Ghost Times Two by Carolyn Hart Page B

few questions. You are the only person found at the scene of a homicide. You claim the victim was dead when you arrived. You claim you didn’t call nine-one-one. We need to know when you arrived, what you saw, what information you are willing”—slight emphasis—“to provide. Burke, escort Ms. Wynn out to the patrol car. Interview her. Note any question she refuses to answer.”
    As Megan and Burke reached the drive, a crime van pulled up, followed by a red sports car and a dark green SUV. Two crime techs swung out of the van. Each carried a black case. They walked briskly toward the gate. A slender young man in a T-shirt, shorts, and espadrilles popped out of the sports car. I recognized Jacob Brandt, the brash medical examiner. As soon as he officially declared Graham dead, the painstaking investigation would begin, photos, measurements, sketches. Adelaide police Detective Sergeant Hal Price slammed the SUV door. He was as tall, blond, muscular, and handsome as I remembered from earlier adventures. Hal strode swiftly past the parked van and patrol cars, nodded to Officer Burke.
    Burke led Megan to the second cruiser and opened the rear door.
    Megan glanced inside, saw the metal grillwork that separated the backseat from the front. “I prefer to stand on the drive.”
    Burke’s face furrowed. He resembled an unhappy bloodhound.
    Megan’s voice was pleasant, but firm. “I’d rather be out in the night air. How can I help you?” She was somber, but self-possessed and confident.
    After a hesitation, Burke pulled out a notebook. “What time did you arrive?”
    â€œA few minutes after nine.”
    â€œDid you see anyone near the house?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid you hear any sounds? Voices, door slamming, footsteps?”
    â€œNothing besides the television.”
    â€œDid you see any vehicles?”
    There was an instant of hesitation, then she said without expression, “As I turned into the street, a car pulled away from the front of the house.”
    He looked eager. “Make, model?”
    She turned her hands palm upward. “I’m not knowledgeable about cars. The car was driving away. I saw taillights receding.” She pointed to the east. “The lights were red.” Her tone was bland.
    I looked at her sharply. I had the sense she could have said more, had no intention of doing so.
    â€œWhat happened then?”
    â€œI pulled into the driveway, parked behind the Porsche. That’s Mr. Graham’s car. I went through the gate and crossed the terrace. The door to the den was open. I heard the sounds of a baseball game. I thought he wouldn’t hear me so I called out as I pulled the handle. As I opened the door, I saw him.”
    â€œWere you surprised the door was open?”
    â€œI assumed the door would be open since Mr. Graham directed me to enter that way.”
    â€œHad you been here before?”
    â€œI have been at his house several times for dinner parties.”
    â€œYou opened the door. What happened next?”
    â€œI called out his name.” A quick, strained breath. “Then I saw him. He was slumped to one side in that leather chair, his head tilted sideways. His arm was hanging down. I saw blood on the back of his head and his shoulder. He wasn’t moving but I knew I had to see if he was alive. I hurried across the room and picked up his hand. I couldn’t find a pulse. When I let go of his wrist, he started to fall. I tried to stop his fall, but he was too heavy. My hands were bloody and there was blood on my shirt. I went across the room to a stack of newspapers on an end table. I grabbed some and used them to wipe my hands off. My hands were still sticky. It was awful.” Horror bubbled in her voice.
    Burke was writing fast.
    â€œI used a damp hand towel from the bathroom and that helped. But there’s still blood on my shirt.”
    â€œDid you see a