Special Circumstances (8 page)

“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 while,” he says. He’s polite, butsomewhat distant. He introduces us to Diana’s mother, Ruth Fink. Joeltold us Diana’s father died when Diana was in her teens. Mrs. Fink isalso polite, but brief.
Doris and Jenny Fontaine join us. Skipper, Arthur Patton and CharlesStern arrive as the service is beginning. A television cameramanstands about a hundred yards away, by the gate to the cemetery. Noreporters or minicams this afternoon.
As Rabbi Friedman begins the service, I notice Roosevelt Johnsonstanding next to the gate. He nods to me. The rain becomes heavierand Mrs. Fink loses her composure. The rabbi intones the kaddish, theJewish prayer of mourning.
It’s been a helluva week.
CHAPTER 7
I’VE GOT TO GO BE A LAWYER FOR A COUPLE OF HOURS
“We are looking forward to the new year with great optimism.”
—simpson AND gates managing partner arthur patton. san FHANCISCOlegal JOURNAL.
friday, january 9.
“The firm is starting to implode, Mike. Twenty labor lawyers announcedthey’re leaving. They’re talking about staff layoffs and bigcutbacks.” Joel is describing the state of the firm three days later,at six o’clock on Friday evening. We’re having a beer on his backporch as a light mist falls on the small houses built back-to-back inthe Richmond District. This is his going-away party for me from S&G.Rosie and Grace and my mom are here. So are Doris and Jenny Fontaine,and Wendy Hogan, a part-time tax attorney at S&G, and her six-year-oldson, Danny. Joel’s parents are supposed to stop by on their way totemple for Friday-night services.
“That’s fast,” I reply.
“Sounds like I got out just in time.”
“The firm must be in worse shape financially than anybody let on. Iguess we really needed the cash from Vince Russo’s deal. I’ve heardFirst Bank may foreclose on our equipment loans. They may hit up thepartners.
It may turn out to be a good thing I didn’t make partner.”
“Joint-and-several liability is a nasty thing when you’ve got a bunchof creditors out there.” Although most states now permit law firms tobe organized as “professional corporations” or “limited-liabilitypartnerships,” many firms, S&G among them, are still set up as generalpartnerships, which means each partner is fully responsible for firmdebts even if the partner didn’t sign the papers or incur the debt onbehalf of the firm. It’s an anachronism. Professional-service firmsare the only large businesses still organized as partnerships. GeneralMotors wouldn’t be structured in a similar way.
“I heard they found Vince Russo’s car,” I say.
“They found his car, keys and wallet in the parking lot at the VistaPoint at the north end of the Golden Gate Bridge. They think he mayhave jumped. Nobody saw him.”
“Any chance he’s still alive?”
He shrugs.
“No body has turned up. He could have planted the car and driven awayin another one. He could have walked to Sausalito and taken a cab.Hell, somebody could have picked him up and driven him to the airport.It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s in a warm climate sipping a fruitydrink by the beach.”
“Did he stash any cash?”
“He probably had some money in a foreign bank account.” My mom walksout from the kitchen.
“Hello, Joel,” she says. She’s having a good night.
“Have things settled down at the office?”
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Daley. Things have quieted down. We’re hopingthings will get back to normal in a few weeks.”
Joel’s son Alan marches outside with the bravado of a six-year-old andgives my mom a big hug. Little kids can spot a grandmother a hundredyards away. He is holding a piece of challah in his right hand.
“Uncle Mike,” he says, “Mommy says it’s time for you and Daddy to comeinside for dinner.”
“Are you sure, Alan?”
Still clutching the challah, he points his index finger toward me foremphasis.
“Uncle Mike, Mommy says you and Daddy have to come in right now, oryou’ll have to take a time-out.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Tell Mommy we’ll be right there. Oh, Alan? Can I sit next to you?”
He smiles.
“Sorry, Uncle Mike. I always sit next to Daddy.”
A large oak table overwhelms the small dining room. Alan and his twinbrother, Stephen, are impressively well-behaved as they sit quietly onopposite sides of the table, at right angles to their father. Joelsits at the head. Grace sits between Rosie and me with our backstoward the windows. My mom is next to me. Doris and Jenny are acrossfrom me. Naomi sits at the foot of the table.
Wendy Hogan is next to Doris. Her son, Danny, sits next to her. Wendyand her husband split up a couple of years ago. She went through themother of all custody battles. I can relate. She keeps her sad browneyes hidden behind large wire-rimmed glasses. Her frizzy hair andmousy demeanor belie the fact that she’s an absolute terror innegotiations with the IRS. I like her. We divorced, recoveringCatholics have a lot in common. And S&G has treated her like shit forthe past five years. Someday, I’m going to summon the courage to askher out.
She’s a little gun-shy around men these days. She looks serious andsays to me, “I think I may get laid off.”
“No way,” I say.
“There will be nobody left to do the work.”
“Every department is making a ‘hit list.” They won’t keep any of uspart-timers. My billables aren’t good enough.”
She may be right. She works four days a week, but she’s paid onlyabout 60 percent of what a fulltime associate makes. According to thefirm, if a lawyer works four days a week, you still have to pay rentand a secretary five days a week. As a result, it’s unfair for thefirm to pay the attorney a straight prorated salary. Most people thinkit’s just another way to screw the part-timers.
Rosie pipes up.
“Don’t worry, Wendy. The economy is good. You’ll find something.”
“It doesn’t make things easier. Whenever my finances change, Andy’slurking, trying to figure out ways to break up our custody and child-support deal.”
Danny frowns. He’s a good kid. He’s watched his parents fight overcustody his entire life. I don’t say it out loud, but I’m betting he’son his way to years of therapy.
The kids finish first and they wander to the small den in the back ofthe house to do what children do these days—watch videos and playcomputer games. As we’re clearing the table, there’s a knock at thedoor. Joel looks up.
“Mom and Dad are here.”
Alan comes bouncing down the hall.
“Grandma and Grandpa!” he shrieks with six-year-old glee. He runsthrough the dining room and down the interior stairs to open the door.His brother is a step behind him. Naomi smiles. A moment later, Alancomes back up the stairs, a troubled look on his face.
“Daddy, there’s a policeman downstairs. He wants to talk to you.”
What the hell? Joel freezes. Naomi looks alarmed.
“Okay, Alan,” he says.
“Daddy will go down and see what this is all about. Don’t worry.”
Alan goes over to his mother and grabs her hand. Joel walksdownstairs.
A moment later, we hear loud talking at the bottom of the stairs. Rosiegoes to the living room in the front of the house and looks out thewindows. I follow her. She turns to me and says, “This doesn’t lookgood.”
I look out and see two police cars parked in the small driveway. Mystomach tightens. There are four policemen. One is having a heateddiscussion with Joel.
Grace comes up to us.
“Is something wrong. Daddy?” she asks.
“No, sweetie,” I lie, trying to keep my voice calm.
“I don’t think so. It looks like the policemen want to talk to UncleJoel for a few minutes. I’ll go downstairs to find out what’s goingon.” She moves closer to Rosie.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and open the heavy wooden door. I’mstunned to see a middle-aged policeman, whose face I remember, butwhose name escapes me, putting handcuffs on Joel.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
This is bullshit.
“Excuse me. May I ask what’s going on?” I try to keep my tonenoncoTOTonterttonaV. It’s important to remember the guys with theuniforms have the guns.
“You have the right to an attorney.”
The policeman looks at me.
“Please step back, sir. This matter does not concern you.”
“Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.” What thefuck is this all about?
“Officer, Mr. Friedman’s wife asked me to find out what’s going on.”
“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”Naomi is coming out the door as the policeman says, “Mr. Friedman isbeing arrested for the murders of Robert Holmes and Diana Kennedy. Wehave a warrant for his arrest and we’re taking him into custody. Pleasestep aside.”
Un-fucking-believable. Skipper’s pulling a publicity stunt. Naomiscreams. Joel tries to calm her down.
“It’s okay. We’ll get this straightened out.”
Although Naomi doesn’t realize it, her kids have followed her. Theystart to cry.
“Naomi,” I say calmly, “let me handle this. Why don’t you take thekids back up?”
She nods and takes them upstairs. She returns without them a momentlater.
Joel is trying to reason with the policeman when a black Lincoln drivesup and Skipper steps out. The pieces are starting to fit together.
“It’s under control,” he says to nobody in particular. He turns toJoel.
“Well, young man, I knew you had a temper, but I didn’t think you’dkill two people.”
A white Channel 4 minivan pulls up behind Skipper’s car. Rita Robertsand her cameraman leap out.
Joel is furious.
“Are you out of your fucking mind, Skipper? You think I’d kill twopeople because I didn’t make partner?”
“There’s a lot more to it, and you know it. You’ll have your day incourt.”
I try to interject before things deteriorate further. I address thepoliceman. I point to the handcuffs.
“Officer, do you really need those? Mr. Friedman is a respectedattorney. He’s not a threat.”
The cop shrugs. I see the name D’Augustino on his nameplate.
“Standard procedure, sir.”
I take Skipper aside.
“What kind of stunt are you trying to pull here?”
His expression is condescending.
“Look who’s here. My favorite ex-partner. The one who just gotfired. And with good reason. Always spend your free time withmurderers?”
It’s hard for me to believe what I’m hearing. I clench my teeth.
“For God’s sake, Skipper, if you wanted to arrest him, you could havecalled. He would have surrendered without all the theatrics. He’s notexactly a flight risk.”
“Bullshit, Mike. You don’t know the half of it.”
“And I suppose you called the TV stations to make sure they were herein time for your collar?”
“I don’t know anything about that. They must have heard it on thepolice band.”
Now it’s my turn.
“Bullshit, Skipper.”
“Fuck you. This doesn’t have anything to do with you, so stay out ofit.”
Through sheer willpower, I don’t retort. Joel is in enough troublewithout my getting into hand-to-hand combat with Skipper on the frontsteps of Joel’s house.
At that moment, Joel’s mother and father arrive. They look startledat the sight. Joel’s mother, Mollie, a heavyset woman, has a knack forsaying the right thing or deciding to stay mum. She usually elects toremain silent. It keeps her out of trouble with the congregants.Joel’s father keeps his face impassive as he asks politely, “Is there aproblem, Officer?”
Skipper steps up.
“Rabbi, I’m sorry I’m the one who has to tell you, but your son isunder arrest for the murder of two people.”
The rabbi looks stunned. He takes a step back.
“There’s been a mistake.”
“I’m afraid there’s no mistake, Rabbi. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Rabbi and Mrs. Friedman huddle with Naomi, who is standing behind me.I turn around to look at them and say, “I’ll figure out what’s goingon. You guys stay put.”
The uniforms push Joel toward one of the squad cars.
“For God’s sake,” I say, “take off the handcuffs.”
Skipper can’t resist.
“Bob and Diana would have wished he’d been in handcuffs the night hekilled them.”
Asshole.
One of the uniforms says they’re taking him to the Hall of Justice.Before they put him in the car, I say to him, “Joel, I’ll be rightbehind you. Be cooperative and above all, don’t talk to anyone. Thesepeople are not your friends. Nobody down there is your friend. Gotit?”
He nods, but I see him biting back panic.
“You’ve got to take care of this, Mike.”
“I will. Right now, you’ve got to do what I say.”
The uniform shoves me out of the way.
“Who the hell are you, anyway?” he asks. I resist the urge to shovehim back.
Joel answers.
“He’s my lawyer. I’m not saying a word to you assholes unless he’spresent.”
I summon my best authoritative tone.
“May I have your attention, please?” I turn and look directly intoRita Roberts’s camera. My voice is shaking.
“My name is Michael Daley. I am Mr. Friedman’s attorney. I haveinstructed Mr. Friedman not to talk to any of you outside of mypresence. Rabbi and Mrs. Friedman are witnesses.” I turn toSkipper.
“If you talk to my client, I’ll have you brought up before the statebar.”
He turns away. My little speech was just beamed live to households allover the Bay Area. A media star is born.
The two police cars pull away and head down Sixteenth. The Lincolnfollows. I turn to Rabbi and Mrs. Friedman.
“Let’s go in. We have a problem.”
Upstairs, Naomi has sent the children to watch TV under my mother’swatchful eye. Naomi, Rosie, Wendy, Doris, Jenny and I gather in theliving room with Rabbi and Mrs. Friedman.
“What happens now?” Naomi asks.
“I’ll go down to the Hall of Justice and ask for bail. He may have tospend the night. They arrested him late on a Friday because it’s toughto find a judge right before the weekend.”
Rosie looks at me.
“You’d better get down there right away.”
“He didn’t do it, Mike,” Naomi implores.