I tried to recall. “Honestly, I don’t remember. Based on track record, I’d say it had been Ross. Or maybe Emily figured out that she wasn’t going to change Ross into someone he wasn’t and broke it off. I don’t think Ross ever explained.” I shrugged again. “That was how he was. If he could have installed a revolving door on his apartment, he would have.”
“Based on your knowledge of Ross Underwood, would he have been so distraught over seeing Emily Oberyn again that he decided to kill himself?”
“No.”
“You don’t believe,” Michelson asked, “Mr. Underwood would consciously take his own life?”
“Mrs. Ramses,” Sophie said, “is no more able to speak to the intent of Mr. Underwood than she is for her husband.”
“Based on your friendship, Mrs. Ramses?”
“The Ross I knew,” I began, “had one person whom he truly cared about.”
“Miss Oberyn?” the detective asked.
“No, sir. Ross cared about Ross. I don’t believe he’d hurt the person he cared about.”
“What about accidentally?” the detective asked.
“I suppose that’s possible,” I answered.
“Did you get the financing?” Mr. Michelson asked.
“I believe we’re still in negotiations,” I replied, suppressing a grin.
“What did Mr. Underwood take for his pain?” the detective asked.
“I don’t know exactly. It was a prescription, and he was always conscious of taking it.”
“What does that mean?” Mr. Michelson asked.
“It means that when he took it, Ross was conscious about possible interactions.”
“What would interact?” the detective asked.
I took a deep breath. “I’m mostly talking about alcohol. When Ross had pain, he avoided alcohol.”
“Did Mr. Underwood have a drink the night you were at the bar on Canal Street?”
I nodded. “He did. He had a Hurricane. I think he was on his second.”
“So his pain wasn’t an issue?” Mr. Michelson asked.
“He didn’t mention it.”
“Then how did you know about his medicine?”
“Ross and I worked together on our start-up. I knew he had the medicine when needed. On the plane, he mentioned that he might need it. I guess he didn’t.”
“Are we finished, gentlemen?” Sophie asked. “Mrs. Ramses is a busy woman.”
“One more question,” Mr. Michelson said. “Why would your husband want Mr. Underwood dead? Did he know you went into Mr. Underwood’s hotel room? Was he jealous?”
I sat straight as my eyes opened. “My husband doesn’t—”
Sophie stood. “We’re done.”
“Does he know about you entering Mr. Underwood’s hotel room?”