Fatemeh and Rue exchanged handshakes before the doctor scowled at my outstretched hand and turned to the secretary, who gave her a rundown of messages, handing her a few slips of paper with the phone numbers of missed calls. Fatemeh retrieved a folder and invited us to join her beyond the waiting room. I tucked my hand into my pocket and followed.
Dr. Kordestani—I was curious why she’d kept her married name after two years—guided us to a spacious office not unlike a general practitioner’s exam room. It was bright and clean. Apart from several medical posters displaying thoracic anatomy, the counter was strewn with a collection of stainless steel instruments I assumed would be used during appointments.
A handful of personal touches dotted the room. A generous window let in afternoon light with half a dozen potted plants lining the windowsill. Framed photographs decorated a high shelf, showing Fatemeh and two other women in what appeared to be a botanical garden. They shared similar smiles and features, so I assumed they were related. Sisters? Cousins? A few trophies and medals occupied space on another shelf. One for completing the Boston marathon, another for a local triathlon, and a third for a bodybuilding competition of some type.Called it.
Hanging her purse and depositing the folder on a counter, Fatemeh donned her lab coat and adjusted the fashionable silk scarf she wore so it sat right before thumbing through a day planner. “Talk. I have an appointment in twenty minutes, and I refuse to fall behind schedule because of this nonsense.”
Rue and I exchanged glances, silently agreeing that my partner would take the lead. “We’ll make it quick. We have a handful of questions regarding your husband.”
“My ex-husband.”
“Yes. When’s the last time you spoke with him, Mrs. Kordestani?”
“It’s Doctor. I spoke with him the week before last when he failed to pay his alimony yet again. He thinks I’ll tire of chasing after him, but I won’t.” She paused, seemed to consider, then added, “Well, I suppose that won’t happen anymore.” She closed the planner and leaned against the counter, arms crossed as she studied us. “Next question.”
Rue stared at the woman for a long moment. She didn’t show it, but I recognized the signs of Rue’s frustration—a slight tightening in the muscles along her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes.
“Was Navid often late making payments?”
“Every month. He strongly disagreed with the judge’s decision regarding alimony. I make—made—more money than him, but my debt is significantly higher. Some of us didn’t have rich parents to put them through school. Government loans add up. Is that what we’re here to discuss? My alimony?”
Disliking the woman’s attitude and no longer willing to concede, I spoke up. “Did you and Navid fight a lot?”
Fatemeh gave me a look that called me stupid. “Considering that an inability to get along is the number one cause for divorce, Detective, I’d say yes. We fought all the time.”
“Did he ever hit you?”
Fatemeh flinched and glanced at Rue like I’d won the prize for audacity. When Rue didn’t come to her rescue, the doctor huffed with annoyance. “No. He wouldn’t dare. Navid had an attitude problem, but he was never violent.”
Pot meet kettle, I thought.
“What was he like as a doctor?” Rue asked.
“Overworked and underappreciated. We all are.”
“That’s not what I meant. How would you describe his relationships with his coworkers, patients, and students?”
Fatemeh’s attention drifted to the collection of plants on the windowsill. She seemed to drift for a moment, gaze turning inward. “Navid had the social skills of a gnat, particularly when under stress, which, in our field of work, happens often. He was professional but not always kind.”
“So, you’re saying he was a bit of an asshole?” I said, cutting in.
I earned a reprimanding look from my partner but ignored it.
Fatemeh smirked, turning her gaze from the window to me. “Yes. That’s what you want me to confirm, isn’t it? That he amassed a pool of enemies everywhere he went. That he must have pissed off the wrong person. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
I held the doctor’s cold gaze. It was clear she didn’t give two shits about her murdered ex and might have even felt hedeserved what he got, but she also seemed to think herself above suspicion.
“Where were you on Sunday morning between the hours of four and seven?” I asked.
“At home in bed.” Still with the confident and challenging smirk.
“Can anyone confirm that?”
“No, Detective. I live alone. I’m not dating anyone, and I don’t make a habit of bringing random strangers into my house to satisfy base urges. I have more self-respect than that.”
My jaw ticked. “Well, aren’t you special.”
“I saw the way you gawked when I walked in, Detective. Men only ever have one thing on the brain. They can’t see beyond a woman’s physique. They think with their cocks. It’s always about sex. Can hardly control yourselves.”
