Chapter 12
“It was a couple years ago when it happened,” Grant said. “Really terrible. For everybody involved.”
"What happened?”
"You need to talk to Loretta Montgomery. She's been harassing Hannah ever since the accident.”
"Accident?”
Grant took another deep breath. “Hannah was driving down Palm Harbor Lane when a young girl chased a ball into the street. She ran out between two parked cars. Hannah jammed the brakes, but it was too late. There was nothing she could do.”
JD and I both winced.
"The little girl was taken to the hospital. She died a few days later. Brain swelling. There was nothing they could do.”
"Was Hannah charged?" I asked.
"No. Loretta brought a wrongful death suit, claiming that Hannah was on her phone and was distracted.
There were texts to and from Hannah's phone around the time of the incident, but that didn't necessarily prove that Hannah was looking at her phone at the time. Hannah’s attorney filed a motion for summary judgment. The judge dismissed the case. As you can imagine, Loretta was pissed. She blamed Hannah for the child's death. She made threats, but Hannah dismissed them. She didn't want to report the woman for fear it might exacerbate the situation. Hannah just wanted everything to go away. But it wasn’t the kind of thing you could just make disappear. God knows we spent enough money on attorney’s fees in the civil case.”
"Do you think your wife was distracted when she hit the girl?" I asked, just out of curiosity.
Peterson shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't with her at the time.” He paused. "Is this off the record?”
"Just a conversation among friends," I said.
"Hannah had her phone glued to her ear at all times,” he said in a hushed voice. “I don't doubt she was on the phone." He took another deep breath. "Hell, I don't blame Loretta. I’d have done the same thing.”
"Do you mind if we take a look around your apartment?"
His brow knitted again, and he looked at me like I was insane. "Do you have a warrant?”
"No.”
"Then I'm not going to let you search my apartment.”
"What have you got to hide?"
"I got nothing to hide. But I'm not inviting trouble into my house either."
"I’d like to talk to your girlfriend for a moment.”
Peterson considered it. "On second thought, I think we’re done talking."
He closed the door and latched the deadbolt.
I shared a look with Jack.
"I don't know about you, but I'm not so sure that guy didn't do it.”
"Sounds like he had a hell of a motive,” I replied.
We headed back down the hallway toward the elevators. I texted Isabella and asked her to look into the cellular data from Hannah’s Stingray Bay mansion. Hopefully, we’d catch a break, and the killer’s cell phone pinged the tower from the kitchen at the time of the murder.
I wasn't holding my breath.
Most people were smart enough to shut off their mobile devices when committing crimes these days. But it was something that was easy to forget to do, especially in the heat of passion. There was a lot of passion all over the floor in the kitchen.
It was late, but we decided to do a knock-and-talk with Sutton Duval. She lived a block over from Hannah on Crystal Court.
I put a heavy fist against the door, and a yappy dog launched into a tirade. Its tiny claws pattered against the tile in the foyer and barked at the door until a light flicked on in the house.
It was another cookie-cutter Stingray Bay mansion with perfectly trimmed hedges and a circular drive with an expensive SUV. The silver Mercedes G wagon didn't come cheap.
The light on the video doorbell lit up. A woman's voice crackled through. "Who is it?"
I flashed my badge to the lens and made introductions. "We need to have a word with you.”
"It's a little late, don't you think? What is this regarding?”
"The death of Hannah Quinn.”
That hung there for a moment. "She's dead?"
"Yes, ma'am.”
"Well, isn't that an interesting development?”
"I guess it depends on how you look at it. Can you come to the door? We’d like to talk face-to-face.”
"I don't see what you need to talk to me about?”
"We’re talking to all of Hannah Quinn’s friends. Time is of the essence in these cases. I'm sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but it's important.”
Sutton laughed. "I don't know if I’d classify myself as a friend.”
"How would you classify yourself?"
"Look, can we both cut the bullshit? I know why you're here.”
"Why are we here?"
"I'm not stupid, Deputy. You don't need to play games with me.
You must have talked to somebody. I'm sure you know about the feud between Hannah and me.
There is no love lost between us, that's for sure.
I think it's terrible what happened, and I feel sorry for those kids, but don't expect me to shed a tear. "
"Can you tell us what happened?”
"Between me and Hannah?”
"That would be a good place to start.”
"Well, I think everybody already knows that story," she said in a self-important tone.
I got the impression that Sutton considered herself a celebrity. And perhaps she was in Stingray Bay.
"You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not up on the latest gossip,” I said. “But I heard you sabotaged Hannah’s pumpkin last year.” I intentionally said it to rile her up. I figured she would want to set the record straight.
"I most certainly did not! I don't know who you’ve been talking to, but your information is dead wrong.”
"How about you come out here and set us straight. I think there's probably a lot of facts that we've gotten wrong.”
Sutton sighed. "Who have you been talking to? Nevermind, I can fathom a guess.” After a brief pause. "I'll be down in a minute. I just need a minute to collect myself. I'm not dressed. I'm totally naked.”
The added detail was unnecessary, but I think she said it to spark intrigue.
The call disconnected, and JD and I exchanged a look.
A moment later, Sutton Duval descended the grand spiral staircase and sauntered across the foyer to the door. Her figure drew close to the privacy glass before unlocking the deadbolt and pulling the door open.
Sutton was definitely starved for attention.
She wore a sheer robe tied at the waist. It did little to hide her pert attributes. In her mid-30s now, Sutton was no stranger to the gym, and her figure showed it. She wasn’t all-natural, but she had a damn good plastic surgeon.
Her raven hair kissed her shoulders, and her alluring caramel eyes smoldered.
Her full lips could spark impure thoughts, and she had a face free of wrinkles.
I don't think her forehead moved much from all the Botox.
She stood in the doorway like a femme fatale in an old noir movie—a little bit enticing, a little bit dangerous, a lot of trouble.