The detective lit his last cigarette, knowing the nearest corner store was an hour away by car. Outside the cabin, the tall grass waved in the red light of dawn. They’d been at this all night.
Across the table, the suspect combed her fingers through her hair and rested her chin on her palm. She didn’t look at all tired. Cigarette smoke drifted right through her and she didn’t even cough.
He hated interrogating ghosts. They just didn’t have the same buttons as the living.
“Let’s take it from the top. Where were you on the night you were killed?”

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