Photograph: CourtTV
by Yasmin Chaudhary — The Inkwell Times
She was four years old. She loved dolls. She loved to sing and dance. She loved her family. She was excited about starting school.
Her name was Suni Bell.
And before she became the center of a devastating murder case, before her name appeared in police reports and courtroom proceedings, before headlines described the circumstances of her death, she was simply a little girl growing up surrounded by people who loved her.
That is how Suni deserves to be remembered.
Not as a victim number.
Not as a photograph attached to a crime story.
Not as the little girl who happened to be sitting in the wrong car at the wrong time.
As Suni.
A child whose life should have stretched decades into the future.
A Little Girl Named Suni
Suni Bell was born on April 26, 2017, in Tampa, Florida. She was only four years old when her life was violently taken from her on August 22, 2021.
Four years old.
At that age, children are still discovering who they are.
They are learning letters and numbers. They are figuring out friendships. They are developing their own little personalities and favorite things. They are asking endless questions. They are learning how to put on their own shoes, picking out toys, singing songs they only half remember, and finding joy in the smallest things.
Suni was no different.
Her family described her as a bright, vibrant little girl who loved LOL dolls, singing, dancing, posing for pictures, and spending time with her cousins, whom she considered more like siblings.
Her mother, Mary Harrison, later described Suni as someone who was the “light of the party.” She loved her dolls, her singing, her dancing, and her little poses.
That is the Suni I want people to remember.
A little girl who danced.
A little girl who sang.
A little girl who loved dolls.
A little girl who wanted to play with her cousins.
A little girl who was excited about school.
One of the most heartbreaking details about Suni’s life is that she was just beginning to experience the world beyond her family.
She had recently started Pre-K and was excited about getting her first backpack and starting school.
Her family would have watched her grow.
They would have watched her learn to read.
They would have heard stories about her teachers and classmates.
They would have seen her first school pictures, celebrated birthdays, watched her graduate kindergarten and elementary school, and eventually seen the little girl who loved to sing and dance become a young woman.
Those ordinary milestones were taken from her.
And from her family.
Suni never got to find out who she was going to become.
That is one of the cruelest things about losing a child.
You don’t only lose the child you knew.
You lose every version of that child you were supposed to meet.
August 22, 2021
On the evening of August 22, 2021, Suni was riding in the backseat of a silver Infiniti with her mother, Mary Harrison, and her uncle, Willie Brown.
The family had attended a remembrance gathering for a loved one and were headed toward another family gathering. They became lost while trying to find the location and stopped to figure out where they were going.
There was nothing remarkable about the situation.
It was a family trying to get somewhere.
A mother was with her little girl.
An uncle was driving.
A four-year-old child was sitting in the backseat.
And then everything changed.
According to prosecutors, a group of men began watching the vehicle. Surveillance footage became an important part of the investigation and later prosecution.
Prosecutors argued that the men armed themselves, got into multiple vehicles and followed Suni’s family’s car before opening fire. Approximately 40 shots were fired toward the vehicle.
Suni was the only person inside the car who was struck.
She was four years old.
She had no involvement in whatever conflict the shooters believed they were pursuing.
She wasn’t their target.
She wasn’t a participant.
She wasn’t a threat.
She was a child sitting in the backseat of a family car.
”Mommy”
She didn’t understand why the world around her had suddenly become chaos.
She didn’t understand guns, rivalries, criminal investigations, surveillance footage or courtroom proceedings.
She was a little girl calling for the person she trusted most.
Her mother was right there.
And yet there was nothing her mother could do to stop what was happening.
Suni was taken to a hospital, but she could not be saved. Investigators determined that she died from a gunshot wound.
Her mother and uncle survived.
Suni did not.
Photograph: Fox News 13
A Family Lost a Little Girl
The murder didn’t simply take Suni’s life.
It changed the lives of everyone who loved her.
Her family had to bury a four-year-old child.
People who should have been worrying about preschool, birthday presents and bedtime instead had to worry about funeral arrangements.
Her grandmother, Drial Bell, spoke publicly about the devastating loss and continued to seek justice for her granddaughter.
The community also rallied around Suni.
People marched in her honor.
Family members and community members demanded answers.
And her name became a symbol of the devastating consequences of gun violence.
But there is something important to remember about that.
Suni should never have had to become a symbol.
She should have simply been allowed to grow up.
Justice Took Four Years
Five men were eventually indicted in connection with Suni’s death:
- Zvante Sampson
- Quandarious Hammond
- Jaylin Bedward
- James Denson
- Andrew Thompson
They were charged with first-degree murder along with other offenses connected to the shooting.
The case took years to reach trial.
During the proceedings, prosecutors presented surveillance footage and other evidence concerning the events leading up to the shooting.
The defense teams challenged the prosecution’s evidence and argued, among other things, that it could not be established which defendant fired the bullet that killed Suni.
But ultimately, a Hillsborough County jury found all five men guilty of first-degree murder in September 2025.
The verdict came after nearly four years of uncertainty for Suni’s family.
Her mother, Mary Harrison, expressed gratitude to the jury and the people who had worked toward justice for her daughter.
But even with the verdict, there was something justice could never provide.
It could not give Suni back.
Life Without Parole
On October 29, 2025, all five men were sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole for their roles in Suni’s murder. Additional sentences were imposed for related offenses.
The judge spoke bluntly about the consequences of their actions.
Suni’s family also spoke during sentencing.
There was grief.
There was anger.
There was forgiveness.
And there was a recognition that no sentence could undo what happened.
Suni’s grandmother spoke directly about the pain of losing a child who should still have been here.
Because that is the reality of cases like this.
A courtroom can deliver a verdict.
A judge can impose a sentence.
A prison can keep someone behind bars.
But none of those things can make a four-year-old walk through the front door again.
The Suni Her Family Wants Us to Remember
It is easy for true-crime stories to become consumed by the people accused of committing the crime.
Their names get repeated.
Their photographs circulate.
Their backgrounds are investigated.
Their courtroom behavior becomes part of the story.
Their attorneys’ arguments are dissected.
But Suni’s story should be different.
Because there is so much more to remember about her than the circumstances of her death.
Remember that she loved dolls.
Remember that she loved singing.
Remember that she loved dancing.
Remember those little poses children make when they know someone has a camera pointed at them.
Remember that she loved being around her cousins.
Remember that she was excited about school.
Remember that her family called her their sunshine.
Remember that she was four.
Four.
She had barely begun.
She Was More Than the Worst Night of Her Life
When we talk about children who die violently, there is a temptation to focus on their final moments.
We describe what happened.
We discuss the evidence.
We talk about the investigation.
We talk about the people responsible.
And sometimes we repeat the heartbreaking details because they help us understand the horror.
But there is a danger in doing that too much.
A child can become frozen in the moment of her death.
Suni deserves better.
Her life should not be reduced to the sound of gunfire.
It should include the sound of her laughter.
It should include the songs she sang.
It should include the way she danced.
It should include her dolls scattered around the house.
It should include her family calling her name.
It should include the excitement of a new backpack.
It should include everything she loved.
Everything she was.
Everything she could have become.
A Life That Should Have Been
Imagine Suni at eight years old.
She would be eight now.
Imagine the little girl who loved dancing getting older.
Imagine what music she might have loved.
Imagine what she might have wanted to be when she grew up.
Maybe she would have remained close to her cousins.
Maybe she would have become a singer.
Maybe she would have danced.
Maybe she would have discovered an entirely different passion.
Maybe she would have been shy.
Maybe she would have been outspoken.
Maybe she would have been funny.
Maybe she would have been stubborn.
Maybe she would have been the kind of person who could make everyone in a room laugh.
We don’t know.
And that’s the tragedy.
We will never know.
Someone else’s decisions stole every possibility from her.
Remember Suni
There is a tendency to look at a case like this and ask what lesson we are supposed to take from it.
The lesson is not complicated.
A four-year-old child should have been safe in the backseat of her family’s car.
She should have made it home.
She should have gone to school.
She should have grown up.
She should have gotten to make mistakes and learn from them.
She should have gotten to fall in love, make friends, annoy her siblings or cousins, argue with her parents, celebrate birthdays, graduate, dream, change her mind, discover herself and become whoever she wanted to be.
She should have had a lifetime.
Instead, her family was left with memories.
And a name.
Suni Bell.
A little girl whose family described her as a light.
A little girl who loved dolls.
A little girl who sang.
A little girl who danced.
A little girl who loved her family.
A little girl who was excited to start school.
A little girl who called for her mommy when she was afraid.
A little girl who should still be here.
For Suni
May her name be remembered for more than the crime committed against her.
May people remember her smile.
Her little dances.
Her songs.
Her dolls.
Her poses.
Her love for her family.
May her family always know that the world did not forget her.
And may we remember the simplest truth of all:
Suni Bell was a child.
She was only four years old.
She had barely begun to live.
And she deserved the chance to grow up.
Rest peacefully, sweet Suni.
You should have had so much more time. đź’”
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