Almost Dead

by Blake Pierce

  Cassie looked down at her hands. They were clasped together so tight her fingers were aching. If she confessed, Falcone might allow her to call the boutique and make one last attempt to trace her sister. She remembered her earlier thoughts about being calm and cooperative. Now was the time to put them into action.

  Cassie looked up at the detective and started to speak. She got the word, “I” out and then she saw a tiny sign, the smallest of tells, something she never thought she’d be perceptive enough to pick up in such a life-and-death situation, after all hope had vanished.

  She saw an uncharacteristic flash of eagerness in the detective’s eyes.

  Cassie faked a sudden cough, and then took a drink of water from the glass on the table, buying herself a few moments, frantically trying to work out what this meant.

  There might be a chance—the tiniest of possibilities—that Falcone was bluffing. Cassie had seen yesterday how Nonna’s mental clarity seemed to come and go suddenly, like a flickering flame. What if she’d been incoherent with Falcone, or else had given a patchy story that didn’t make complete sense?

  Cassie decided she was going to take the risk.

  She was going to stick to her original story, clinging to the desperate hope that there was no useful testimonial to counter it.

  “I already told you what happened,” she said. Her voice was husky and breathless, but the words were clear enough for the tape recorder to pick up. “I know I was upset, and my story was rather confused, but it was as accurate as I could remember. I don’t know what you want me to confess to. I don’t understand what you’re implying at all.”

  Falcone gave nothing away. She remained completely impassive as she spoke again.

  “I am giving you one final chance,” she said.

  Cassie decided she was in way too deep to go back.

  “I already told you what happened,” she repeated, and this time her voice sounded firmer.

  The detective gave a small nod.

  “I was unable to get a clear version of events from Nonna,” she said.

  Cassie held her breath, feeling the hard, fast pounding of her heart in her chest. She had been so close to breaking and confessing. This could have gone so differently, and she feared it still might. She found she was waiting for the detective to say, “But—” and for the bombshell to fall regardless.

  “It took me a long time to explain that her daughter had died, and I am still not sure that she fully understands. At the same time, I believe she was trying to tell me something important about last night, but she kept veering off track. She seems delusional, although I have no doubt that she has moments of coherence,” Falcone continued.

  Pulling herself together, using every scrap of the mental resolve she’d tried to summon earlier, Cassie was able to keep her voice steady while she replied.

  “She’s been like that since she arrived. I’m not sure who Stefano is. Her late husband, perhaps? Anyway, she kept asking for him last night.”

  “Due to the extent of her dementia, I doubt that her testimony would hold up in court. She could certainly not be cross-examined, so we would be unable to call her up as a witness.”

  “I see,” Cassie said. Her voice sounded toneless and flat, but at least it wasn’t shaking.

  “Additionally, both the girls claim that they witnessed the fall, and that it was accidental.”

  Cassie nodded. Her mouth felt so dry she couldn’t even swallow. What was the detective going to say now? How was she going to incriminate her?

  “The board of directors of Rossi Shoes is anxious for closure and for this to be resolved without damage to the brand. My team and I are aware of what the negative consequences of a murder accusation would be, if it could not be proved beyond doubt.” Falcone sighed. “Given all of the above, I have no choice but to clear you as a suspect, and officially declare this death an accident.”

  Cassie tried her best not to show any emotion, but she couldn’t help it. Tears of shock and relief welled up her eyes and she felt sobs erupting. She had her life again. The detective had handed her future back to her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. It was all she could manage to say without breaking down completely.

  “Off the record, and purely between ourselves, does the name Pierre Dubois mean anything to you?”

  Cassie’s head jerked up. She stared, appalled, at the dark-haired detective. She knew that her reaction had given the game away. There was no way she could hide her knee-jerk recognition of that name.

  The detective continued calmly.

  “How about Mr. Dellucci, from the Social Services office in Milan?”

  Cassie’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. Where was this going? Was she really cleared or was this a devious plan to trick her into a confession after all? How on earth had she found out that Cassie had consulted him?

  Falcone’s gaze felt laser sharp, as if she was seeing all the way into Cassie’s mind and reading her thoughts.

  “Your reaction tells me that you do know. There is more to this than a simple accident, is there not?”

  Cassie couldn’t dare to move, or breathe. What would the detective say next? That she was arrested on different charges?

  Then the detective did something even worse.

  She took a paper packet out of her purse, and from it, she produced the thin ceramic shard she had picked up the previous evening.

  Cassie stared at the piece—glossy rust-red on the outside, white on the inside. She remembered how it had felt as that vase had crashed down onto her head, exploding her vision into a burst of stars. She remembered how Ms. Rossi had looked. She’d been deranged with anger. She would have killed Cassie. She was sure of it. She would have killed her, and who knew what the consequences would have been or how she would have attempted to cover it up?

  Probably she would have done a better job than Cassie and the girls, and would not have overlooked that telltale shard. It must have fallen with the white surface upward, and been close to invisible against the pale granite tiles.

  “It seems strange to have found this, in such a tidy house, with nothing else out of place,” the detective continued in a deceptively soft voice. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and what it might mean. And I can’t stop wondering whether, if the truth had been told to me, it might have allowed me to expose irregularities in the social services system, which could save other children one day. Perhaps you know about those irregularities, because you have experienced them for yourself?”

  Seeing that she expected some kind of answer, Cassie nodded silently. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “You know, it’s a strange thing in law enforcement,” the detective continued in almost conversational tones. “Sometimes the same names come up over and over again. It’s as if some people cannot stay out of trouble—or else, they are in some way drawn to it.”

  Cassie stared at her wordlessly.

  “I will remember your name. And if it comes up again, believe me, I will do everything in my power to ensure that the full truth is uncovered and that justice gets done, whoever it ends up exposing.”

  The detective stood up, and Cassie felt as if the threatening atmosphere had lifted just a little. She continued, in a calm and professional tone.

  “I will go and say goodbye to the girls now, and then I will brief the cook and the other staff on the sad events of last night. Thank you for helping to hold the fort here today. The girls’ father, Mr. Morandi, will be here in the early evening.”

  “I—I will keep on doing my best,” Cassie offered in a small voice, as Falcone turned and walked out.

  She felt dazed by the detective’s words. Falcone had implied that she was, if not a criminal, somebody who attracted incidents into their life, and who had so far managed to get away without any repercussions.

  Now that the detective had gone, she wished she’d summoned up the courage to have her say. To explain that she’d been an entirely innocent party trying to survive
in an untenable situation. She had never gone looking for trouble in any way.

  Then Cassie caught herself, because maybe some of what the detective had said was true. In every situation there were choices to make. She remembered her hands—first curved into claws and then suddenly bunched into fists. That had been a choice. She didn’t know whether it had been a good or bad choice, but it had been a choice that could easily have landed her in jail.

  Looking back, Cassie couldn’t believe she had gotten away with it. No wonder the detective had been frustrated. She had sensed that there was more to the situation, but circumstances and witnesses had worked against her. As someone whose job was to uphold the law and justice, Cassie could guess how she felt. Crime was crime. That fact gave her a twinge of guilt.

  Then she thought about Nonna, and her guilt crystallized into despair. She couldn’t believe that for one terrible moment, she’d seriously considered murdering her so that there would be no witnesses to what she had done.

  That would have been a heinous, cold-blooded crime, and perhaps that was what the detective had been warning her against. Committing one crime could easily lead to others, and eventually, anyone’s luck would run out.

  Feeling sick with regret, Cassie headed upstairs to check on Nonna.

  She opened the bedroom door and walked in, dreading that Nonna would be coherent again and would repeat those terrible accusations, or demand that the police officer come back. Even so, Cassie knew she had to face her fears.

  “Are you comfortable?” she asked the elderly lady. “Can I get you anything? There is a nurse coming to look after you later on. It’s all been organized by the children’s father.”

  Once again, the old lady’s eyes were as black and bright as beads.

  “Sto bene,” she said. “I am fine.”

  “I see you haven’t finished your tea. Would you like the rest of it?”

  Cassie knew it would be cool by now, but perhaps it was easier for Nonna to drink it at room temperature, when she wouldn’t risk burning her mouth.

  She propped her up on the pillows and handed her the cup.

  Carefully, with trembling hands, Nonna sipped.

  “I had a strange dream earlier on,” Nonna said, in a low voice, as if she was confiding a secret to Cassie.

  “Really?” Cassie felt fear lance through her. “What was that?”

  “It was something to do with my daughter, but I have forgotten it now. I wish I could remember it as I think it was molto importante.”

  The old lady pursed her lips thoughtfully.

  Cassie stared at her in alarm. Had Nonna been pretending to be confused when the detective had interviewed her earlier? Or had she genuinely experienced a recurrence of her dementia?

  “Have another sip of tea,” Cassie said, hoping that if she could keep her voice level and her words calm, Nonna would not be able to feed off her fear. Inwardly, she was screaming. This woman had been an eyewitness to an incident that could ruin Cassie’s life and send her to prison for a prolonged period. Now, she seemed to be taunting Cassie with the fact that she could remember this important information at any time.

  Or was this confusion genuinely part of the dementia?

  Cassie had no idea, but she felt a terrible uncertainty. She was going to have to live with the knowledge that Nonna knew more than she was telling. She only had the police detective’s word that Nonna would not make a reliable witness, but what if there were other ways of obtaining the proof from her that did not require cross-examination?

  She knew the fear of discovery would hang over her forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  “I have had enough now,” Nonna said after drinking the tea.

  “Let me take the cup.” Cassie replaced it on the tray. “Do you want to get up and sit with the children? Or would you like to rest now?”

  To her relief, the old lady said, “I will rest.”

  Cassie arranged her pillows, feeling her heart jump every time Nonna took one of her harsh, shallow breaths, in case she was getting ready to voice more of those terrible accusations. She was glad when she was able to leave the room and close the door.

  She found Nina and Venetia in the kitchen.

  “What would you like to do today?” she asked them.

  “I would like to visit the park,” Nina said. “I love playing on the swings. It is a long time since we have been there, as Mama has not let us go for walks since Papa left.”

  “I want to see my horse. We have missed so many of our rides, Cassie. We are supposed to have lessons twice a week. Then it started to be Sundays only and then they kept getting canceled because we were naughty,” Venetia said.

  Cassie nodded, feeling overwhelmed all over again by the girls’ acceptance of the fact their mother was gone. She had expected at some stage that they might feel tearful or sad, but instead, it seemed as if an enormous weight had been removed from their lives and hearts. She guessed that the worsening abuse had done more than destroy their love for Ms. Rossi, it had also annihilated the bond they had with their mother.

  After they had decided on the day’s activities, the girls raced upstairs to change into their riding clothes. The small thunder of their feet across the tiles and their excited yells to each other about what color top they should wear brought a warmth and homeliness into the grand house that Cassie now saw had been completely lacking when she arrived.

  She wondered if Nonna could hear their voices from inside her cozy room. If so, Cassie was sure she disapproved, believing that children should be seen and not heard. Under her regime and her daughter’s, this joyful exuberance would be perceived as rowdy behavior that needed to be punished.

  Dressed in their riding clothes, Nina and Venetia ran downstairs and piled into Cassie’s car. She felt as if they were all setting out on an adventure.

  The drive into verdant, hilly countryside south of the city was incredibly beautiful, and the riding center itself was exquisite. A short walk down a tree-lined lane, with a view of white-fenced pastures and arenas, led to the yard where large stalls were set in a horseshoe shape around an immaculately trimmed lawn.

  The yard manager was a tall, capable-looking woman who greeted them with a friendly smile. To Cassie’s relief, she spoke English.

  “Nina and Venetia, how good to see you. You have not been to see your horses for ages. I am sure they have missed you. Would you like to fetch them from the field? I will ask one of the assistants to go with you.”

  She shouted rapid instructions in Italian, and a dark-haired young man ran over to them.

  “Come along, girls, let’s fetch and groom your horses.”

  Once this had been organized, she turned to Cassie.

  “I am Roberta,” she introduced herself.

  “I’m Cassie, the children’s au pair.”

  “Has everything been all right with them?” Roberta asked, lowering her voice. “They have not been riding for a very long time. I have not seen them here since their parents were divorced, and that must have been four or five months ago.”

  Cassie felt heartbroken that the girls had missed out on so much fun, while being forced to lie that they had fallen from their horses to explain away their injuries and bruises.

  “Things have been difficult at home recently,” she said. “Unfortunately their mother died in a tragic accident very recently. They’re actually waiting for their father to arrive today.”

  Roberta clapped her hand to her mouth.

  “How terrible,” she gasped. “Are the girls upset about their mother’s death?”

  Cassie had no idea if this was a leading question, and knew she must answer carefully.

  “They are being very brave,” she said. “They were sad, of course, but they missed their father terribly and they are looking forward to seeing him again.”

  She hoped that Roberta would accept this explanation, and was relieved when she nodded understandingly.

  “I know that their divorce was acrimonious. In
fact, I was told by Ms. Rossi’s assistant—Maurice, I think—that the horses would be sold because the girls had no more use for them. Then Mr. Morandi, their father, insisted that the horses must be kept so he continued paying their board. He used to come to the stables on lesson days, hoping to see the girls. He must have stood here on ten or fifteen occasions, waiting for his children to come and ride, only to leave, disappointed, when they did not arrive.”

  Cassie understood now why Ms. Rossi had prevented her daughters from riding.

  Looking round, Roberta said, “Here we are. The girls are on their ponies. Come through to the indoor arena and watch them ride.”

  Cassie was impressed by how well the two girls rode their beautiful gray ponies, and by how fearless they were. She watched in awe as they trotted and cantered around the arena, before taking turns at completing a small course of jumps.

  Breathless and smiling, the girls walked their ponies to cool them down before dismounting and helping to unsaddle them.

  “That was wonderful,” Venetia said, running to Cassie and hugging her. “Thank you so much for bringing us here. I have been so worried about our horses. From time to time, when we were bad, Mama said she would sell them. Sometimes I didn’t sleep at night, wondering if she had.”

  “I was worried, too,” Nina agreed in a sad voice. “It was awful not to know, and every week there would be a different reason for our lessons being canceled. We were never good enough to be allowed to go riding.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Cassie said firmly. “Remember that, because it’s very important. You were good enough, and it was an unfair decision to prevent you from riding, and it was made for other reasons.”

  Nina was silent for a while and then nodded in understanding.

  “I thought so,” she said.

  *