by Blake Pierce
The footage would convict her, proving her guilty beyond doubt.
Cassie buried her head in her hands, but her brain was working overtime and she found herself thinking frantically.
When she’d called the house that day, Ms. Rossi had been able to access the footage personally. She’d said she had been watching when she called. She hadn’t mentioned that the security company had called her, so maybe there was a server or recorder in the house itself where it was saved.
Where could it be? How could she find it, and was there a chance she might be able to log into it and erase the footage?
Cassie raised her head, feeling a small spark of encouragement amid the darkness of her despair.
The problem was that the server could be anywhere, and if she hunted for it without finding it, the cameras would pick up her search and only make things worse.
“I know!” she said aloud.
She rushed to her room.
There was one person who worked closely with Ms. Rossi and who would know, without a doubt, where the footage saved to. Her assistant, Maurice Smithers. That very morning, he had given Cassie his business card and she was sure that if she called from the house number, he would answer.
Praying that she hadn’t thrown the card away while doing her packing, Cassie searched through her bag, but she couldn’t find it anywhere.
She must have tossed it out, or accidentally thrown it away while clearing all the old papers and junk from her purse and bags. She’d thrown a lot of rubbish out, without checking all of it, and hadn’t thought she would ever need that card again.
Would Abigail know?
Cassie shook her head. Abigail had arrived at the house because she hadn’t known Maurice’s personal number. She remembered their conversation, and had thought at the time that Maurice didn’t give out his number to very many people. She guessed that was why he’d made such a fuss about handing his card to Cassie.
Now, too late, she was bitterly regretting having thrown it away. There was no other way to access the footage tonight, and that meant no hope of erasing it. It would wait, stored on the server, with the seconds ticking by until it destroyed her.
With a deep sigh, Cassie stood up.
The children needed her. She must do her job and put them to bed, and try to stop worrying about what the next day would bring.
Heavy-footed, she walked through the house to their bedrooms. She hoped that they would be calm after the interview with the policewoman. Detective Falcone had promised to keep the interview short, and it hadn’t taken long, and she had promised not to upset them—but she’d upset Cassie all right.
Exhausted as she was, Cassie forced herself to be strong, and not show how devastated she was. She had to focus on comforting the girls and be fully present for them. She could not let herself dwell on the camera footage that would annihilate her future.
She tapped on Nina’s door and walked inside.
The girls were sitting together on the bed and Cassie was surprised to see that they’d gotten all the toys down from their high shelf. She didn’t want to think about how exactly the two had done that. It must have involved putting the chair on the desk and standing on it. At any rate, no bones were broken and the toys were now in a colorful row on the desk.
The two girls were talking softly together, with the beautiful doll seated on the bed between them. Nina was braiding the doll’s hair while Venetia chose a change of clothing from the small wardrobe that had been in the doll’s box.
They looked up when she entered, and Nina stared at her anxiously, as if she was instinctively worried she might be in trouble for playing with the doll.
“Are you having fun?” Cassie did her best to sound cheerful and calm. She was glad to see the tension leave Nina’s face, and be replaced by a tentative smile.
“Yes, we are,” Nina said. “It has been a long time since we have played with Allegra, our doll. Look how beautiful she is.”
“The poor girl has been stuck in her box and wearing the same clothes for so long, and was so bored with them. She told us so,” Venetia whispered conspiratorially. “She needs a new outfit so we have chosen her one.”
Relief filled Cassie as she watched them play, because she saw the girls were starting to realize that their imprisonment was over, and that the dreadful abuse that had crippled their lives was now in the past.
“The police have gotten hold of your papa,” she told them. “He was not in prison, but was out of the country. He is arriving tomorrow night.”
Cassie had hoped that the girls would be cheered by her words, but she hadn’t imagined the elation that they would show.
Nina gasped in amazement. Her mouth literally fell open, and then widened into a delighted grin.
“Really?” she asked. “Is this true, Cassie?”
“It is,” Cassie said.
“Oh, I am so glad. I feel so happy. This is better than Christmas.”
Her face was a picture of joy. Venetia began jumping up and down on the bed in excitement.
“It’s better than Christmas and birthdays,” Venetia cried. “Papa is coming back! He is safe and we will see him soon! I can’t wait!”
“I am sure he can’t wait to see you either,” Cassie said. She remembered with a pang that she wouldn’t be here to witness their reunion. By then, the footage would have been examined and it would have sent her straight to jail.
“You girls need to go to sleep now. It’s late, and you must be very tired. Can I make you a cup of cocoa to help you sleep?”
“Yes, please,” Nina said, and Venetia nodded also.
“I’ll bring it in ten minutes. When I come back, will you girls both be in bed?”
“We will be, we promise,” Nina said.
Cassie left the room, amazed by the stunning change in the two of them. It was as if their personalities had been locked away in shells, from which they had now emerged. If they were already feeling so much better, she hoped that they would be able to put the abuse behind them, and would not experience too much long-term damage from it. With any luck it would not have scarred them permanently, and they would be able to move past this horrific chapter in their lives.
She walked into the kitchen, turned on the light, and caught her breath.
There was Maurice’s business card, lying on the counter near the kettle.
“I don’t believe it!” she said aloud.
It was like a miracle. She could have sworn she remembered putting it in her purse, but Cassie knew all too well that stress caused her to have memory gaps, or to misremember things completely. Instead of taking it with her, she’d placed it on the counter and there it had stayed. Although the cook had been in and out since then, Cassie guessed she must have been instructed not to move anything that looked work-related, so she had left the card in its place.
She picked up the card, and the spark of hope inside her blazed into determined resolve. It was late, already after nine-thirty p.m., but this was her only chance, because she was sure that the clever detective would be back first thing in the morning. Cassie had to get to that footage first.
She grabbed the kitchen phone and dialed the number, willing Maurice to pick up and answer, and hoping that because this was the Rossi landline, he’d jump into action at any hour.
After only two rings, Maurice answered eagerly.
“Signora? How can I help?”
With a shock, Cassie remembered that he knew nothing about what had happened that evening. Maurice believed Ms. Rossi to be alive and well, and making a work-related call. She would have to break the news to him, and then ask him about the footage in a way that didn’t arouse his suspicions.
Cassie feared this would take a level of tact and mental agility that was beyond her ability right now. At this stage of the evening, she knew that there was nothing left in her tank, and she was running on the last of the fumes.
Even so, she had no choice left but to try. Thinking on her feet had never been her fort
e, but with desperation nipping at her heels and the clock ticking inexorably, Cassie forced herself to meet Maurice on his wavelength.
“It’s me, Cassie. I’m so glad you answered.”
She allowed herself to sound breathless and stressed.
“What is it?” Maurice snapped. The helpful tone he’d adopted when answering had vanished.
“Maurice, there’s been a dreadful, tragic accident. Ms. Rossi—I don’t know how to break this to you, it’s just too awful—she’s dead.”
“What?” Maurice’s tone was shrill. “You’re joking! Signora? I don’t believe this. I’m shattered. Please, let me sit down.”
He must be with friends, Cassie realized, perhaps having dinner. She heard him asking for a seat, and the murmur of concerned voices in the background.
“What happened? Are you sure she is—” Maurice couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “Are you sure she has passed?”
“I’m very sure. It’s been confirmed by the police,” Cassie spoke softly.
“What happened? Tell me. Yes, please refill my glass, I need it.”
Cassie guessed the dinner companions were clustering round.
“I don’t know. I was in the shower at the time, but the children saw. She was rushing downstairs to fetch tiramisu. I believe they were going to share dessert in Nonna’s room. And the children think her heel might have broken. At any rate, she took a really bad fall, and it broke her neck.”
“Oh, Lord,” Maurice said in hushed tones. “It was those Grattacielo boots she was wearing, wasn’t it? Those ones with the silver heels?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So beautiful, but so impractical,” he murmured. “I tried to warn her that she should be careful of wearing those catwalk prototypes around the house.”
Then, in a louder voice, “Yes, she’s my employer, Suzanne—or was. I was privately employed by her so this means I’m out of a job now. This was such a special assignment, it was unique. I loved every day of it and the salary was—well, it was an extremely fair compensation for my efforts and expertise, and everything I put in.”
His voice quivered with emotion.
Cassie could hear a chorus of sympathetic voices in the background, and felt panic rising inside her. Maurice had the details of the incident and with his employer now dead, there was no reason for him to stay on the line with her. She sensed he would be impatient to get back to the wine and comfort of his group of friends.
His next words confirmed this.
“Well, thank you for calling. As I’m sure you can hear, I’m attending a social event, and can’t let this terrible news disturb our evening further, so if you don’t—”
“Wait!” Cassie just about shouted.
This was it. She wouldn’t get him back if he put the phone down. There was no way he’d answer again. He’d be too busy with his pity party.
“What?” Now Maurice sounded irritable.
“Maurice, I called you because I’m completely traumatized by this and so are the girls. I thought it might help if I could have a look at the camera footage. You know the whole house has camera surveillance?”
“Well, yes, I do, but I don’t see how that could help.”
“The girls were in tears earlier. Venetia was blaming herself, saying if she hadn’t spoken to her mother as she went down the stairs, she wouldn’t have looked round and wouldn’t have fallen. Nina insisted she hadn’t looked around. I said I’d check the footage, but I don’t know where it’s stored. I’d like to do that for them. It would be terrible for Venetia to have to live with that guilt.”
Cassie knew exactly how terrible, and felt sick as she spoke. She prayed that nobody would ever find out she’d told Maurice this elaborate lie.
“I’m not sure myself,” Maurice said. “It might be on her laptop. That was where she monitored the cameras from. Her computer is in her office, and the password is Rossi, with a capital R.”
Maurice paused. Then, in the first display of empathy she’d ever seen from him, he added, “It might be better to tell the little girl her mother didn’t look round, even if she did. Just show her a still shot from the camera, if you have to. Otherwise she’ll blame herself forever, won’t she?”
“Yes, yes, she would. That’s excellent advice. I really appreciate it. Thank you so much, Maurice.”
Cassie put the phone down, feeling stunned, both by the conversation she’d just had, and by the fact she would be able to access the footage.
At some stage during the phone call, the kettle had boiled. She hadn’t even noticed. Quickly, Cassie made the girls their cocoa and took it upstairs. As they had promised, they were both already in bed and just about asleep.
“Good night,” she whispered to them, and placed the mugs on their bedside tables. Now, there was no more time to delay.
Cassie felt breathless with tension as she rushed downstairs to Ms. Rossi’s office.
She opened the door quietly. It was dark inside, and in a strange way, Cassie felt as if the woman’s domineering presence, which had always seemed to be tangible there, was still lurking in the room. She felt uneasy walking in.
Quietly, Cassie switched on the light and tiptoed round the desk.
There was the laptop, an expensive, silver model.
Sitting down on Ms. Rossi’s plush leather chair, Cassie opened it and typed in the password, praying that it would work and that she hadn’t make a mistake.
The screen shimmered to life and she leaned forward anxiously. Now, where would the footage be stored?
She searched the icons on the screen. There it was. That was the one she was looking for.
Cassie moved the cursor over it, and as she did so, she sensed a shadow in the doorway.
Her head jerked up and she stared, horrified, at Detective Falcone.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Cassie knew immediately why Detective Falcone had come back so soon, and made her way straight to Ms. Rossi’s office. It was to access the footage, of course. Now here it was, opened and waiting on the screen. Cassie felt overwhelmed by doom because her presence in this room underscored her own guilt.
She’d been too slow, just a minute too slow, and self-recrimination burned inside her as she thought about how she could have speeded up the conversation with Maurice, or even rushed straight to the office and given the girls their cocoa later.
Now it was too late, and she knew that Detective Falcone could read her guilt as clearly as if Cassie was shouting a confession to her. Cassie realized with a sick feeling that her presence here might even have expedited Falcone’s job, as she’d helpfully keyed in the password that could otherwise have taken the detective some time to find out.
“Good evening,” the detective greeted her. Cassie could sense the anger behind her calm demeanor. “It seems we have come here for the same reason.”
Swiftly, she walked around the desk, and Cassie scrambled out of the chair.
“Don’t go anywhere.” Falcone’s soft voice stopped Cassie in her tracks. “I take it you were about to access the footage. What a shame I didn’t know that it was here earlier. I assumed the security company would have kept records, but when I called them, they told me that after Ms. Rossi’s divorce, she delinked it from their servers.”
“I see,” Cassie said, although she had no idea why Ms. Rossi would have done that, or why Detective Falcone was now telling her about it. Still, she had to come up with an excuse as to why she was here. The story that had worked with Maurice wouldn’t work with the detective, because Falcone had already spoken to the girls.
“I—I wanted to have a look. I’ve been feeling terrible about this tragedy, I’m so distraught and grieving. I wanted to see for myself how it happened, in case I misremembered anything or perhaps even the girls did. I know I can do, when I’m under stress.”
Cassie knew she was babbling but couldn’t stop herself. When Falcone saw that condemning footage, nothing she said would matter. She would be instantly
arrested, and Falcone would assume she’d forced the girls to give a false story in order to protect her.
The icon blinked, and then a checkerboard of pictures filled the screen. Twelve different cameras, twelve different views of the house, including the one that showed her and Falcone right there in the office. But Cassie’s eyes were drawn immediately to the square that showed the top of the stairs.
In full color, the picture looked crystal clear, and Cassie bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, as she imagined what that fight would look like when Falcone pressed Replay.
With a start, Cassie realized that Falcone would only have to go back a little further, to see the footage of Cassie rummaging around in this office and in the bedroom—searching through drawers, opening cabinets, even taking a look in the velvet jewelry boxes.
Together, those separate sets of recordings would create a cast-iron reason for her guilt. She’d been stealing from her wealthy employer, who had confronted her. They had fought, and Cassie had pushed her down the stairs—not just in anger, but to conceal her earlier crime.
Cassie had no doubt that Falcone would search all the footage at her disposal. She was clearly a thorough person, and she was already suspicious why Cassie had been employed for so short a time. She would be looking for evidence that would explain this mysteriously brief tenure, as well as shed light on the supposed accident. She would find it, and what she found would be more than enough to destroy Cassie forever.
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.
