“I was sound asleep. I heard a scream and came running downstairs—they were in back of the house by the pool. I looked out and saw two of my guests. One of them was insisting she’d seen a ghost in my yard,” Hannah explained. “She—her name’s Shelly Nicholson—had been on my ghost tour. She and her boyfriend, Stuart Bell, were absolutely convinced they’d seen a homicidal ghost. But there was nothing there.
“I tried to calm them down. I told them...I told them that ghosts weren’t real, and even if they were, it wasn’t likely they’d be able to kill anyone. I got them to quit screaming and talk it through. Nothing budged them. They insisted they’d seen a bloody ghost holding a bowie knife. By then, everyone in the place was out there and freaking out. So I got everyone checked out and sent them down to the Westin, and then, when it was light, came back out to look around.” She hesitated for a long moment, glancing at Liam. “I don’t even know of any Key West ghosts that supposedly run around bleeding and carrying a bowie knife.” She stopped, struck by the thought that the man on the ground was now eligible to be a Key West ghost legend.
“A bowie knife?” Dallas demanded.
She nodded. “That’s what Stuart said. He was one of the people who saw the...ghost.”
“How did he know it was a bowie knife?” Dallas demanded.
“How do I know? Maybe he saw The Alamo a zillion times!” she snapped back, her irritation showing.
“He doesn’t have a knife now,” Dallas pointed out.
“No. He wasn’t holding it when I found him,” she said. “I looked around, and I didn’t see a knife anywhere. But if you looked at his hand...”
“Yes,” Dallas said. “It does look as if he’d been holding something. You touched the body. Are you sure you didn’t move his hand? Even by accident?”
“No, I definitely didn’t move his hand. I was kneeling on his other side, and I was still there when Officer Mann got here and told me to move away carefully so I didn’t contaminate the crime scene. I did not touch his hand.”
Dirk Mendini, the medical examiner down from the coroner’s office in Marathon, rose and walked over to them just then. He indicated his wish to speak with the detectives by angling his head.
“Excuse us, Hannah, will you?” Liam asked gently.
She nodded. “Okay if I go inside and clean up?” she asked.
She had the dead man’s blood on her, and Dallas found himself wondering if she was compassionate or just stupid. She’d heard the man had been wielding a bowie knife, but still she’d approached him before she was sure he was dead and not a threat.
He realized he was feeling bitter toward her, and he knew he was wrong. He wanted to blame her for the death, even though he knew he had no right to do so. He was frustrated and wanted to lash out, but he had to get himself under control.
Apparently he took too long to speak that time.
She stared at him and said, “I’ve already been photographed and swabbed for blood. Poked and prodded and questioned. The technician said he had everything he needed.”
Dallas nodded curtly. He looked beyond her. It was just after seven in the morning—ridiculously early for a Key West morning—but even so, a few onlookers had gathered in the narrow alley. He let his eyes sweep over them. A tall, bald man who looked as if he had been a prizefighter at one time seemed to be watching Hannah with concern. A young woman with the light coloring and facial features of one of the Eastern European immigrants who made up so much of the Key West workforce was watching the bald man. A slim older woman was staring past the crime tape. A bike messenger was gaping, wide-eyed.
Naturally, the local news had somehow heard all about it already. A Barbie doll of a blonde with a microphone was trying to get something—anything—from the stoic officers guarding the scene, a cameraman following her. When the police refused to cooperate she turned to the onlookers, but none of them seemed to want their fifteen minutes of fame. They replied to her with annoyance, as if she were a fly in the way of the television screen.
“Hang on, Dirk,” Dallas said to the M.E.
He walked over to the newswoman, who was trying to speak to the bald guy. “Miss, so far we have nothing but a dead man. Out of respect, perhaps you could hold off until there’s something to report? When the police have enough information to make a statement, they will.”
“And you are?”
“Not the police spokesman,” Dallas said. “I repeat. When they can give a statement, they will.”
“Wrap it up, Jake,” she told the cameraman. “They’re blocking the body, anyway. We’ll get footage of the house from the street, show the proximity to Duval....” She turned and glared at Dallas. “And we’ll make sure our viewers know that the police are being extremely unhelpful.”
Liam joined Dallas. “Sunny Smith, right?” he asked the blonde politely. When she nodded, he went on, “Look, Sunny, we don’t know anything yet. We found a body in an alley. That’s it.”
“Who found the body?” Sunny Smith demanded.
“We found a body,” Liam repeated firmly. “When there’s news, we’ll get it to you.”
“Who is the dead man?” Sunny asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Liam said.
“How was he killed?” Sunny demanded.