Paige Cooper — The Secret Behind Table Four
I remembered a newspaper photograph I’d once seen in the restaurant’s waiting area: Vincent Moretti shaking hands with a narrow-faced man at a port redevelopment announcement.
The man beside him wore silver cufflinks.
“That could be him,” I said, “but I wouldn’t identify anyone from that memory alone.”
Ellis nodded.
“Good.
Don’t talk yourself into certainty.”
She showed me a set of booking records that established Vale had reserved the private dining room on earlier dates.
The police were still examining what happened the night Vincent collapsed.
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