“We can’t do that. It’s not just us, you see. We have to call the police,” Cassie said, her voice high and breathy.
Now the girls exchanged another troubled glance.
“The police must not know that we were fighting with Mama,” Nina said. “Perhaps we should not call them at all.”
“You have to call the police when someone has died, or you get into terrible trouble,” Cassie explained, although she knew there was no way to avoid the trouble that would explode into her life after she made that call.
Nina shook her head.
“Then we must not tell them everything that happened. If we say there was a fight, they will be angry, and might put us in jail. Mama warned us about that. I do not want to go to jail so I think we must tidy up.”
Venetia nodded.
“Mama always said, ‘You must tell the police it was an accident and you fell from your horse. You must tell them everything is OK and nothing is wrong.’”
To Cassie’s astonishment, the two girls continued in unison, as if these were instructions they had memorized.
“You must say the same thing every time they ask, and must not change what you say. Even if they ask you in a different way, because they are trying to trick you.”
They looked at each other solemnly as if to confirm this was correct.
Nina added, in helpful tones, “We can all tell the police Mama tripped and fell.”
Cassie’s head spun. Their mother’s strategy was clear. Lie to the police, or else. This might even have happened in the past, and now the children were automatically repeating the lines they had been taught.
This was far more serious than covering up a beating. This was a death—murder.
And she was an adult, not a child who had been misinformed about the correct processes to follow.
Cassie started shaking all over again as she thought about the consequences. The police would come. For better or worse, she would have to call them and answer their questions when they arrived. Ms. Rossi was not an ordinary person but the owner of a massive fashion empire. Her death would be closely investigated.
What would she choose?
Would it be a full and honest disclosure of the fight that had taken place and her own involvement in that horrific fall?
Or would it be the scenario that the girls themselves had suggested?
Rewrite the past, erase the conflict. Tidy up and pretend that it had been a terrible accident, a misjudged fall, the snapping of that fine, silver heel causing the woman to plummet to her death.
Cassie took a deep breath.
She didn’t think it was right to cover it up. In fact, she thought it was insane—a risky move that if it was discovered, would land her in far more trouble than telling the truth. But at least it gave her a chance.
If she confessed to the fight, and said that she had been standing at the top of the stairs, and had pushed Ms. Rossi down, she would undoubtedly be charged with murder. That was a deliberate act and she had made the choice to do it.
She would spend weeks or months in prison and how would she be able to afford a defense lawyer who could make her version of events hold up against the legal juggernaut that the Rossi empire would set in motion? The accompanying media storm would make her famous for all the wrong reasons.
Cassie knew that very few people were aware of the children’s abuse, and those who knew were not willing to speak out. The local police had been bribed to ignore complaints, and social services had been bought off. In the eyes of the world, Ms. Rossi had been the perfect mother and that meant Cassie would automatically be perceived as the culprit, who had started a violent physical fight and then shoved an innocent woman to her death.
Then there was the girls’ future to think of. The scandal that would result from a murder verdict would traumatize them more badly, and for longer, than if everyone agreed it had been a tragic accident.
Her entire life was at stake. The decision she made now would affect her, and the children, forever. And she had to make it instantly, because every moment counted.
“Let’s tidy up,” she told the two girls.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The girls set about the job of cleaning the mess in a methodical way and Cassie followed their lead. Nina picked up the larger fragments of the smashed vase, while Venetia fetched a dustpan and brush.
Cassie felt oddly dissociated, as if she was somewhere far away, watching herself go about this task. If she thought too hard about the reality of what she was doing, she knew she would panic and freeze, and be unable to continue.
Deliberately tampering with a crime scene was a highly illegal act that would get her into a world of trouble if it was ever found out. A murdered woman lay downstairs. They should have called the police immediately. Now, it was too late. As she brushed crumbs of porcelain into the plastic dustpan, Cassie knew she had no choice but to follow through with the decision she’d made.
After the splinters had been swept up, they walked along the corridor, scanning the tiles for any signs of a fight.
Venetia picked up a hank of long, dark hair. Nina must have torn it from Ms. Rossi’s scalp during the vicious attack that Cassie now realized might have saved her life. She hadn’t believed the woman would stop strangling her, and thought she would have continued until she’d choked the life out of Cassie’s body.
Most probably, if Cassie had died, she would be clearing the scene in just the same way, forcing the children to help her, and disposing of her body somehow. Perhaps the ever-willing Maurice would have organized for a “drainage trench” to be dug in the garden, while Ms. Rossi dumped
