I laughed. “Oh, I assure you, I see all the ugly underneath the surface, lady, and it’s a real turnoff.”
“Kobe,” my partner murmured. “Enough.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Rue breathed forcefully through her nose, so I backed off, letting her finish the interview.
It wasn’t often someone got under my skin, but this woman gave off a vibe I didn’t like. She was cocky and sure of herself. I suspected she used her good looks to bend people to her will. Her ex-husband was dead, but she didn’t seem remotely sad. Sure, they were divorced and maybe she hated his guts, but the lack of emotion—or rather, the absence of surprise—was outside the realm of normal.
Rue queried the doctor about Navid’s friends and family, while I played out various scenarios. A fed-up ex-wife and a potentially verbally abusive husband, late again on his alimony. Did he threaten to take her back to court? Was he no longer swayed by her threats?
What would Fatemeh gain from killing him? It might eliminate the headache of chasing after him each month, but the money would stop. Dead people couldn’t pay alimony.
I made a mental note to check for insurance policies when we got back to the office. Had Navid changed his benefactor after the divorce? What happened to his home and finances in the event of his death? Was there a will? The man didn’t have family apart from an aging mother in a nursing home. After delivering the bad news the other day, Navid’s elderly mother shared that she hadn’t seen her son in years because of a falling out.
Begrudgingly, I had to admit that Fatemeh Kordestani would likely have had no trouble subduing a man of Navid’s size. Rue would get herI told you so’sin later, I had no doubt.
Rue finished and raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Anything you want to add?” Her tone carried a subtle warning.
“One last question. Mrs. Kordestani—”
“DoctorKordestani.”
“What kind of perfume do you typically wear?”
Fatemeh scoffed and glanced at Rue. “Is he serious?”
“Answer the question,” my partner said.
“I’m not wearing any. This is a scent-free facility.”
“I didn’t ask what you were wearing. I asked what kind of perfume you typically wear?”
Fatemeh narrowed her eyes as though trying to see the underlying reason for my question. Eventually, she shrugged. “I own several.”
I waited.
“One is a Fleur de Rose by Kayali. Another is Daisy Wild by Marc Jacobs. I have a third, but I rarely use it. I can’t recall the name. Navid bought it for me ages ago.”
I considered whether she was telling the truth.
Fatemeh held my gaze challengingly.
That was all I was going to get from her. Identifying the perfume on the rose was not a simple task, and the likelihood of us finding a match was slim.
On our drive backto the station, Rue unleashed her fury. “Your behavior was appalling.”
“She was a bitch.”
“And you were an ass. You can’t act like that, Kobe.”
“Run to Golding and tattle then. She’ll write me up again, give me an unpaid holiday, and you’ll get to work this case yourself.”
Rue sighed. “I’m not doing that. All I’m saying is, you need to be more professional.”
I didn’t want to have this conversation, so I redirected to the interview. “She wasn’t sad about his death.”
“They were divorced over two years ago.”
