Murder Deja Vu

inside Robert. He sputtered. “You…you wouldn’t. You have no proof.”
    “No, but it would be enough to start an investigation, considering the questions that arose at the time. I bet some people at your old firm would support my assumptions. And lest you forget, I have proof of some of your other misdeeds. Any hint of impropriety would ruin your chances for whatever aspirations you have. And don’t think you can get your hatchet man to silence me permanently, like putting me behind the wheel of a car while I’m drunk. Everyone around here knows I don’t drive. Haven’t since that night a long time ago.” Harris moved closer, lowered his voice even more. “But you know that story, don’t you, Robert? You could hardly expose me without revealing you covered up a crime. I know enough about the law to know that’s being an accessory after the fact.” He moved into Robert’s ear and whispered. “I wrote it all down, and if I die under unusual circumstances, my proof will become public. So it’s a stalemate, isn’t it? I go down, you go down with me.” Harris straightened, brushed off his jacket. “Good night, Robert.” On the way out the door, he muttered, “Asshole,” loud enough to be heard.
    Diners had begun filling the restaurant. A few of them turned around when they heard Harris’s last word. Robert heard it too. He tightened his tie and finished his drink. He needed another. This was turning out to be a bad day all around.
    Robert couldn’t do much about Harris’s threat. The son of a bitch wasn’t blowing smoke. Robert watched him walk steadily out of Pine House, sober. He was pathetic. A Princeton graduate, the town drunk. No one knew why but Robert.
    Harris had learned to play Robert’s game. So had Dana. The knowledge didn’t free them, but it evened up things. Playing dirty strained people with ethics. Dana cared who got hurt in the ongoing saga of her life. Robert was glad she cared about the boys. He did too. He really did. But now they’d learned how things worked in real life. The knowledge taught them a good lesson, which made them stronger.
    Dana and Harris, childhood friends held together by lies and secrets and omissions. But there was one secret Harris never confided to Dana. He wouldn’t. Because there was no statute of limitations on murder.

Chapter Thirty-One
What Could Have Been

    New England

    C arl had given Reece Mark Cabrini’s business address in Wellesley Center. Reece remembered the orthodontist as a nice guy, but he knew Cabrini in another life, when he wasn’t wanted for double murder. He hoped Cabrini was still a nice guy.
    The office, sandwiched between a Chinese restaurant and gourmet grocery store, offered a better location to fit into the surroundings than to lurk in front of Cabrini’s home, where a neighbor might notify the police. Reece parked in front of the grocery store, adjusted his sunglasses, and pulled down his cap—just another patient husband waiting for his store-bound wife.
    The hours on Cabrini’s door were obscured, and he wasn’t about to get out and check, but he had a clear view of who came and went. If Cabrini left by a back exit, Reece would be forced to go to his house. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
    A woman and child left the office a few minutes before five. Then another woman in a white uniform came out—an assistant, Reece guessed. He held his breath and waited some more. Ten minutes later, Mark Cabrini came out of the office. Seeing Cabrini’s face brought into focus that night twenty-one years ago. Time had been good to the orthodontist. Reece remembered admiring Mark’s dark good looks, and though silver threaded his black hair, he could still stop women in their tracks. He walked to the grocery store, came out ten minutes later toting a shopping bag, crossed the street, and got into a BMW SUV. Reece eased out of the parking lot and followed discreetly.
    Wellesley’s residential roads forked and curved past manicured lawns and stately homes that spoke of old money. If Reece’s survival hadn’t been prominent in his mind, he might have enjoyed the drive.
    The SUV pulled into the driveway of a handsome fieldstone and wood house with a slate-tiled roof. Flowers edged the walkway, and two rambunctious golden retrievers romped in a fenced yard, barking for their master’s attention. The garage doors rose automatically, and Cabrini drove inside. Reece parked in the driveway behind him. Cabrini got out and