Special Circumstances (6 page)

“You’ll be all right,” I say.
“They need you to service Bob’s clients.”
“I guess. I still can’t figure it out. He waits another day and hegets three million bucks.”
“There’s got to be more to it.”
“The cops sure think so.”
“They’re just doing their jobs.”
“Spoken like the son of a cop. The head guy, Johnson, thinks there’smore to it than suicide.”
“I know Johnson. He’s a good man.”
We drive in silence across Fillmore Street through a neighborhood thatonce was known as the Western Addition, but with gentrification wasrechristened Lower Pacific Heights. We pass the dim sum restaurants onClement Street. Joel says, “I know Bob was going through anotherdivorce and this deal was all fucked up.
But I don’t see him killing himself. And I don’t see him taking Dianawith him.”
“Johnson asked me if Bob and Diana were sleeping together. You knowanything?”
“Not really. I’ve heard the same stuff everybody’s heard.”
“Just between us,” I say.
“You think they were getting it on?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Well, while we’re speculating, let’s suppose they were sleepingtogether. And she decided to break up with him. And Vince told Bobthe deal’s off. And Bob was really pissed off about the divorce. Maybeyou’ve got a scenario where he decided to end it.”
“Maybe,” he says, “but I just can’t see it. Bob’s been through itbefore. He’s been divorced three times. He’s seen deals go down inflames.”
“You think somebody killed him?”
He shrugs.
“Russo really wanted out of the deal. For that matter, so did thebuyer.”
“Why?”
“Continental Capital Corporation is the fourth-largest public companyin the world. Their young mergers-and-acquisitions stud, Jack Frazier,convinced them to buy Vince’s business. Frazier’s one of those youngMBAs who figured this deal was the next step up the ladder. Heconvinced the suits at CCC to pay nine hundred million for a companythat’s worth a lot less. By the time Golden Boy Frazier figured out hewas buying a proverbial pig in a poke, it was too late.
The boys at headquarters in Stamford won’t be happy.”
“Why didn’t they pull out?”
“They wanted to, but they couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Do you know what a breakup fee is?”
I shake my head.
“It’s a payment a buyer has to make to a seller if the buyer backs outof a deal for no reason. It’s supposed to keep the buyer serious andcover the seller’s legal fees and costs if the deal craters.”
“Why didn’t CCC pay the fee and walk?”
“Because the fee is fifty million dollars. It’s a lot of money fornothing, even for a big outfit like CCC. If they paid it, Frazierwould be working on one ofCCC’s oil rigs off the coast of Siberia bythe end of the week. There was no breakup fee if Vince killed thedeal. Frazier’s been trying to get Vince to pull the plug for the lasttwo weeks.”
“What about the guy from the mayor’s office, Clan Morris? What was hedoing there?”
“You’ll never believe this. When it looked like Vince’s business wasgoing down in flames, the mayor appointed one of those blue-ribbon taskforces. He didn’t want three thousand jobs moving to CCC’s westernheadquarters in Dallas. Bad politics. It’s one thing for the Ninersto lose a game to the Cowboys every once in a while. It’s anotherthing for three thousand jobs to go to the land of Ross Perot. So themayor got CCC to agree to keep Russo International’s headquarters hereby providing a hundred million in financing. Pretty slick. If thedeal closes, the mayor can take credit for saving a bunch of jobs.”
“So the city wanted the deal to close, even if nobody else did.”
“Actually,” he says, “they didn’t want the deal to close either.” Heglances at his watch.
“It turns out the city didn’t have the money to make the loan.
Cash-flow problems. The city was going to have to borrow the money atloan-shark rates. The mayor figured it out last night. He decidedhe’d rather lose the jobs. He figures the voters will forget about thejobs, but they’ll never forgive a budget deficit. He sent hispolitical fixer over here to kill the deal, but make it look likesomebody else’s fault. The city was going to use tax dollars tofinance the acquisition by an international conglomerate in a deal thatwas so screwed up, nobody, including our own client, wanted it toclose.”
“Looks like everybody is going to get their wish,” I say.
“Looks that way,” he replies.
As always, the weather in the Richmond District is cooler and cloudierthan downtown. We pass Park Presidio Boulevard and drive past TempleBeth Sholom, where Joel’s father holds court, so to speak. I turnright onto Sixteenth Avenue and drive halfway up the block of tightlypacked bungalows. I stop in front of Joel’s modest gray house, aroundthe corner from his father’s.
“Happy New Year,” he says as he gets out.
“I’ll talk to you next week.”
I think to myself, I hope you still have a career.
CHAPTER 5
THE LAW OFFICES OF MICHAEL J. DALEY, ESQ.
“Michael J. Daley, formerly of the San Francisco Public Defender’sOffice and formerly a partner at Simpson and Gates, announces theopening of the law offices of Michael J. Daley, Esq.” at 553 MissionStreet, San Francisco, California. Mr. Daley will continue tospecialize in criminal defense practice in state and federal court.”
—san francisco legal journal. monday, january 5.
“Now,” I say to Rosie, “all I need are a couple of paying clients, asecretary, a functional telephone and a working computer, and I’m on myway back to the big time.” She chuckles as I unpack boxes atnine-fifteen in the morning on Monday, January 5. Looks like the grandopening of the law offices of Michael J. Daley, Esq.” is going to besomewhat less than auspicious.
My new office is in the basement of the small two-story 1920s buildingon Mission Street, down the block from the Transbay bus terminal. I’mrenting space from the law offices of Rosita C. Fernandez. It was afashionable neighborhood seventy years ago. After decades of neglect,the sprawl of downtown San Francisco has given the area new life.Nevertheless, by six in the evening, there seems to be a regulargathering of homeless people in front of the building. I look up atthe side of a Chinese restaurant called Lucky Corner No. 2 through theheavy metal bars that protect my small window. The name is misleading.The restaurant isn’t located on a corner. We’ll see whether it will belucky for me. At least I know where I can get a fast lunch.
“Give it time,” Rosie says.
“We had to move a lot of files to set this up.”
“This was your file room?”
“Yeah. It looks much nicer now. Rolanda can help you get settled.”
“Thanks.” I look at the metal desk, mismatched chairs and stained filecabinet.
“I didn’t bring much. Just my computer, some books and a few files.”
“Good. Rent is due the first of the month.”
I’m already beginning to feel like we’re married again. It was muchmore fun when we were first dating and we didn’t worry about rent, carpayments and, later, diapers. We had started going out when we workedat the PD’s office.
Rosie was spinning out of a bad marriage. I was coming off a longtermrelationship with a law school classmate. We found each other on therebound. I think she liked me because I was funny. I liked herbecause she was direct. And Lord knows, we knew each other’s workschedules.
“You won’t need to remind me.
And my highly generous former partners gave me aseventy-five-thousand-dollar check for my capital and afive-thousand-dollar bonus on my way out the door.”
Rosie gives me the “okay” sign.
“Any decent places to get a bite around here?” I ask her.
“Chinese place next door isn’t bad. Noah’s Bagels on the corner ispretty good.
We don’t get out very much.” After a brief pause, she asks, “Any moreon the incident at S and G?”
Interesting choice of words. I guess “incident” sounds better than“suicides,” “shootings” or the more generic “tragedy.”
“Not much. I haven’t talked to Roosevelt since Wednesday.”
“I saw your pal Skipper Gates on the tube. He seems to think there’smore to it.”
“He’s trying to keep his name in the papers. He’s called a pressconference at nine-thirty. Want to watch?”
“Sure.”
I find my TV and turn it on. The picture isn’t bad, but the receptionwas better at the top of the Bank of America Building. I can make outthe faces of Skipper and Roosevelt standing in a briefing room.
“This is Rita Roberts of News Center 4 reporting live from SanFrancisco police headquarters. San Francisco District AttorneyPrentice Gates and Homicide Inspector Roosevelt Johnson are about tobegin a press briefing concerning the incident at the Simpson and Gateslaw firm last week, where two attorneys were killed. Mr. Gates willspeak first.”
“Incident” does seem to be the word of choice. Skipper and Rooseveltare standing behind a table on which the obligatory assortment ofevidence is laid out in clear plastic bags: some bullet casings, acomputer keyboard, a telephone answering machine and some computerprintouts. Skipper steps to the microphone. The lights go on and he’sready. He works without notes.
“I want to thank you for coming this morning,” he begins.
“My first day on the job and already I have a major case. As you know,sometime between the hours of eleven-thirty p.m. on Tuesday, Decemberthirtieth, and eight a.m. on Wednesday, December thirty-first, myfriend and former partner, Bob Holmes, and my former associate, DianaKennedy, were killed by gunshots. We are in the process ofinvestigating this tragedy and we will have further details for you asthey become available. I will now call upon Inspector RooseveltJohnson, who is in charge of the investigation.”
Roosevelt steps to the microphone. He plays his cards close to thevest.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “we are continuing our investigation.We are reviewing the evidence. We will have more for you as thesituation develops.”
Skipper returns to the microphone. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling.
“I want to thank you all for coming. We have time for just a fewquestions.”
The first question comes from the silver-haired anchor of Channel 5Eyewitness News.
“Mr. Gates, is it true the gun belonged to Mr. Holmes?”
Skipper glances at Roosevelt.
“Yes,” Skipper says.
“It was registered to Mr.
Holmes.”
“How did the gun get to the S and G office?”
The last thing Skipper wants to do is admit his partner kept a loadedpiece at his desk. He takes the offensive.
“The way any gun gets anywhere. Somebody carried it to the office.”
Not a bad response. I’m convinced.
“One of the lawyers at the firm said Holmes kept a loaded gun at hisdesk. Is it true?”
“You have good sources. I would like to talk to that person.”Laughter.
“The answer, by the way, is I don’t know. But we are looking intoit.”
Roosevelt moves to the front again.
“We are checking everything out.”
Skipper looks annoyed.
“Obviously,” he says, “we wouldn’t want to encourage people to keepconcealed weapons at their desks.”
The serious-looking woman from Channel 7 shouts, “We understand therewas a suicide note.”
Skipper says, “We have no comment.”
“Are you treating this case as a homicide or a suicide?”
Roosevelt steps forward.
“Ms. Kennedy’s death almost certainly appears to be a homicide. Theinvestigation is ongoing.”
The pretty blonde from Channel 2 who used to work at NBC pushes her wayto the front.
“Mr. Gates, what’s your gut feeling? Was it a suicide?”
Roosevelt tries to intercept Skipper before he gets to the microphone.Skipper pushes him back.
“Young lady,” he says, “Bob Holmes was my partner and my friend. Imust rely on the SFPD and experienced homicide investigators likeInspector Johnson. They will gather the evidence and I will ultimatelydecide whether there is any basis to prosecute anyone. That’s all Ihave for today.”
I turn off the TV.
“Well, what do you think?” Rosie asks.
“Not a bad performance for his first press conference.”
“No, dummy. Not Skipper. The killings. What do you think?”
“They’re not telling the whole story. They’re holding stuff back.”
“Like what?”
“Like Vince Russo. He hasn’t been found. His name wasn’t evenmentioned. There was nothing about the deal. There was nothing aboutthe divorce.”
Rosie shrugs.
“I’m due in court in twenty minutes. I’ll see you later.”
“Jesus, Mikey, I know you said you were going small-time, but this isridiculous.” At twelve-fifteen the same day, Doris is getting herfirst look at my new office.
“Do you like it?”
“This isn’t an office, it’s a closet.” She gives me a hug.
“What’s that smell?”
“I think it’s moo shu pork.” Rosie warned me. It seems my officestarts to smell like the Chinese place next door by midmorning.
“You’ll get used to it, Mikey.”
“I hope so.”
“How’s Grace?”
“Fine. And Jenny?”
“So-so. Boyfriend trouble. You know how it is.”
“I wish.”
“You will.”
We exchange small talk. She tells me things are starting to calm downat S&G.
She’s been reassigned to another attorney for the time being. Shesays she’s going to take a few weeks off for a trip to the Bahamas.
“I brought you something, Mikey,” she says. She opens a shopping bag,takes out a small plant and gives it to me.
“I thought you might like something to brighten up your office.”
“Thanks. It could use a little help.”
“So I see.” She looks at Grace’s picture.
“I was hoping you’d do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
She takes a manila envelope out of her purse and hands it to me.
“Open it,” she says.
I find a check made out to me for a hundred dollars. On the memo line,it says “retainer.” There is a letter that says she’s retaining thelaw office of Michael J. Daley to represent her on all legal matters.There is a copy of her will.
“Doris,” I begin.
She interrupts me.
“Mikey,” she says, “how many clients do you have?”
I look down.
“I thought so,” she says.
“Well, now you have one.”
“Look, Doris, I can’t…”
“Yes, you can. This isn’t charity. I need you to review my will.”
“Doris,” I say, “I’m sure there are people at S and G who could helpyou.”
She holds up her hand.
“If I wanted somebody at the firm to represent me, I wouldn’t be here.How long did we work together?”
“About five years.”
“And how many arguments did we have?”
“A few.”
“And how many of those arguments did I win?”
“All of them.”
“And I’m going to win this one, too.” She smiles.
“You don’t have to cash the check.”
“If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll frame it.”
“That’s fine. The law offices of Michael J. Daley are now officiallyopen for business.”
“Can I buy you lunch?”
“Absolutely. The moo shu pork smells pretty good.”
CHAPTER 6
A GREAT HUMANITARIAN
“HOLMES, John Robert, Jr.” died December 31, at age 48. Belovedhusband of Elizabeth, father of seven. A respected partner at theinternational law firm of Simpson and Gates. Services will be held atGrace Cathedral, San Francisco, on Tuesday, January 6, at 10:00 a.m.Donations in his memory may be made to the Legal Community AgainstViolence.”