All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [121]
“Looks like you got roughed up a bit out there, Mr. Buckley. I’m so sorry about that. I’m hoping this is just a huge misunderstanding, that none of our men actually meant to hurt you. Regardless, that wasn’t very professional of them, and I’ll have a word with the arresting officer, make sure it’s noted in his file. Would that suit you, sir?”
He met her eyes and a bit of arrogance crept into his gaze. The term sir had put him back in control. He had money and power, and by God he was going to be treated with respect. A subservient woman to interrogate him was just the ticket. Taylor was playing him perfectly.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smiling. “Now, Mr. Buckley, can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe? Soda? Maybe some ice to put on that cut? Looks like it might be swelling up just a little bit.”
Buckley eyed her. “Coffee. Black, two sugars. The ice won’t be necessary. Looks like you could use some yourself.”
Taylor ignored the jibe about her black eye. “No problem, Mr. Buckley. Let me go get that for you.” She smiled again, nonthreatening, a buddy, not a cop. Stepping out into the hallway, Lincoln met her, a mug of coffee in his hand. She winked at him, then stepped back into the room.
She handed him the coffee, then sat in the chair opposite him, next to Baldwin but distancing herself by sliding the chair a few feet to the side, so the table wasn’t between her and Buckley. “Here you are, Mr. Buckley. I sure am sorry we had to put you out like this. I’d understand if you didn’t want to talk to me, but I’d love to hear your side of the story, how that lip got cut. Was it one of the patrol officers?”
Buckley snarled at her. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re about there, little lady. You’re trying to get me to confess to something I don’t know anything about. All I know is I got pulled over, dragged from my car, assaulted by one of Metro’s finest and brought here. What the hell do you people think you’re doing? I swear I’m going to make sure every single one of you is fired.” He glowered at her, hostile and demanding. Taylor could see this man as a killer, and the thought made her blood run cold. She almost dropped the act, nearly spit out what she was actually thinking about the bastard, but she held her tongue and simply nodded and crossed her legs.
“I understand completely, Mr. Buckley. I can’t apologize enough, for the whole department. We are truly sorry we inconvenienced you. I’m sure you understand, we have just one little problem to clear up and then we’ll do our best to get you out of here. Get you home to Mrs. Buckley. Quinn, isn’t it? I’m sure she’s worried sick about you right now, sir, what with you being on the news and everything tonight. She’s probably sitting at home right now, crying her eyes out because she doesn’t know what’s happening. Would you like to call her?”
“I’m on the news? Why the hell is that?”
Taylor chose to stall him. “Tell me, Mr. Buckley. Your wife mentioned that you like poetry.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, I think you know. Love poems. She mentioned you used to send them to her, way back when. Are you still in that habit now, Mr. Buckley?”
“What difference does that make? So I send my wife love notes. Doesn’t make me any different than the next guy.”
“And when you send them to your wife’s sister? Does that make you any different?”
“Send poems to Whitney? What exactly are you accusing me of, Detective?”
“It’s Lieutenant. And I’m asking if you were having an affair with your wife’s sister. Identical-twin sister, at that, who happens to be very, very dead.”
Jake Buckley opened and closed his mouth, took a breath and spoke, menace in his voice. “I don’t know anything about Whitney’s death. I’ll have your badge for this, Lieutenant. I may not be a lawyer, but I know slander when I see it. Is that what you’ve been telling my wife? That I cheated on her with her own sister? What do you think I am, some kind of monster?”
“Perhaps you are.”
“And perhaps I’d like to know what you meant by me being