Had Ms. Rossi interfered with the processes, and paid off certain departments to avoid any complaints going onto the record?
If this had been the case, Falcone knew it would be difficult to prove. Corrupt officials who had accepted bribes were as slippery as eels, and were expert at covering their tracks and ensuring no incriminating records were available. As a result, it was usually impossible to trace back whether this had occurred, unless the person who had laid the complaint sought help from a different department or a police unit that lay outside the radius of the briber’s influence.
Mr. Dellucci had sounded panicked, though. What did that mean?
Falcone shook her head. It was all proving to be frustratingly inconclusive.
At this point, all she had was a hint that the au pair had been involved in trouble before, and that somebody might have been abusing the Rossi children.
There was one other avenue that she could pursue, and that was to question the elderly grandmother who had just moved into residence at the family home.
Falcone checked her watch. It was time to pay another visit to the house and see if Nonna—her last hope—could provide any information, or best of all, a usable eyewitness account. After all, she had been present in the home at the time. Perhaps this lady would be able to provide the missing pieces of the puzzle and give Falcone what she longed for—cast-iron proof to confirm her strong suspicions.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
After the children had eaten, Cassie prepared a tray of food for Nonna and took it upstairs. She tapped on the bedroom door, dreading the moment when she would have to walk inside. Her mouth felt dry and her stomach was tight with tension.
If Nonna was awake, and seemed coherent, and asked where her daughter was, then Cassie would have to stall her until the police arrived to break the news.
She realized that Nonna’s mental condition made her movements unpredictable. She’d walked into a different room last night without anyone noticing. Cassie hoped that she would be safely in bed, and would not have had any difficulties during the night. Imagine if the old lady had climbed out of bed during a delusional episode and injured herself.
Cassie was glad that this was the last day she would spend in charge here. From tonight, when the girls’ father arrived, the old lady’s welfare would be his responsibility and no longer rest on her shoulders.
When she opened the door, she saw Nonna was sitting up in bed and seemed bright-eyed and alert.
“Buongiorno,” Cassie greeted her, trying to sound cheerful.
Even though this woman was probably an abusive mother herself, family was still family, and blood was blood. If Nonna asked anything about her daughter, would Cassie be able to evade the questions without giving anything away, or even breaking down completely?
As she set the tray on the bedside table, Cassie wondered how much physical and psychological damage Ms. Rossi had endured at her mother’s hands, and if this had helped to turn her into the violent and domineering mother she’d become.
“Nonna, would you like some breakfast? I have brought you toast and tea, and some slices of sausage.”
Nonna nodded. Even though her body was a frail husk, her limbs emaciated and quivering, she seemed to be coherent this morning. Staring at Cassie, she whispered something softly.
Cassie leaned forward.
“What did you say? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“I saw everything.” Nonna’s eyes were vague now, but her voice was sharp. “I saw what you did last night.”
Cassie froze, staring in panic at the old woman. Nonna’s eyes, dark and irascible, were fixed on her now.
“I—I don’t understand,” she whispered, praying that Nonna meant something else, and that she wasn’t implying what Cassie dreaded.
“I saw you fighting last night,” Nonna husked, and Cassie found herself leaning forward, drawn in by those flat, dark eyes.
“You fought with my daughter. I watched you attack her. It was your fault, all your fault. You were like a madwoman. You started the fight and then you finished it. You took your hands like this.”
Nonna raised her trembling limbs. Even though her hands were claw-like with arthritis, Cassie saw to her horror she was mimicking the way that she’d held her fists out in front of her; the one clear memory she’d had after the violent confusion of the fight.
“And you pushed her. All the way down the stairs. She fell. I think you killed her, didn’t you? You, young girl, are a murderess. Assassina.”
She jabbed her quivering index finger in Cassie’s direction.
Horror erupted inside Cassie. Frail she might be, but this elderly woman was speaking with perfect clarity. In her voice and her words, she could sense the brutal, domineering mother that Nonna had once been.
“You’re wrong,” she whispered. “It didn’t happen that way. Not at all.”
“Oh, yes. It did. I saw everything, con i miei occhi.” Nonna pointed to her eyes.
“No. Ottavia attacked me. She was abusing Nina and went crazy when I tried to stop her. Everything else was self-defense. I didn’t mean to push her. She was trying to kill me, and I was fighting her off. The fall was an accident,” Cassie pleaded.
She had no idea whether Nonna’s dementia was causing her to remember inaccurately, or if she was purposely exaggerating what had happened in order to point the blame at Cassie.
Or, worst of all, a third option occurred to her. What if she herself was the one whose memory was at fault, and Nonna’s version was the full truth?
Cassie looked down. She couldn’t meet the old woman’s bright, beady gaze. Guilt crushed her all over again as she wondered how much she had misremembered, and how events had played out during those chaotic moments.
No matter how much of it was the truth, she knew Nonna’s account would destroy her. If the police heard
