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“I did not. Mr. Anders would have breakfasted today at eight-fifteen. My next morning duty would have been to reengage the two domestic droids, as these are shut down every evening before Mr. and Mrs. Anders retire, and to give them the day’s work schedule. The droids are kept in the security room, there.” She gestured. “I went in to deal with them, but I noticed the security screens—the in-house. I saw Mr. Anders’s bedroom door was open. Mr. Anders never leaves his door open. If he’s inside the room, or has left the room, the door is closed. If I’m required to be in the room, I’m to leave the door open while I’m inside, then close it again when I leave. It’s the same for the domestics.”
“Why?”
“It’s not my place to ask.”
It’s my place, Eve thought. “You saw the door was open, but you didn’t notice the dead man in bed?”
“The bedroom camera screens only the sitting area. Mr. Anders programmed it that way.”
“A little phobic, maybe?”
“Perhaps. I will say he’s a very private man.”
“So his door was open.”
“Nine years,” Greta continued. “The door has never been open when I arrive in the morning, unless my employers are not in residence. I was concerned, so I went upstairs without booting up the droids. When I got to the bedroom, I saw the fire in the hearth. Mr. Anders will not allow the fire when he sleeps or when he is out of the room. I was more concerned, so I went into the room. I saw him immediately. I went to the bedside, and I saw that I couldn’t help him. I went downstairs again, very quickly, and called nine-one-one.”
“Why downstairs?”
Greta looked puzzled. “I thought, from books and plays and vids, that I was not to touch anything in the room. Is that wrong?”
“No, it’s exactly right. You did exactly the right thing.”
“Good.” Greta gave a brisk, self-congratulatory nod. “Then I contacted Mrs. Anders, and waited for the police to come. They came in, perhaps, five or six minutes. I took the two officers upstairs, then one brought me back down to the kitchen, and waited here with me until you stepped in.”
“I appreciate the details. Can you tell me who has the security codes to the house?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Anders and myself. The codes are changed every ten days.”
“No one else has the codes? A good friend, another employee, a relative?”
Greta shook her head, decisively. “No one else has the codes.”
“Mrs. Anders is away.”
“Yes. She left on Friday for a week in St. Lucia with some female friends. This is an annual trip, though they don’t go to the same place necessarily.”
“You contacted her.”
“Yes.” Greta shifted slightly. “I realize, after thinking more clearly, I should have waited, and the police would have notified Mrs. Anders. But…they’re my employers.”
“How did you contact her?”
“Through the resort. When she goes on holiday, she often shuts off her pocket ’link.”
“And her reaction?”
“I told her there had been an accident, that Mr. Anders was dead. I don’t think she believed me, or understood me initially. I had to repeat it twice, and I felt, under the circumstances, I couldn’t tell her when she asked what kind of accident. She said she would come home immediately.”
“Okay, Greta. You have a good relationship with the Anderses?”
“They are very good employers. Very fair, very correct.”
“How about their relationship, with each other? It’s not gossip,” Eve said, reading Greta perfectly. “It’s very fair, and it’s very ‘correct’ for you to tell me any and everything you can that may help me find out what happened to Mr. Anders.”
“They seemed very content to me, very well suited. It would be my impression that they enjoyed each other, and their life together.”
Enjoying each other wasn’t what the crime scene transmitted, Eve thought. “Did either, or both of them, have relationships outside the marriage?”
