“I’m curious.”
Buckley clenched his fists, popping his knuckles. “I did decent. Top ten percent. It’s why I’m his TA. Dr. Kordestani was tough but fair. I worked my ass off, and he recognized it. The world lost a great man.”
Not a single person we’d chatted with had called the deceased man fair, let alone great. I hummed, holding eye contact.
Buckley stood stiff, crossing his arms as he scowled.
“We’ve heard from several people that Dr. Kordestani wasn’t popular. He seems to have a reputation for upsetting students, faculty, and even his patients at the hospital.”
I stared at Buckley, waiting for a response, but he stared back, saying nothing.
“What? No comment?” I asked.
“I didn’t hear a question.”
I held my tongue against a snappy retort. “Do you disagree with these assessments?” I asked instead.
“Yes.”
“Okay. In that case, can you think of anyone who wanted to harm Dr. Kordestani? Someone who didn’t get along with him or was seen arguing with him on occasion?”
For the first time, Buckley seemed to consider the question. Was it possible that this student knew a different version of the doctor? A nicer version? “Fatemeh.”
“Who’s Fatemeh?” I asked.
Rue answered. “The ex-wife.”
“Yeah, her.” Buckley stared at my partner with a wrinkle in his nose. “She’s a piece of work and the only person I can think of who outright hated him.”
“With reason?” I asked.
Buckley shrugged.
Rue asked the next question. “Did they speak often?”
An unsettling devilish humor shone from Buckley’s eyes. “Only when he conveniently forgot to pay his alimony. Then the bitch got maaaad.”
“Oh yeah? How often did that happen?” I asked.
“Monthly.”
5
Dominique
Kobe’s email didn’t landin my inbox until close to five. Even in writing, his endearing timidity glowed.
Hey, thanks for the report. Been a hectic day. We identified the DB and raced all over the city chatting with people he knew. Not sure we learned much, except it sounds like he was a real asshole. Are you free for that drink tonight? Maybe around eight? We can chat about your findings. Or not. I know this email is kind of last-minute. It’s okay if you can’t make it. I should have messaged earlier. We could go tomorrow. Or not at all if you’d prefer. Let me know. No worries either way.
-Det. Kobe Haven
He added a postscript with his phone number and a brief,if you prefer texting. No pressure. I check my email often.
Instead of responding immediately, I took it with me, rolling the proposal around my head for the hundredth time, reminding myself of the million and a half reasons why it was a horrible idea and weighing it against the handful of reasons why it might not be so bad.
If Kobe Haven didn’t remind me of the incarnation of a Pound Puppy, the decision might have been easier. As it stood, his adorable charm was hard to ignore.
Cosette bounded into my arms when I picked her up at Miss Heather’s, squishing my cheeks in her glue-sticky hands as she squealed, “J’ai fait un bricolage, Papa. Can we put it on the fridge?”
