“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, but we’ll worry about it later. I’ll have a trace run, see if we can nail it down.” He yawned. “Damn, it’s late. But I’m awake. Might as well take the time now to update me. Where are you on the case?”
“Everything Montclair told us is checking out. Sutton was committed to Vanderbilt on an emergency psychiatric hold six months ago. I called the doctor, but they won’t talk to me without a warrant in hand, so all we have is the court filing. It checks out, everything Ethan said shows up there—suicidal ideation, psychosis. He’s telling the truth about her breakdown.
“The baby’s death was ruled SIDS, the autopsy showed no signs of trauma. Baby was well nourished and taken care of, no signs of neglect, nothing to indicate he was purposefully suffocated or given something that stopped his heart. It really looks like a terrible tragedy, and not one of their making. There are about 3,500 idiopathic SIDS deaths in the country every year. It seems Dashiell Montclair is a statistic.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It is. Very sad.”
“What else?”
“Multiple domestic calls. We’ve been out to the house four times in the past year. Mrs. Montclair declined to press charges, so there was nothing we could do.”
“He was abusing her?”
“That’s the odd thing. All four times, she swears she didn’t make the call. That yes, they were fighting, and yes, it was bad, but she hadn’t called the police.”
“Nine-one-one have the records?”
“The calls came from her cell phone.”
“Sounds like buyer’s regret to me. Pretty typical.”
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