesn’t know.”
    “Did any contact strike you as unusual?”
    He peered at the serape threads again. Finally he looked up, his dark eyes narrowed in concern. “I’ve thought about that: Was there something I should have spotted? But there’s no way to say. Herman didn’t stop and talk to everyone on the Avenue, but it was like he could have if he’d wanted to.”
    “What about Serenity Kaetz? She sells jewelry on the street.”
    “Maybe. I don’t know.”
    “Did you see him with a big clean-cut guy in his thirties, with brown hair?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “No. That’s what I’m telling you. I can’t be sure. But clean-cut…I doubt it.”
    “Does the name Bryant Hemming ring a bell?”
    “No.” For the first time his shoulders stiffened.
    “Are you sure? Give it a little thought.”
    “Why? Why is this guy so important?”
    I watched Kidd’s face as I said, “Because he’s dead. Because his corpse was in Herman Ott’s office.” Then I added, “But you knew that, didn’t you?” By now everyone on Telegraph would know.
    He plunged the last piece of bagel into his mouth.
    “Is that a yes?”
    He nodded.
    “So, Mr. Kidd, you said you saw Herman Ott get into a van or station wagon or RV last night. And then what?”
    He was still chewing, a whole lot more slowly than on previous bites.
    “Here’s what I’m guessing you did. You went up to Ott’s office to—”
    “No!”
    “Why not? Why wouldn’t you do that? It’s a whole lot better than sleeping in the car.”
    “Ott would’ve killed me if he found out I’ve got a—”
    “A key?”
    “Yeah, well…”
    If he thought Ott hadn’t figured that out, he didn’t know Ott as well as I’d assumed he did. Ott knew his gofers kept keys; when he started out as an assistant to the elderly detective he eventually replaced, he’d been profligate with keys. He’d told me that himself once. He knew keys to his office floated around the Avenue; he knew his lock could be picked. That’s the reason he used his dead bolt.
    And the reason it would be left off by someone who had only his door key. I don’t know if Kidd came to that conclusion too, but he said, “Listen, you don’t think that I…I mean, I didn’t even know the guy who bought it. I mean, listen, I had a place to crash last night; there was no reason for me to go to Ott’s anyway.”
    I let a moment pass before I said, “I’ve just asked you to come here as a witness. You’re free to go anytime. I’m not accusing you of anything now.” All that was true, but the last word hung in the air between us.
    I waited another moment, leaned both elbows on the desk, and looked straight at Charles Kidd. “Ott’s in a bind here. I don’t think he killed Bryant Hemming either. But every moment he’s missing he looks more suspicious. You’re his friend. Help me