As soon as Isaac ended the call with his grandfather, his cellphone rang in his hand before he could even set it down. It was Hiroshi.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I had a note on my desk this morning from Detective Sasha Palmer saying to let you know whenever anyone came to ID the bodies of the Buckley couple?”
A spark of zeal ignited in Isaac’s chest.
“Right. Is someone there now?”
“Just got a call there’s a Clint and Christine Buckley waiting to view.”
That spark began to spread like a wildfire.
“And it’s going to take you a minute or two to get the body ready, correct?”
“If that’s what you need from me, yes it is,” Hiroshi said, playing along.
“And I can use your office to speak with the Buckleys afterwards?” Isaac knew he was pushing it, but it would be better than trying to convince distraught parents to follow him back to the police station to answer questions.
“My office is your office, Ike.”
“I’ll be right there. Thanks Hiroshi.”
“Yep.”
Isaac hopped up like his butt had springs and grabbed the case file. Out in the pit he told one of the detectives that he was going to the morgue and to call his cell if he was needed. Then he hightailed it out of there, going down two flights and through the breezeway that connected the PD to the Medical Examiner’s lab and offices and the morgue.
When he arrived, he spotted an impeccably dressed couple probably in their mid-to-late fifties, sitting on the bench just outside the morgue. The woman wore a clearly haughty expression on her face, making her much less attractive than she actually was in Isaac’s book. The man glanced down at his watch with a disinterested, impatient air.
“Mr. And Mrs. Buckley?” Isaac said as he approached them. He was careful to keep his hands at his sides, to avoid any handshakes.
The couple stood, looking him over.
“Yes. We’re here to see our son, Shane,” Clint Buckley stated.
“Yes, sir. I’m Detective Sgt. Isaac Taylor. I’m overseeing this case. I’d like to speak with you after you see your son, if that’s okay. It’ll only take a few moments of your time.”
Both graying blonds, Clint and his wife exchanged a look.
“That’ll be fine,” Clint said.
“Great, thank you.” Isaac chucked a thumb over his shoulder. “Let me just see if the ME is ready for you.”
He stepped inside the lab and caught Hiroshi’s eye from across the space, giving him a thumbs up. Hiroshi nodded, and Isaac followed after him when he stepped out to speak with the Buckleys.
“Mr. And Mrs. Buckley, I’m Dr. Hiroshi Sato. I’m the Medical Examiner.” Hiroshi’s tone was professional and respectful. “If you’ll step over here to the window, my associate will open the curtain for you. Please take as much time as you need.”
“Thank you,” Christine Buckley said.
Isaac watched the scene with great care.
Hiroshi tapped on the glass window and one of the other doctors opened the curtain. Clint Buckley made no outward signs of grief or loss when the curtain was opened. His wife, however, burst into tears. Clint put his arm around her, and then led her away. Hiroshi nodded and the curtain was closed.
Isaac gave them several minutes alone to compose themselves before moving in.
“If you’ll both follow me, please.”
He led them into Hiroshi’s office and closed the door behind them. Then he motioned to the two chairs in front of Hiroshi’s desk. As they sat, Isaac took a seat on the edge of the desk. He was searching for a way to ease into this questioning so as not to appear unsympathetic, but Mr. Buckley began for him.
“Have you found whoever murdered my boy?” Clint Buckley asked, getting right to the point with an attitude as gruff as his voice.
“Actually, I was hoping you might be able to tell me if your son or daughter-in-law had any trouble with anyone recently?” Isaac asked.
Clint smirked. “If your case hinges on us telling you anything about our son, Detective, you’re out of luck. We’ve been estranged for several years, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I see.” That statement created new questions in Isaac’s mind. “And would this estrangement possibly be the reason why Shane apparently missed out on the multimillion dollar trust fund that both of his siblings received?”
Clint glared at him and then narrowed his eyes. “I made every cent of that money, Detective. Me.” He pointed a finger at his own chest. “Every dime. So what I choose to do with it is none of anyone’s business, but my wife’s.”
Isaac nodded, never breaking eye contact. “Ordinarily I would agree with you, sir. But when someone ends up murdered, it suddenly becomes my business.”
Isaac was aware that his tone had shifted from nice guy to cop.
The gloves were off.
“Why were you estranged from your son, Mr. Buckley?”
The smirk on Clint’s face grew deeper. “Let’s just say that we had a difference of opinion about who he should and shouldn’t marry.”
Isaac felt immediate offense on Shane Buckley’s behalf. He lowered his head and had to take a second to remind himself that they weren’t talking about him or his beautiful Sidney.
When he had his anger under control, he looked at Clint Buckley with a sly grin.
“You can have a Black colleague, maybe even an illicit Black smash, but by God don’t you ever think about marrying one.”
Clint smiled at him as if he’d just met a kindred spirit. “Well, I see your father obviously taught you well, Detective Taylor.”
“Oh, yes, sir, he did.” Isaac nodded, suddenly very proud of Brock Taylor’s views on race. “He taught me that skin color ain’t nothing but a matter of pigmentation. Some people get a little more of it than others, and the amount you get doesn’t make anybody better or worse than anybody else.”
Clint Buckley’s smile faded, replaced by something close to a sneer. “If this is the part where you lecture us that disowning our son because he married a Black girl is bigotry, please spare us the anti-racism speech.”
“Actually, this is the part where I inform you that your grandson is now an orphan and is in danger of becoming a ward of the state if he’s not taken in by a family member.”
“Grandson?” Christine Buckley sounded as shocked as she looked. “There… there’s a…a baby?”
That last word came out sounding truly horrified, with just a hint of something that could’ve been compassion.
Isaac looked at her, astonished. Did she really not know?
“Well, I can’t exactly call him a baby. He’s at least two years old. His name is—”
“His name is Greer Thomas Buckley and he was born two summers ago. July 24th, I think,” Clint said, sounding bored. His wife glared at him, obviously disbelieving. Clint rolled his eyes. “I may have had my PI keeping an eye on Shane’s life.”
Christine clutched the arms of the chair and turned her entire body toward her husband, a mixture of shock and outrage playing out across her face.
“You knew?” Now she sounded furious. “You knew that Shane had become a father and you kept it from me?”
Clint’s head snapped in her direction. “You want to know why I didn’t tell you, Christine? Because I knew you’d get all weepy and forgiving and let him inch his way back in. Hell you’d probably even be willing to accept that mongrel child, wouldn’t you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Christine shot back. She repositioned in the chair and folded her arms around herself.
“And you’d better not ever, because that is not happening in this family,” Clint snarled at her.
That was a threat if Isaac ever heard one. “Why don’t we all just calm down.”
“I hate what he did just as much as you do!” Christine all but shouted, ignoring Isaac’s warning. Then tears sprang to her eyes and her voice was softer when she said, “But he was my son, Clinton. My first born. I’m not ashamed to say that I miss him. And now he’s gone and it’s too late.”
Isaac watched the dynamic between them. He surmised that Christine Buckley could likely be reasonable if given the chance. But Clint Buckley was clearly the law in their household. She would do whatever he said.
“So I assume this means you won’t be lining up to take custody of Greer?” Isaac asked.
“Greer?” Christine asked. “That’s his name?”
“Yes, ma’am. Greer Thomas.”
A sinister smirk quirked up Clint’s lip. “Perhaps if we were back in slave times the child might be permitted to serve in the big house with the other mulattos. But since we’re not, and Buckley Builders is a major contributor to the cause, I don’t think that would work out too well.”
Isaac knew in his bones that Clint’s words had been said for effect, so he tried his best not to react to them. But he was growing to dislike this man more and more by the second.
“And what cause is that, Mr. Buckley?”
Clint’s smile remained, but there was something hateful in it. “You already know what cause, Detective. Do you really need me to spell it out?”
“I would love for you to spell it out, sir,” Isaac said, staring the man down. “For the record, of course.”
“Fine. The cause of Nationalism.”
“You mean white supremacy.”
“No, I mean Nationalism,” Clint corrected. “Supremacy is an old-fashioned word that conjures up images of backwoods zealots in white hoods carrying torches and hanging people from trees.”
“And that’s not you?” Isaac asked, unconvinced.
Clint shrugged a shoulder. “I’m not saying it’s wrong. It has its place among the cause. But in these days of political correctness and cancel culture, the right branding can do wonders for an image.”
In that moment, Isaac knew he needed to end this interview or he was going to punch Clinton Buckley in the face. And neither he, nor the PD, or the city of Cleveland needed that lawsuit.
“So the cause is more important than the child, is that it?” he asked, letting his disgust filter through in his tone.
“That child is nothing and no one to us, Detective,” Clint answered, his voice holding no remorse.
“And what about your other son or daughter? Might one of them be able to take the child in?”
“Not if they know what’s good for them. And believe me. They do. I will not allow it.”
Isaac nodded. In his heart, he knew it was definitely for the best. Better that Greer never has to spend time with these people.
“And just to be clear… you have no idea who might’ve wanted to harm Shane or Cara?”
“Unfortunately, we know next to nothing about our eldest son’s life after he ran off with that girl,” Christine said, sounding defeated.
“We can’t help you, Detective.”
“If you did have information, would you tell me?” Isaac asked when another question came to mind. “For that matter, were you angry enough with your son to—”
“To have him killed?” Clint interrupted. “What kind of man do you think I am, Detective?”
Isaac never missed a beat. “Apparently you’re the kind that would cut off all ties if your child married a Black person. Where were both of you last night between two and three in the morning?”
Clint chuckled and Christine looked offended.
“You can’t be serious,” Clint said.
“I’m just trying to rule you both out as suspects.” Isaac made a mental note to have Sasha and Lynn interview Shane Buckley’s siblings.
“We were in bed sleeping like civilized people,” Clint said, rolling his eyes.
“Can anyone corroborate that besides the two of you?”
“We have cameras all around our property, Detective. You’re welcome to view the footage of last night to see that we got home from dinner with friends at around 9:30 and did not leave again until we got the call to come here.”
“That would be very helpful,” Isaac stated.
“Fine. I’ll have our butler message the tapes over to you. May we go now?”
Isaac stood, prompting the Buckleys to do the same. “Yes. But please stay local in case we have more questions for you.”
He watched them leave Hiroshi’s office. As he left and headed back to the PD he admitted to himself that he was fighting the urge to take over this case and run with it. But he wouldn’t usurp Sasha and Lynn like that.
His job this week was to oversee his fellow detectives and their cases, not to take them over. Not to mention the fact that he had his own front burner case to contend with. And he needed to get back to it.
He had a partner waiting for an update.