Tears filled her eyes as she realized that this would put an end to her quest to find her sister. She would never know if Jacqui was dead or alive, or be able to investigate the shocking information that the boutique owner had given her. This had been her burning goal and her reason for coming to Italy. How could it all have ended in such disaster?
Blinking furiously, Cassie stared down, unable to watch Falcone scroll through the footage, feeling the seconds draw out with torturous slowness. These were the last few moments of her life that she would be presumed innocent.
Then, what seemed like eons later, Falcone gave a frustrated sigh.
“This is only a live feed. It doesn’t save the footage at all, anywhere,” she said, dismayed.
Cassie drew in an audible gasp. She leaned back against the desk, unable to believe what had just happened. This reprieve was impossible. It felt surreal, and she expected at any moment that Falcone might say, “Oh, of course, I was wrong. Here is the footage.”
She watched as Falcone checked one last time.
“Nothing,” the detective said.
She closed the camera feed and then shut the machine with an exasperated sigh.
At that moment, it came to Cassie why no footage was stored anywhere.
It was because those cameras would have picked up on Ms. Rossi herself, abusing her children. The horrors would have been recorded, and having that footage stored anywhere was simply too risky. All the businesswoman had needed was the ability to keep an eye on what was happening at home, so she could monitor the live feed when she felt like doing so.
Thinking fast, Cassie supposed that meant that, after the divorce, the abuse had worsened. Before the divorce, the cameras had linked to the security headquarters, and the girls’ father had still been present in the home.
Cassie jumped as she realized Detective Falcone was staring at her curiously.
“I wonder if you could give me your version of events again,” the detective asked.
“I—yes, of course. Why?”
Cassie’s face blazed as she realized she’d just questioned the detective’s decision. She hadn’t meant to. In her confusion, the word had just slipped out.
Falcone didn’t say why. She took the tape recorder out of her bag and gestured for Cassie to sit in the chair on the opposite side.
This was exactly where she’d sat when she’d arrived for the interview, and Cassie felt a sense of unreality as she took the seat. Then, she’d been hopeful about starting a new job, positive about finding her sister, feeling as if she could cope with these children and this family. She remembered her optimism when Ms. Rossi had suggested the possibility of an internship after the au pair contract was finished.
Her dreams in that regard were gone, and now she was facing a detective who knew, instinctively, that there was a cover-up, and whose probing intelligence would not rest until she’d worked out the true facts.
“Where would you like me to start?” Cassie asked.
“Why did you only work here for three days?”
“It’s because Nonna was able to arrive earlier.”
“Earlier than what? How long was your original assignment supposed to be for?”
“A week,” Cassie said. She thought that if she said she’d been hired for a shorter time, it would make leaving after three days seem more plausible.
As she spoke the outright lie, she remembered to her horror that the detective had asked her the same question in the dining room, just a couple of hours earlier. Then, she had been truthful, and given the correct answer. Changing her story now would only raise the detective’s suspicions and prove she was a liar.
“Sorry. I misunderstood you. I mean—I mean, a couple of months,” she amended. “Two to three months.”
“And you were asked to leave after three days?”
“Like I said, Nonna arrived earlier.”
“But Nonna suffers from dementia. So who was going to care for her?”
“I was just told she was moving in, so I could go,” Cassie insisted.
“What happened this morning?” the detective asked. “From when you woke. Can you give me an outline of your day?”
“I overslept,” Cassie said. “My alarm wasn’t set for the correct time, so the morning was a rush. The children went to school. There—there wasn’t much for me to do. I went into town to sort out a few things. When I got back, Ms. Rossi was already there, preparing for her mother to arrive. She told the housemaids that they should move the dining room furniture upstairs, so that Nonna didn’t have to walk down.”
Cassie frowned.
“No, no, that happened after Nonna arrived. It was then she saw how she battled with the stairs. Anyway, I went and packed, and then had dinner with the family. Then I went back to my room, showered, and just after that I heard the children calling me.”
“Which child?” Falcone asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Which child called you?”
“I—I couldn’t tell at the time. They sound very alike. It might have been both of them.”
Cassie’s face burned. She was certain she’d given a different version in the previous interview, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember the details, or who she’d said it had been. She knew that this detective had picked up on the disparity. She could see it in the considering expression on her striking, intelligent face.
She expected that the detective would instantly accuse her of a crime, or demand that she come in with her for further questioning, but she didn’t.
She simply said, “Thank you,” in a quiet voice, and switched off the recorder.
Somehow, that made Cassie feel even worse.
*
On her way back to headquarters, Falcone considered the available facts. Her father always emphasized to her that evidence was like a jigsaw puzzle. You had to fit the pieces together. If you applied logic, you found certain ones
