The Crucifix Killer - Chris Carter [89]
‘Have you ever met her?’
‘Yes, once. She’s a very nice woman . . . pleasant. I’m a family man, Detective, I also believe in God and I don’t approve of cheating, but George didn’t deserve what he got. Even if he was cheating on his marriage.’
‘How about gambling? Did you know he used to gamble?’
‘No!’ Peterson replied surprised.
‘Have you ever heard him say anything about going to dog races, greyhounds?’
Another shake of the head.
‘Internet gambling?’
‘If he was gambling he would’ve kept it really quiet from everyone in the office. The senior partners wouldn’t approve of it.’
‘How about friends from outside the firm? He must’ve known other people. Have you ever met any of them, you know, at a party or something?’
‘No, I can’t say I have. His wife was the only person he’s ever taken to any of the firm’s social engagements.’
‘How about his clients?’
‘As far as I know, strictly professional relationships. He didn’t mingle.’
Hunter started to feel like he was trying to force blood out of a stone.
‘Is there anything else you can tell us about him, anything peculiar you’ve noticed?’
‘Other than the sweet-talk phone calls . . . no. As I’ve said, he was a quiet man, kept himself to himself.’
‘Was there anyone else in the firm who was closer to him, like a buddy?’
‘Not that I know of. George never hung around. He never came out for a drink with any of us. He did what he needed to do in the office and that was that.’
‘Did he stay late?’
‘We all do when the case demands it, but not for fun.’
‘So the only reason why you believe he was having an affair is because you, by chance, overheard him sweet-talking on the phone?’
Peterson nodded and blew another thin cloud of smoke to his right.
Hunter scratched his chin wondering if there was any point in continuing the interview. ‘Thanks for your help. If you can think of anything else, please let us know.’ He handed him a card.
Peterson took one last drag of his cigarette and dropped it onto the floor. He nodded to both detectives and started walking back up to his house.
‘Mr Peterson,’ Hunter called.
‘Yes,’ he replied with irritation.
‘It’s a really nice day. Why don’t you spend a few hours outside with your daughter? Maybe play a few games. Take her out for some ice cream or donuts. Just enjoy the day together.’
The little girl was still staring at them from the second-floor window.
‘I told you, she’s got schoolwork to do.’
‘It’s Sunday. Don’t you think she deserves a break?’
‘Are you trying to tell me how to raise my daughter, Detective?’
‘Not at all. Just a suggestion so you don’t lose her. So she doesn’t grow up hating her parents like so many nowadays.’ Hunter waved goodbye at the little girl who replied with a bashful smile. ‘As you’ve said, she’s adorable.’ He turned his attention to Peterson once again. ‘Don’t take that for granted.’
Thirty-Nine
The address they were looking for was number 535 Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica. Garcia decided to take the scenic route along the Pacific Coast Highway.
The PCH is where most American car commercials are filmed. The highway follows the Pacific coast from the sandy beaches of Southern California to the rugged coastline of the Pacific Northwest. Along the way, it passes through quaint coastal towns, numerous national parks and wildlife refuges.
With the sun high in the sky and the temperature now soaring to 95 degrees, Santa Monica Beach was jammed. If it were up to them, both detectives would just grab a cold beer at one of the many ocean front bars and lazily watch the day go by, but it was never up to them.
Her name was Rachel Blate, but to her clients she was known as Crystal. Hunter knew the renowned drug dealer would be going after whoever had killed Jenny with everything he had. He knew the streets better than Hunter. He had contacts under every dirty rock and inside every filthy hole. If D-King came up with anything, Hunter wanted to know.
As Garcia parked the car, Hunter quickly checked all the information they