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“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Jo evaded as she sat. “We’re so sorry for your loss, and we’re hoping you can help us. But ADA Hanson mentioned you and Sandra divorced recently. When exactly was that?”
“We separated April of last year. The divorce was finalized at the end of August.”
“Who filed?” Jo asked.
“She did. I didn’t contest.”
Arnett jumped in. “We heard you weren’t enthusiastic about signing the papers.”
He reached for a tinted highball glass on the end table and sipped. “I’m a busy man. I couldn’t always get to things as quickly as Sandra liked. Given her too-busy schedule was the reason for our divorce, you think she would have understood that.”
Jo pushed down the defensive rejoinder that rose up in her throat—long hours came with the job, and he should have realized that—and weighed his expression behind the glass. What was in it? Orange juice? Bourbon? He was hiding emotion, she was sure of that. But was that emotion frustrated sadness or angry bitterness? “But you said she was the one who filed.”
“I’m not a quitter, Jo. I still loved her, and I fight for the things I want.”
The too-casual use of her nickname grated. “How literally?”
Bruce turned to stare out of the window. “Purely figurative. But our verbal exchanges became increasingly tense.”
“Only about the long work hours?” she asked.
He suddenly leaned forward. “I’m a doctor, Jo. I understand long hours and middle-of-the-night patient emergencies. Yet I was the one telling her she should rein it in. Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know?”
The assumptions rubbed her the wrong way. Possibly Sandra really had worked longer hours than he had, but he’d known what she did for a living when he married her. She’d seen it too many times in her own life—men who just couldn’t deal with a woman’s job being as important as theirs. The self-centered arrogance suggested the real problem was Sandra refused to bend and reschedule around his needs.
“So, you tried to talk her out of the divorce?” she asked.
“Repeatedly.”
“When did you stop trying?”
“I never stopped. I called her the day the divorce was final and told her I still believed we could work things out.”
“How did she respond to that?”
His eyes flashed to the window, and he took a gulp of whatever was in the glass before he responded. “She told me that if I still couldn’t accept it was over, she’d get a restraining order against me.”
Jo allowed her eyebrows to pop up. “That seems dramatic.”
“Funny, that’s what I said.” His voice turned to sarcastic steel.
“And you let it drop after that?”
“Considering she knows every judge in every court in the county and has personal relationships with several of them? That’s not a fight I had a chance in hell of winning.” He took another gulp from the glass, and tears welled in his eyes. “One of them probably advised her to threaten the restraining order in the first place. Or maybe it was the brainchild of her new boyfriend.”
“New boyfriend? Who’s that?” Arnett asked.
He shook his head, expression tight. “No idea, she wouldn’t tell me. But the point is, I loved her and I never wanted to be without her. And I wanted to be with her in actuality, not just in theory.”
Jo forced herself to soften slightly. “That’s what I don’t understand. She was planning on retiring in two months. Wouldn’t that have solved the problem between you?”
Anger flashed across his face. “The very definition of irony, isn’t it?”
Jo waited, but he didn’t say more. He crossed his legs and picked up his drink again, sending the clear message that he didn’t intend to.
Arnett cleared his throat. “Where were you this morning?”
He stared back out of the window. “I woke up at six and went for my run. I came back, showered, and met Dr. Ralph Prinz for a round of golf. We teed off just after eight.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and recited Prinz’s phone number. “That’s where I was when I received the call.”
