Falcone sighed. The picture in this case was clear, but yet it wasn’t. There was too much missing, and some of the pieces seemed to be a wrong fit. There was a glaring lack of evidence, and she was frustrated by the coordinated stories of the two girls, which she suspected to be false, and by the lack of camera footage.
Briefly, Falcone wondered why the security footage feed had been canceled. Perhaps Ms. Rossi hadn’t been as security-conscious as her ex-husband, but then why have cameras at all?
The footage question could not be answered. So what did she know for sure was the truth?
Falcone remembered the way the younger girl, Venetia, had flinched away from her touch. Her back had been sore. A pain reaction could not be concealed. She’d explained it as a fall from her horse, but to Falcone, that had sounded glib and rehearsed.
Were the children being abused?
If so, by whom?
Had Ms. Rossi seen Cassie Vale smacking them, or hitting them? Had that led to a fight?
She remembered again that porcelain shard, the disproportionate number of wounds and scratches that Ms. Rossi had from her fall, and the scratch and badly concealed bruise on Cassie Vale’s face. Her story was littered with inconsistencies and having heard two versions within as many hours, containing notable differences, Falcone was convinced neither was the truth.
A mother who found out that her children had been abused would be furious, and this confrontation could have led to a fight, and to a fall—or else, being pushed. But then why were the children not more upset? It was possible that they had been intimidated by the au pair, but genuine grief would still find a way out, and Falcone hadn’t seen enough of it.
The other scenario was that Ms. Rossi had been abusing her children, and Cassie Vale had found out, and was trying to protect them.
Falcone wondered if the Rossi family had any documented history of abuse or violent behavior. She decided that first thing in the morning, she would contact the local police as well as Social Services, and see if she could uncover any previous incidents or reports.
Then another idea occurred to her. Perhaps she could pick up something on Cassie Vale. When she’d photographed her passport for identification purposes, she’d noticed a French work visa that was still valid, and also that she’d recently spent some time in the United Kingdom.
Falcone was beginning to wonder if Cassie Vale’s extreme anxiety about being parted from her passport meant that she’d had some sort of trouble with it before. Perhaps it had been seized by border officials, or even held by the police in the past. That would mean recently, since she’d only left the States a couple of months ago.
Two of the detectives in her team were well connected internationally. One was an ex–Europol employee, and the other had worked in France and Germany. Falcone decided she would ask them to research the young au pair, network with their contacts, and see if her name came up anywhere.
After all, abusers were often repeat offenders, but so, too, were murderers.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Every time Cassie closed her eyes, she was taken back to that dreadful, irreversible moment on the stairs. She’d replayed it in her head countless times, but in her efforts to recall the hazy facts, she’d changed the version over and over again.
In one, she pushed Ms. Rossi down deliberately, but although she tried as hard as she could, Cassie couldn’t recall her outstretched hands making contact. It didn’t mean they hadn’t, though, just that she couldn’t remember it. In another, Nina charged forward and shoved her mother with all her might. Nina had run forward, that was true, but the actual push, Cassie couldn’t remember.
She thought she must have closed her eyes when it happened, although she had no recall of doing so. She felt totally confused. It was as if the versions were somehow all true, but the next moment, none of them felt right at all.
Ms. Rossi had screamed. She had threatened Cassie with death. She had yelled that she would kill her, that Cassie wouldn’t get out of the house alive. She’d lunged forward, in an attempt to grab Cassie and throttle her.
No, that hadn’t happened on the stairs, she had done that earlier.
How had the fight moved to that area, after Cassie’s near-strangulation, when she’d been pressed against the mahogany desk in the corridor? Had Cassie walked away? Worse still, had the other woman walked away, and Cassie chased after her and with her open palms, shoved her down while her back was turned?
That was the worst scenario of all and every time Cassie thought of it, she went icy cold and felt herself shrinking inside, because that would be cold-blooded, deliberate murder. If she’d done that, there hadn’t been any element of self-defense at all.
And she did remember her outstretched hands. They were the only perfectly clear memory she had, etched into her mind. Fists clenched, hands together. Had she been going to push, or had she pushed, or had Ms. Rossi fallen to her death in the melee? And what had Nina being doing during all of this?
Every time Cassie thought about the young girl and tried to replay her actions, it seemed that Nina played a bigger role, until eventually Cassie was sure that she had either pushed her mother, or been trying to do so while Cassie had fought her off.
She’d been doing her best to help Cassie and protect her, but how far had her efforts gone?
Cassie turned over and punched her pillow to try and make it more comfortable. Sleep had eluded her the entire night, even though she’d
