by Blake Pierce
Falcone shook her head.
There was more to this. She was convinced of it. However, she had realized that Ms. Vale was unlikely to provide any of the answers. She hoped that the children would fill in the gaps, and that their reactions and behavior would help her make sense of this disturbing situation.
“May I speak to the little girls?” she asked. “I will only take a few minutes, just to establish some basic facts, if they are not feeling too upset.”
The au pair seemed excessively relieved that the interview was over, for the time being at any rate.
“Of course, of course.” She jumped up from her chair, her face flooding red.
As she followed her along the spacious, tiled corridor, Falcone was personally convinced that the au pair’s reading of the situation would prove to be false—or at any rate, inaccurate. She was sure that her visit to the children would wrench the whole situation back to reality.
Falcone’s only child was a daughter who, at the age of seven, was only a little younger than these two girls. She loved her girl beyond words and had seen how that love was reciprocated. She could only imagine the horror that her child would have endured if she had watched Falcone fall to her death.
There would be tears—of course there would, and Falcone knew that she would struggle not to break down herself, while witnessing the misery and devastation of two little girls whose world had changed forever, while offering words of comfort that could only provide empty consolation.
As she headed toward the bedroom doors, Falcone felt a flash of anger at the fact that this situation was somehow being misrepresented. If the au pair had caused this to happen, and through her actions, these two girls had been robbed of their mother, Falcone resolved that Cassie Vale would suffer the full wrath of the law.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Detective Falcone tapped on the elder girl’s bedroom door and waited for her to respond.
This was Nina’s room. In here, scared and alone, probably tearful, was a little girl whose world had suddenly and brutally changed. Whatever Falcone did, nothing could bring her mother back. She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the horror of the situation and containing it inside her. She prepared herself to handle the questioning with all the tact and sensitivity it would require.
The au pair stood behind her, nervously shifting from foot to foot.
Falcone considered telling her to go back to the dining room, but decided against it. She wanted to see the girls’ reaction to Ms. Vale first, as it might provide her with valuable insight.
“Come in,” a small voice replied.
Falcone stood aside and allowed Cassie Vale to open the door. As it swung inward, she took in the scene.
A beautiful, doll’s house bedroom—spacious, well decorated, perfectly tidy. Toys placed on a shelf too high for any child to reach. That fact snagged Falcone’s attention for only a moment before she focused on the two girls, who were both in this room.
Dressed in cream-colored nightgowns, they were sitting side by side on the bed, and had been reading a picture book together. They looked up as the two adults entered and Falcone was immediately struck by their calmness and composure. It was completely out of place—almost eerie, she thought.
The au pair cleared her throat nervously.
“Nina and Venetia, this is Detective Falcone, who has come to ask you a few questions.”
“Good evening,” the girls chorused in unison.
They appeared to be at ease with the au pair and did not seem afraid, but Falcone had already established that their reactions were far from normal. What she didn’t yet know was why.
“Good evening, Nina and Venetia,” Falcone said gently.
She turned to Cassie. “I will take it from here, if you could please go and wait in the dining room.”
When Cassie had closed the door, Falcone walked over to the bed.
“May I sit with you?”
She perched on the edge of the bed so that she was on the girls’ level.
“I am so sorry about your mother,” she said.
Now that she was closer, she could see that the girls had, in fact, been crying. Their eyes were red and their faces tear-stained. So perhaps they were very introverted, or had been taught not to display emotion in public.
“We are sorry, too. It was a great shock, and we are traumatized,” Nina said calmly.
From her choice of words, Falcone realized she was unusually eloquent for her age.
“Can I talk to you on your own, and then talk to Venetia on her own?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Venetia stood up and left the room and again, Falcone noticed there was no reluctance, no hysterics. The girls seemed impeccably disciplined.
“Can you tell me what happened this evening?” Falcone asked.
She waited while Nina, frowning, took some time to think before answering.
“We all had supper with Nonna, who had recently arrived,” she said, speaking loudly and clearly, even though Falcone was right next to her on the bed.
“Then Mama said we would have tiramisu with Nonna in her room, before bed. She went to get the tiramisu. We decided to go too, in case she needed help, so we followed her. I saw her at the top of the stairs, and then she suddenly slipped and I heard bangs and crashes and knew she must have tumbled the whole way down. It was awful. I didn’t know why that could have happened or if she was all right. I shouted for Cassie, who came quickly.”
“You didn’t run to your mother?” Falcone asked.
“I felt too scared to go down. I was too afraid that she might have died,” Nina said, still in that high, clear voice.
“Did your mother say anything or call out before she fell?”
Nina thought for a moment.
“I don’t remember anything,” she said. “It happened so fast.”
“When did Cassie leave you at dinner?”
“She got up from the table as soon as we were finished and said that she was going to have a shower and continue with her packing.”
Falcone nodded, frustrated that the story was dovetailing perfectly with what Cassie Vale had told her, and that Nina’s composure seemed to be impenetrable.
“Was your mother kind to you?” she asked.
“She was a very kind and good person,” Nina replied smoothly and gave another sniff. “I will miss her terribly.”
“And why was Cassie Vale with you for so short a time?” Falcone tried.
“She was going to leave tomorrow. I don’t know why.”
Falcone remembered Cassie’s version and wondered, suddenly, how a woman with dementia could possibly care for two children. She would not be capable, and Ms. Rossi must have known this. Had there been more to the story? She suddenly wondered if Cassie Vale had been told to care for the old woman as part of her duties, and had refused, and then grown angry when Ms. Rossi insisted on it.
“Was there ever any fighting between your mama and your au pair, Cassie Vale?” she asked.
Nina thought for a minute.
“I did not ever see Mama and Cassie fighting, or hear any angry words,” she said clearly.
It suddenly hit Falcone, like a thunderbolt, sharp and shocking and unfortunately far too late. Nina’s odd clarity of speech, the projection of her voice—this was not being done for her own benefit. It was being done so that her sister could hear what she said, and could offer the same version.
Falcone was certain, in fact she would have bet a million Euros, that if she strode silently to the closed bedroom door and flung it open, she would find Venetia standing outside with her ear pressed to the keyhole. And she was already convinced that when she went next door and asked Venetia these same questions, she would receive identical, word-perfect replies.
She didn’t do it. Partly because it had been her own fault. She should have anticipated that the children might collude. And partly because, whatever the real circumstances were, they’d had a hellish evening. Although the two g
irls were incredibly self-possessed, they had been crying in private and had suffered trauma and loss that no young child should have to endure. She was not willing to compound it by exposing something that the two girls had successfully planned, even though it was embarrassing for a seasoned detective to have been outwitted by two children under the age of ten.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “I will go and ask Venetia a few questions now.”
Falcone was sure she heard the fast scamper of feet away from the door.
Venetia was sitting innocently on her bed when Falcone walked in. This room was a mirror image of her sister’s. The same showpiece furniture, and the same high shelf with untouched toys.
“I am so sorry this happened,” Falcone said sympathetically.
She put a comforting hand on the young girl’s back as she perched on the bed beside her.
To her surprise, Venetia flinched away and Falcone saw a spasm of pain cross her features.
“Are you all right? Is your back sore?” she asked in concern. This was the first honest, knee-jerk response she’d had from the children. She hadn’t expected it at all. Had they been beaten or abused in some way?
“I fell from my horse,” Venetia replied. “It will be better soon.”
“I see. I hope that wasn’t scary. And I hope you’re not too upset after what happened tonight.”
“It was a great shock. We are very upset,” Venetia replied. “Mama was a kind and good person and we will miss her terribly.”
Just about word perfect, as Falcone had suspected.
She found herself thinking back over her case history, identifying the odd behavior of these girls and comparing it with other, older cases that she had handled, and also with the training she herself had received.
This steely composure that had to be maintained at all costs, the way the girls seemed older than their years, and that flinch of pain when she’d touched Venetia’s back. After that, the girl had shut down again and the fall from the horse sounded like a rehearsed excuse.
Falcone was beginning to wonder if these girls were victims of abuse.
After concluding the interview with Venetia, her final stop was the room that had been pointed out to her—the one where Nonna, newly arrived, had been installed.
Falcone tapped on the door gently, realizing that the old lady did not know, as yet, that anything had happened to her daughter. It would be a difficult task to tell her. If she became too upset, Falcone might need to summon a police constable to stay with her for the night, to reassure her and check she didn’t harm herself in her distress.
There was no answer, so she opened the door and stepped quietly inside.
The room was dark and she could hear rough, shallow breathing from the bed.
She flicked the light switch on and saw that Nonna was on her back, her mouth open, deeply asleep. Falcone was struck by how pale and frail the elderly lady looked. She was certainly not well.
“Ms. Rossi?” she asked softly.
Crossing the room, she gently squeezed the woman’s thin, bony hand.
“Are you able to speak?”
The grandmother muttered something incoherent, and slipped into a deep slumber again.
Falcone returned to the door. She would have to leave this interview for another time. With the move, the elderly lady had endured a tiring day. Tomorrow, she would be rested, and might be able to remember and share what she saw.
*
Cassie waited in the dining room, feeling more and more nervous with every second that passed. She wished she knew what the detective was asking, and whether her kind and perceptive manner had broken through the girls’ story to expose the real truth.
If so, she would be in serious trouble. Concealing evidence and deliberately tampering with a crime scene was a crime on its own. Even if she was, by some miracle, exonerated from the murder charges, these others would still apply and there was something in the lady detective’s quiet, steely manner that suggested to Cassie she would not back off if she suspected anything untoward had taken place.
The whole situation, right from the time she arrived, had been untoward. Cassie bitterly regretted not having been truthful upfront. What an insane decision it had been to try and hide the facts.
As she waited, she found herself playing and replaying the scene in her mind.
How could she have told the truth, when she was not even sure what it was?
The entire chain of events had played out in such panic. After the sustained fight, Cassie had been operating on a wave of adrenaline, buoyed by instinct. There had been no place for rational thought.
She thought again of Nina rushing forward, and suddenly this action seemed to be more significant.
Had the young girl pushed her mother down the stairs?
Or had it been Cassie herself, in the heat of the moment, realizing Ms. Rossi’s vulnerable position and shoving her instead of grabbing her?
She simply couldn’t remember. It was not even a blur; that moment had become a total blackout. She played it again and again in her mind, desperate for some clarity. She craved certainty either way, even if it was the answer she dreaded, and she ended up remembering that her outstretched fists had smashed into Ms. Rossi and sent her somersaulting backward.
Cassie breathed in deeply, feeling a wave of nausea at the thought.
Her broken heel might have caused her to fall. After all, indisputably, it had snapped. Cassie prayed it had been the heel. The heel absolved them all of blame. Anything else, and she knew that the crushing weight of guilt would never leave her.
She sat up as she heard the detective’s fast, light footsteps return, and stared apprehensively as the dark-haired woman entered the room. What had the children said?
The detective simply said, “Thank you for your time. I have checked with my team and everything is finished downstairs. The scene has been cleared, and everyone is ready to leave, so you may use the staircase as normal again.”
“All right,” Cassie said, feeling weak with relief that they were leaving, and not arresting her on the spot.
“We have contacted the girls’ father, but he is out of the country and will only be able to get here tomorrow evening. Are you willing to stay on for tonight and tomorrow, and do you feel capable of managing the grandmother and the children?” Detective Falcone asked.
Cassie nodded. “Yes, absolutely. No problem at all.”
“If you are in any doubt, I can ask a police officer to sleep here tonight to assist you.”
“I will be fine. Truly.”
Falcone nodded.
“Ms. Rossi senior was deeply asleep, so I did not disturb her. However this means she does not yet know about her daughter’s death. I will be back tomorrow morning, so it will be better to wait until then before we tell her. The girls’ father said he is organizing a home nurse to care for her until alternative arrangements can be made, so from tomorrow evening, someone will be available to assist her.”
“Thank you. I’ll wait for you to come back, then.”
“We will be in touch early tomorrow. I will leave now, if you would like to lock up and make everything secure.”
“Would you like to take the keys?” Cassie offered. “That way, you and your team can come and go as you need to. There’s a spare set in the kitchen if I have to go out, but the children will stay home from school tomorrow, I should think.”
“Thank you.”
Cassie gave Detective Falcone her front door key and gate remote.
Then the detective turned away and walked out.
Cassie followed her, feeling anxious all over again, and deeply worried that the detective suspected her after all. Falcone seemed highly intelligent, but she was quiet and reserved and Cassie had no idea what she was thinking. She could so easily piece together what had really happened, and expose their weak attempt at a cover-up.
As Falcone walked down the passage, she stopped, stared, and bent down.
Cassie didn’
t dare to breathe, feeling dizzy as Falcone picked up a thin sliver of porcelain. They had missed that long, white splinter while they were cleaning up.
“What is this, do you know?” she asked, turning to Cassie.
Panic boiled inside her.
“I—I don’t know. I don’t know, I’m so sorry not to be able to explain. Where could it have come from?” she gabbled out.
“I wonder,” the detective said.
She opened her briefcase and took out a small evidence bag, dropping the shard inside, still with that considering expression, as if she was about to put two and two together and come up with exactly the right answer.
Then she did something that turned Cassie’s world upside down.
Detective Falcone stared up at the discreet eye of the security camera at the top of the stairs, and gave a small, emphatic nod.
Without speaking to Cassie again, she closed her briefcase and headed down the stairs.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Cassie managed to wait until the detective had closed the front door behind her.
Then she sank to her knees, feeling as if her legs had turned to water.
That camera footage would have faithfully recorded every detail. She’d forgotten all about those discreet, hidden eyes around the house. There was no way that the recording would lie. The position of that camera meant it would have recorded every detail of the fight, and the fatal fall. There was another one further down the passage that would have captured the earlier melee.
With a rush of horror, she realized the footage would also show their subsequent clean-up, the careful sweeping of the floor, checking for any signs they might have missed, picking up the hank of hair in the corridor and wiping the scuff marks away.
She knew the cameras worked, because Ms. Rossi had seen Cassie on them, clearly enough to pick up exactly what she’d been doing as she searched through the house.
This was a catastrophe. The one factor she hadn’t considered would destroy any hope she’d had of succeeding with this mad and irresponsible plan.