“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.”