The Tattered Thread

CHAPTER FIVE

  A tall, good-looking man dressed in a dark blue suit and tie came into the room. Following him was a short, stout fellow wearing a wide, maroon bow tie, gray jacket, and matching trousers. The first gentleman removed his hat and then put it on a hatrack above a stand filled with some of Carl’s walking sticks. When he looked up, it was as if the air thinned so much that it felt hard to breathe.

  When he glanced at Elaine, her perception of him was that he could be warm and gentle, but she could also tell that he had an unconquerable soul. He wouldn’t rest until his job was done. And although the smaller man scrutinized everything and seemed ruthless and mighty, he didn’t seem nearly as scary as the quiet one.

  “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced this evening,” the tall gentleman said, brushing past rope portieres framing the archway between the two separate parlor rooms, “but bare with us, please. My name is Detective Rein Connery. I’m in charge of this investigation.” He stepped aside. “This is Detective Maynard Slye. He’ll be working with me.” They both pulled up a couple of side chairs and made themselves comfortable.

  It could only be assumed that “Rein,” which was pronounced “rain,” was short for Reinhardt or Reinhard, or perhaps even Reinart. Since the detective didn’t specify, there was no telling. But one thing was for sure, and that was the name had origins in Germany and meant “mighty judgment,” and at the moment, no one was arguing that fact.

  “Sir?” Silas said, pulling himself up and then leaning against the arm of the couch.

  “Yes, son?” Connery said, giving him his full attention. “Was Carlyle Kastenmeier your daddy?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Silas.”

  “What can I do for you, Silas?”

  “Have you examined my father’s body yet?”

  “Yes, I have. Why do you ask?”

  “Did you notice what was in his hand?”

  “Are you referring to the thread or to the plastic?”

  “The plastic, sir. Specifically, a pin-on, vinyl badge holder. A name insert had been in it, but it’s gone. I feel that’s significant. You see, my dad had a business meeting earlier today, so finding the insert is important.”

  “I agree, Silas. I’ll check everyone who was at the meeting. If that insert is in the office, we’ll find it. Don’t worry.”

  Silas nodded, resting his head against the couch and closing his eyes.

  “Are you all right, son?” Connery asked him.

  “He’s sick,” Lois said. “Scarlet fever.”

  “He should be in bed.”

  “I agree, but he insisted on staying up to tell you about the plastic his father was holding. Silas is a thinker, and sometimes he enjoys making things more complicated than they are.”

  “Are you his mother?”

  “Yes, my name is Lois Kastenmeier. The deceased was my husband.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

  Nodding, she raised her chin and had every intention of looking sincere about being bereaved.

  Connery checked some notes in the black book he was holding. “Anastasia Verena McAvoy,” he said, looking up from the pages. “Does anyone know where she is?”

  Elaine sat forward as she spoke. “She’s gone, sir,” she said. “Tasia packed up some of her things and left.”

  “Did she pack before or after the explosion?”

  “After.”

  “Why did she leave?” Detective Slye asked, rubbing his mustache.

  “I don’t know and she didn’t say. When I went to see what had happened after the explosion, she’d left in the meantime. Tasia and I share the same quarters.”

  “And your name is?”

  “Elaine Kostas. I’m one of the maids.”

  “Does Anastasia have a residence outside this estate?” Connery asked.

  “She has an apartment,” Lois interjected. “I’d be happy to write down the address.”

  “Please do,” he said, giving her a fresh page in his black book and a silver ball point pen. He paused to watch her write it. “Anastasia’s your chef?”

  “Among other things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That girl’s been a thorn in my side for years.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s been sleeping with my husband,” Lois blurted out, surprising everyone in the room. Catching herself, she held a hand to her breast and then laughed as if to soften her tone. “Well, she was sleeping with my husband. I guess that’s no longer a problem for me.”

  “His indiscretion probably made you pretty mad at him,” Connery said, putting his notebook back in his jacket pocket.

  Lois laughed again, this time with greater effort. “It made me feel sorry for him.”

  “Sorry for him? Why’s that?”

  Leaning forward on the couch, she glowered at Connery. Her evil disposition could’ve made Dr. Hannibal Lecter weak in the knees. “Wouldn’t you feel sorry for a man who couldn’t keep his hands off a child?”

  “How old is Anastasia?” Slye asked, and Lois considered him as if he were an annoyance. Then again, she looked at everyone that way.

  “She’s nineteen, but don’t let that fool you. She’s not a little girl now, but she was when it all started. They were together before he’d even met me.”

  “How old was she when their relationship started?”

  “Who knows? He became her guardian when she was a child. Five, I think.”

  “Why did the court grant him legal guardianship?”

  “Her mother had died, and apparently she and Carl had known one another.”

  “What about her father? Is he still around?”

  “He’s around,” she said.

  “I’d like to talk to him,” Connery said.

  “Now that may take some doing. I wish you luck.”

  “What did you do when you found out Carl was abusing Anastasia?”

  “There wasn’t anything I could do.”

  “When did you and Carl Kastenmeier get married?”

  “Six years ago.”

  Connery pulled out his notebook again and started thumbing through it.

  “I’ll save you the trouble of researching that bit of trivia,” she said. “Our son is seven. He was born before Carl and I were married.”

  “I see. That would still make Anastasia only thirteen when you two did marry.”

  “There wasn’t anything I could do about their affair, Detective. Believe me. Carl and I had been together for years and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, you don’t ask questions and you don’t interfere in his private life.” She paused, watching both detectives stare at her accusingly, and she seemed hurt by their unspoken assessment of her.

  “If you want to know more, why don’t you ask him,” she said, pointing to Vic, who was still asleep on the velvet chair.

  “What does he have to do with this?”

  “He’s my late husband’s brother.”

  “What’s his story?” Connery said, getting up and leaning down to shake him awake. Instead, he took in an eye-squinting whiff of the booze emanating from every pore of Vic’s body. “Oh, nix that. I’ve got the picture,” he said, realizing the man’s intoxicated state. “This fellow’s got the best alibi in the room.”

  Connery went to the door and called for an Officer Blanchard. “Take this guy out and sober him up. I’ve got some questions to ask him.”

  Nodding, the man in blue tried to wake Vic up enough to have him help out, but it didn’t work. Grabbing his arm and putting it around his shoulders, Blanchard pulled Vic up from his seat. The policeman supported Vic’s weight and had to carry him out of the room.

  “Need any help there, Bob?” Slye asked, but didn’t seem anxious to get up from his seat.

  “No, I’ve got him,” Blanchard said as Connery held the door open and then closed it after they’d passed through.

  “Mrs. Kastenmeier,” Connery said, “I need a
list of everyone who works for you.” She nodded as Elaine handed her a tablet and pen from the top of a nearby desk. “Is there anyone else who should be here who isn’t?” he asked, addressing no one in particular.

  “Yeah,” Cameron said, fidgeting. “John Linton, Mr. Kastenmeier’s bodyguard.”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m Cameron Dmytryk. I drive for the Kastenmeiers, mostly.”

  “Do you normally stay over at the estate at night, Cameron?”

  “Most weekdays I do. My apartment is an hour’s drive from here. I usually take off on Fridays, though.”

  “Today’s Friday,” Slye pointed out. “Why didn’t you head on home today?”

  “Well, my ex-wife took the kids to her mother’s house for the weekend. So, I didn’t have a reason to go back to my place.”

  “How many children do you have?”

  “Two boys.”

  “You didn’t have anything special to do this evening?” Connery said. “A date, or anything like that?”

  “Not tonight,” he said, glancing at Elaine. “I sure wish I did now.”

  “A man was found dead in the yard close to the cottage,” Slye said. “There was a cattle prod beside him. He’s a big guy, well over six feet tall. Mid-thirties, jet black hair, broad shoulders, lanky… His hair is cut real short on the sides. He’s got a dimple in the middle of his chin. Now, does that sound like John Linton?”

  Cameron nodded, looking at Detective Slye. “Yeah, that’s John. What happened to him?”

  “His windpipe was crushed.”

  “My God!” Cameron said, verbalizing the mournful murmurs expressed by everyone else in the room.

  “Somebody dropped a cinder block on his neck,” Connery said. “It killed him instantly.” He paused, watching those around him whisper amongst themselves. “There are a lot of cinder blocks stacked next to that cottage beside the stables. Is somebody adding onto it?”

  “Sam Giles was building himself an extra room in his spare time,” Lois said. “Carl has allowed Sam to live out there for years.”

  “A place all his own. Privacy. Why was Sam getting such special treatment?”

  “Carl liked him. Sam was one of the few friends my husband had. Carl’s father was Wesley Kastenmeier, and he owned race horses. Sam used to ride for him. Carl and Sam practically grew up together. But I think that the main thing they had was a mutual respect for one another, so they stayed out of each other’s way.”

  “Tell me about your husband’s daily routine. What did he usually do after dinner?”

  “Carl would go off into the smoking room or into his office to be by himself. He’d have a cigar and a few glasses of cognac.”

  “What time is dinner usually served?”

  “Six-thirty. Sometimes seven.”

  “How much time did he spend alone in his office?”

  “Well now, let me see: dinner’s at seven, we’d take about an hour and a half at the table, and then he’d go off around eight-thirty.”

  “And he would stay in his office until when?”

  “Until he finished his Corona and made a serious dent in a bottle of cognac.”

  “Which usually took how long?”

  Lois smiled. “You’re not a cigar smoker, are you, Detective?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “A devout smoker knows it takes time to enjoy a good blend. My husband would have explained that half of a good five-inch Corona cigar should produce about fifty puffs, which works out to be one a minute.”

  “So it would take about ninety minutes for him to finish a cigar?”

  “Oh, he would only smoke half and then discard the rest.”

  “It would take him fifty minutes, then.”

  “Plus or minus ten.”

  “So your husband would spend about an hour alone after dinner.”

  “No, longer than that.”

  “How long?” Connery asked, demanding a straight answer.

  “Two hours, sometimes three.”

  “And then what did he do?”

  “He’d usually spend time with Tasia.”

  “Tasia?”

  “Yes, Anastasia. She prefers to be called Tasia.”

  “Did he spend any time with her before he died?”

  Lois’s eyes were so dark, they looked like two black dots. Bringing up Tasia’s name always did that. “You’d have to ask her because I wouldn’t know,” she said, and then didn’t say anything more.

  Connery nodded as if that was a fair answer. “When was the last time you saw your husband alive tonight?” he asked, and she started biting her lip enough to make it bleed.

  “I saw him just before he died, as everyone else did.”

  “And before that?”

  “That would have been around eight-thirty, right after he left the dinner table.” She nodded. “I had a clear view of his back as he walked away from me once again, Detective.”

  “It must’ve been tough sharing a house with your husband’s lover. Why did you put up with it?”

  “Why not?” Lois snickered as tears welled up in her eyes. Elaine couldn’t understand why jealousy was always referred to as the ‘green-eyed’ monster. Lois’s sure looked black to her. “My husband would have spent time with Tasia regardless of whether I was here or not. Moving out wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

  “Except maybe your lifestyle,” Connery said.