Free Special Circumstances by Sheldon Siegel Page A

about.”
She gives him a sharp look.
“It’s a lot to worry about. Why are they so interested in talking toyou for so long?”
I sense annoyance. They’ve been through this already and Joel doesn’twant to replay it in front of Rosie and me. He picks up his hamburger,turns to me and says, “I don’t know how you can eat this stuff. It’llkill you.”
“My grandfather ate this stuff every day of his life for eighty-sevenyears.”
“Imagine how long he would have lived if he had taken better care ofhimself.”
Naomi is annoyed.
“Can you guys stop it for a minute? This is serious. Mike, why do youthink they’re giving Joel the third degree?”
Joel answers her.
“They’re just trying to figure out what happened. That’s it.
Nothing more to it. Jesus, it’s not like I’m a suspect. Two peopleare dead and the cops are just doing their job. They said they’dprobably declare it a suicide in the next couple of days.”
Naomi scowls.
“What about Vince Russo?” she asks.
“No word yet,” Joel says.
“Did the cops tell you anything more about what happened?” I ask.
“Not much. The bullets came from Bob’s gun.”
Naomi loses interest in her trench fries.
“Do we have to talk about this at lunch?”
“Sorry,” I say.
“I’m just trying to figure out why they’re so interested in talking toJoel.” I turn toward him.
“Which cop did you talk to?”
“Your buddy, Roosevelt Johnson, and his partner, Marcus Banks.”
“Johnson’s a good man.”
He shifts in his chair.
“He’s a very suspicious man. And his partner isn’t a nice guy.”
“Marcus got himself into some trouble a few years ago. He’s a littleheavy-handed. He beat a confession out of a white man for the murderof a black prostitute. Turns out the guy really did it, but they hadto turn him loose because they had nothing besides the coercedconfession. A week later, the guy woke up dead.”
“Oops.”
“Don’t underestimate them, Joel. They’re the best on the force.”
Rosie has heard enough.
“Can we change the subject now?”
Naomi looks relieved.
“You know, Mike,” Joel says, “my dad is doing the service for Diana.”
“I didn’t know she was Jewish.”
“Yeah. Well, sort of. She grew up in our neighborhood and went to ourtemple.
Except back then, her name was Debbie Fink, her hair was dark brown,her nose was longer than mine and she weighed about two hundred andfifty pounds.”
“What happened to Debbie Fink?”
“The way I understand the story, between her senior year in college andher first year in law school, she spent a summer at a fat farm, had herhair dyed and got her nose fixed. Lord knows what else she had takenin. Her personal trainer was a guy named Billy Kennedy. They weremarried for about six months.
By the time she finished her first year in law school, they weredivorced. But the remake stuck. Debbie Fink became Diana Kennedy.”
“Sounds like quite a transformation.”
“More like a rebirth. She had lots of secrets.”
“Does anybody else know about this?”
“Everybody at the firm… except you, of course.”
I look at Naomi and she nods. Rosie tosses her head back and laughs.
“I just figured out what we’re going to inscribe on your tombstone,”she says. “
“Michael Daley. Priest. Lawyer. He was always the last to know.”
” Naomi chuckles. We pay the bill and drive southbound through GoldenGate Park to Nineteenth Avenue. It’s about twenty minutes to Colma.
It’s drizzling when we reach the old Jewish cemetery at three o’clock.The crowd numbers only about thirty, and we stand under umbrellas on anartificial-turf mat next to the gravesite. Joel’s father is wearing abeige overcoat and is standing under a black umbrella. Standing nextto him is a woman I assume is Diana’s mother.
We greet him. I’ve known Rabbi Neil Friedman for years. He’s anolder, huskier version of Joel, with an eloquent, stained-glass voicewith the hint of a New York accent.
“Michael, I haven’t seen you in a