Detective Connery was looking rather sullen again. Perhaps Elaine’s firsthand account of Tasia’s trysts with Carl was starting to turn his stomach. He checked his notes and then cleared his throat. “Why did Tasia stay in the servants’ quarters if she was in Carl’s good graces?”
“It was a personal preference. She used to sleep in an upstairs bedroom, but she decided sometime ago to move into the trenches with the rest of us.”
“I get the impression Betty Rhoades doesn’t like you very much,” he said, changing the subject.
“We’re civil with one another, but that’s about it.”
“Why is that?”
“The people who work here are always uptight. There doesn’t have to be a reason.”
“Do you believe Mr. Kastenmeier ever tried to play one of you against the other?”
“Absolutely. He did that all the time, and not just with Betty and me. He did it with everyone.”
“You must have been angry with him for putting you in such an awkward position.”
“I was,” Elaine said, and then was sorry to have admitted it. Talking to Connery this way made it easy to forget who he was and what he was trying to accomplish, and that was to finger someone for a double homicide and then try to make it stick.
Connery simply nodded as if he understood her feeling that way, and then changed the subject again. He did that a lot, as if to keep her off balance and hopefully cajole her into giving more honest answers. “Tell me about Cameron Dmytryk.”
“Sure,” Elaine said, checking her watch. It was past three in the morning. She felt drained and her head was beginning to ache. Hesitating to cover a stifled yawn, she decided it was best not to keep the detectives waiting too long for the story.
“The first time I saw him was in May of this year. Chloe, Tasia, and I were lunching in the kitchen after working all morning.”