“I’ll type this all up nice on the computer,” Simpson said.
“But for now I’ll give you the, ah, salient facts.”
“You’re taking courses again,” Jesse said.
“Just one night a week,” Simpson said. “In a few years I’ll get my associate’s degree.”
“Onward and upward,” Jesse said. “Whaddya got that’s salient?”
“He was born in 1953 in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Went to high school there. Got a job after high school as a disc 2 4
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jockey, had a series of radio jobs, went to D.C. as a weatherman. Ended up with a talk show. Talk show got syndicated. And . . . you know. The rest is history. When he died he had a show on national cable two nights a week.”
“Right, and five days a week on national radio,” Suit said.
“You listen to him?” Suit said.
“No.”
“He’s written a coupla books,” Suit said. “I ordered them online.”
Jesse nodded.
“He’s been married three times.”
“Was he married at his death?” Jesse said.
“Far as I know. Lorrie Weeks.”
“So where is she?” Jesse said.
“Haven’t found her address yet.”
“But why hasn’t she showed up here?” Jesse said. “It’s national news.”
Suit shrugged.
“How about the other wives?” Jesse said.
“Got names,” Suit said. “Haven’t found addresses yet.”
“Kids?”
“Not that I know about,” Suit said.
“Famous guy dies publicly, and no one shows up,” Jesse said.
“Not quite.”
“Somebody?” Jesse said.
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