As a result, Falcone had always found her footwear choices ended up being practical, as well as beautiful. Heels were fine within reason, but when she put on a shoe, her first question was: Could I run in this, if I had to?
That ruled out the more extreme designs, although she was proud of the pace she could set in a pair of high heels. But these shoes? They were insane. They were like catwalk prototypes, which would be toned down before being sold in the high street stores.
Falcone tried to imagine what would happen if the heel had suddenly snapped, perhaps as the woman had put her full weight on it.
With a heel that high, it would definitely have destabilized the woman. Falcone would have imagined that a serious ankle injury, a sprain or even a break, would have been more likely than a fall, but she knew it depended on the circumstances.
“Did you witness the fall?” she called to Ms. Vale, who was waiting in the hallway below, keeping a few yards away from the stairs, and still twisting her fingers together anxiously.
“No. The children did.”
“They actually saw it?” Falcone couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice. “Did the children go to their mother afterwards? Are they all right?”
Her hand dropped to the phone in her pocket, ready to make the call to summon a nurse, or counselor, immediately.
Ms. Vale looked indecisive for a moment as if she wasn’t sure how she should answer that.
“They are all right. They were obviously shaken but I—I guess it hasn’t really sunk in yet.”
“How old are they?”
“Eight and nine years.”
Falcone’s eyebrows shot up. She would have expected instant hysterics; two shocked and inconsolable children running straight to their mother, shaking her, trying to rouse her, inadvertently contaminating the scene as they did their best to wake her.
It didn’t make sense that the au pair was saying this hadn’t happened. Perhaps the children had gone to her, but she hadn’t seen, since according to her, she had not been there at the time. Falcone knew her anxiety might also affect her recall of events.
Even so, Falcone knew, there was something very wrong here.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
“Is there a place where we can sit?” Detective Falcone asked Cassie Vale.
She was curious to drill down into the sketchy story that the au pair had provided so far. From her nervous manner, Falcone was prepared for her version to be littered with inconsistencies and half-truths, but she knew that sometimes lies could be as revealing as honesty, and could guide a perceptive interviewer to what had really happened.
“There—there’s a room upstairs. It was a lounge, but it got changed into a dining room today so that Nonna, the children’s grandmother, can access it. She battled to walk up the stairs when she arrived.”
Ms. Vale took a shaky breath as if those words had reminded her how lethal the stairs could be.
“Please keep to your far right when you walk up,” Falcone advised. Ms. Rossi had fallen on the left side of the stairs. She watched the young woman carefully as she climbed up. She pressed herself close to the railing, seeming to need it for support, and looked away from the body as she passed.
The forensics team was already moving smoothly into operation. Her second-in-command was busy briefing the coroner, who had just arrived. They would photograph the scene, and take forensic samples before removing the body.
Falcone had worked with these detectives, and this coroner, for years. She trusted them to do the very best job, without her micromanagement and interference. She knew her strength was in the interviewing, as she had an exceptional ability to pick up physical tells and ask the right questions.
Once she’d completed the interview, she would share her first impressions with her team. Most probably, they would already have picked up on some of the same concerns she had.
“How long have you been working here?” Falcone was suddenly curious. She sensed that the au pair seemed somehow out of place.
“Me? Just three days.”
Falcone frowned as she walked into the upstairs room, which from its décor, and the armchairs stacked along the back wall, had clearly been repurposed.
Pulling out a chair at the dining table, she noticed a soup tureen and five empty bowls stacked neatly on the sideboard, and an empty red wine bottle next to them. Clearly the family had dined here earlier. Then the unimaginable had happened.
Falcone took the notepad and tape recorder out of her bag.
After confirming the nervous woman’s full name and details, she asked, “May I see your passport, please?”
A spasm of anxiety crossed the woman’s pretty face.
“My passport? Is it necessary? Do you have to keep it, or will I get it back?”
“It’s standard procedure to obtain photographic proof of identity of all witnesses who are not direct family,” Falcone reassured her.
Even so, she was intrigued by just how worried Ms. Vale seemed about handing it over, and how defensive she appeared.
After Falcone had paged through the document and photographed the relevant pages, she handed it back and was again surprised how the young woman just about snatched it up, and zipped it immediately into the side pocket of her purse.
Falcone proceeded with the interview.
“So you arrived three days ago? Is that when you were hired?”
“Yes.”
“Why was an au pair needed? Were you replacing someone who left?”
“Um—no, I don’t think so. Ms. Rossi told me that she’d been divorced and then gotten very busy with work, and needed someone to stay with the children.”
“And how long were you hired for?”
Falcone sat straighter as she saw this innocent question had hit home. Cassie Vale looked unsettled by it. She bit
