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the lid. Banks of wreathes and flowers at each side of the coffin. The small gathering of mourners discreetly tried to cool themselves in the hot, midday sun. Father Reiniger, dressed in a dazzling white surplice stood at the head of the casket, reciting the final prayers and blessing the deceased with holy water. Nearby, stood Carolyn Novak, heavily-veiled, dressed entirely in black, and her elder son, Mark. Behind them was Mark’s aunt, Linda Kasloff. At a discreet distance away from the chief mourners, and hardly noticeable, stood Danny’s father, Karl Novak. He was wearing dark shades. On a slight rise, overlooking the burial site, was a gray, marble mausoleum. Inconspicuous, and also wearing dark sunglasses, was Detective Farrell.
    A short time later, now that the gravesite service was over, the mourners began to return to their cars. Carolyn Novak was putting on a brave front, but inside, she was demolished. She was speaking to Father Reiniger, thanking him specifically, for his part in the funeral. He was trying to console her. In the background, was the repetitive slamming of car doors, as the mourners returned to their automobiles. As Father Reiniger was walking toward his waiting, black limousine, he was suddenly approached by Farrell. The priest was a little taken aback. “Oh, Detective Farrell! I didn’t see you at the service. Good to see you again!” He gripped Farrell’s hand. Farrell’s voice was very low. “Good seeing you.” He paused for a microsecond. “Listen, Father, under the circumstances, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but there have been some new developments regarding Danny Novak’s death.”
    “New developments, Detective?”
    “Yes. And we will need you to come down to police headquarters. We need to ask you a few questions.”
    Reinger was stunned. “A few questions, Detective? If you don’t mind my saying so, this sounds a bit preposterous!”
    Farrell ignored what the priest had said. “This is the plan, Father Reiniger. I will follow your limousine back to the rectory. I know you will want to change. We’ll drive to police headquarters from there.” Farrell’s tone was somewhat harsh, authoritative.
    Reiniger nodded. “Fair enough, Detective.”
    Minutes later, Farrell returned to his unmarked sedan, which was parked in the shade of a huge Royal palm. Detective Juarez was seated inside; the passenger door open. As Farrell slid into the car, he threw his partner a quick, fleeting glance. “Thought I might get some flack from Reiniger, but so far, he seems willing to cooperate.”
    Farrell moved up to a position, directly behind the priest’s limo, and soon the long cortege of funeral cars was making its way along the tree-lined road toward the exit gates of the cemetery. Suddenly, a large white thundercloud rolled across the sun. The vast cemetery was plunged into a purplish-gray light. The leaves on the trees began to quietly rustle; a slight breeze had come up. Danny Novak’s funeral was over.
     

     
    Interrogation Room 2-A. SBPD. 3:30 p.m. That same day. Located on the 2 nd floor of the building, the interrogation room was a ten-foot-square cublicle, mirror-fronted, speaker-connected. It was painted a sickly, pea-green color. One large window was covered with a heavy, wire-mesh screen. There was a scarred, wooden conference table, around which were three or four ancient, walnut chairs, bolted to the floor. Above this, an exposed, yellowish fluorescent light fixture. The room was austere. Claustrophobic. Father Reiniger entered the interrogation room, followed closely behind by Detectives Farrell and Juarez. Reiniger crossed to the large table where he sat down. Farrell took the chair opposite, while Juarez stood behind the priest, leaning against the door. There was a long silence and finally, Reiniger spoke: “What is this all about, Detective?”
    “As I mentioned to you at the cemetery, Father,” Farrell said, “there have been some new