Free Special Circumstances by Sheldon Siegel

Yes, he was a perfectionist. Yes, hewas driven. Yes, he screamed at times. It was never out of malice. Hesimply wanted to be the best he could be, and he expected the same fromhis colleagues.”
More coughing from the S&G section. Rosie whispers, “This is reallygetting thick.”
“It is tragic Bob won’t have an opportunity to see his children growup. It is sad he won’t have a chance to fulfill his dreams. A greatlife. Cut short.” He stops to wipe away a tear that isn’t there.
“The legacy he leaves us is great.
In his honor, I promise to each of you, and to Bob, that I will notrest until I find out the true circumstances surrounding his death. Itis my solemn pledge.”
Doris nudges me and whispers, “For God’s sake, he’s making a campaignspeech at a funeral.”
Skipper finishes his remarks with a tribute to Bob’s distinguishedrecord as a husband and as a father, which brings audible laughter fromseveral members of the firm. Two of Bob’s college friends say a fewwords about his life’s achievements. A neighbor reads a poem. Theminister reads two psalms and a small choir sings “Amazing Grace.”Finally, the organist plays “Born to Run.”
At eleven-thirty, we begin to file out.
The TV cameras jockey for the standard shot of the pallbearers bringingthe casket down the steps. Bob would have loved the fact that thepallbearers include Skipper, the two surviving members of X-Com andthree of his partners.
When we reach the bottom of the steps, I gaze around and my eyes meetthose of Roosevelt Johnson, who is standing on the sidewalk, arespectful distance away.
He is looking discreetly through the crowd. It is common practice fora homicide inspector to show up at the funeral of the subject of hisinvestigation, but somehow, I didn’t expect to see him today.
Joel and Naomi find us and we watch the pallbearers load the casketinto the hearse. I say good-bye to Doris and Jenny. Skipper’s Lincolnpulls up behind the hearse and the reporters surround him.
“Mr. Gates,” a reporter calls out, “any new information on thecase?”
Skipper elects to take the high road.
“This is an inappropriate time to discuss the investigation,” hesays.
“I will talk to you at the office.” The hearse pulls away and beginsthe long drive to the town of Colma, just south of the city, where SanFranciscans bury their dead.
You won’t find Bill’s Place in Gourmet magazine. Housed in an oldbuilding at Twenty-fifth and Clement, it was a diner before dinersbecame fashionable and it served “comfort food” four decades beforefood critics coined the term. The long counters, huge chandeliers andFormica tables are a throwback to simpler times. The waitresses havehair in varying shades of blue and orange and call their customers“honey.” It’s the best place in the city to take screaming childrenfor hamburgers and milk shakes. It may never be the subject of anAmerican Express commercial, but it’s been one of my favorite placessince my dad took me here when I was a kid.
Naomi Friedman is eating a trench fry.
“Mike, I’m worried about Joel,” she says. Joel is in the men’s room.Naomi takes off her red-framed glasses. Rosie, Joel, Naomi and I areeating a quick lunch before we head south on the 280 freeway to Colmafor our second funeral of the day. Diana’s funeral is going to be agraveside affair for immediate family and friends. I’ve been asked tosay a few words.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“He was at police headquarters all day Sunday. They asked him a lot ofquestions.”
Rosie and I glance at each other. I take a bite out of mycheeseburger.
“I’m sure they’re just trying to be thorough,” I say.
“This is a highprofile case.”
Joel returns and there’s an uncomfortable silence.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” Naomi says.
“Come on,” he says.
“All right,” Naomi says.
“I was just telling them about your glorious afternoon Sunday.”
“I already told you. It’s nothing to worry