A Woman Worth Waiting For

by Meredith Webber

  She paused for a fraction of a minute, and Max guessed she was thinking of Ginny again—a guess confirmed when she reiterated, ‘There isn’t any evidence against him, is there?’

  ‘You’ve got to remember Paul didn’t come into the picture until Isobel died. The first two could have been isolated incidents, or a murder and a copy-cat killing. But with the third death, the likelihood swung to a serial killer and the profiler got serious. Paul as a serial killer? He’s so far off the charts he’d have been crossed off immediately if he’d had a decent alibi.’

  ‘Maybe there was someone else in Isobel’s life. Someone she saw a lot of before she married Paul. Have the police considered that? We’ve been throwing Paul into the ring because he gets the money, forgetting someone who might not have been able to bear the thought of her marrying him.’

  ‘Nothing like that has turned up in Isobel’s past so far.’

  ‘Nothing in any of the victims’ pasts?’ He could hear the hope in Sarah’s question and knew she didn’t want Paul to be involved.

  ‘Not yet. In fact, where Isobel was concerned, the police couldn’t find anyone she’d been especially friendly with— no old boyfriend, that is. She’d usually flatted with other female students. I guess that’s an oddity in itself.’

  He looked up from his dinner.

  ‘Did Ginny mention this woman Sally to you?’

  ‘Sally?’ Sarah tested the name. ‘Who was she?’

  ‘The cause of our near break-up if one can have a breakup before a relationship is properly under way.’

  ‘Was that the woman Ginny saw, or thought she saw, on the tape?’

  Max nodded.

  Sarah looked at him for a moment, her brow furrowing as she considered what he’d thought a simple question.

  ‘Well, she did and she didn’t. We started to talk about it—in fact, we started to talk about Brent’s questions and why they’d upset her—then suddenly we got onto something else.’

  She repeated the bare bones of the sad scandal to Max and they both fell silent, finishing their meals but not speaking.

  ‘To get back to this Sally, you say Ginny was surprised to see her there because she thought she’d gone overseas,’ Sarah said slowly. ‘But if Isobel had been a special friend, perhaps a very special friend, it’s reasonable to suppose she returned for the funeral.’

  ‘A very special friend!’ Max repeated, almost to himself. ‘Oh!’

  Ginny found the huge old house intimidating. It was gracious enough but the rooms seemed to echo with a haunting loneliness, and the desire to do what she had to do and get out was overwhelming.

  ‘If you show me where Isobel’s clothes are, I can start sorting through them while you do the dinner,’ she suggested. ‘Anything that looks special I’ll set aside for you to decide about.’

  Paul smiled and touched her lightly on the arm.

  ‘Don’t be so conscientious,’ he told her. ‘And meal preparation in this house is a matter of choose and heat. Come and see.’

  His hand moved to her shoulder and he guided her towards the kitchen.

  It was a natural, friendly gesture, nothing sexual in it at all, but discomfort pricked inside Ginny’s skin and she eased as far from his body as she could, moving apart when he let go of her shoulder to open the door of a large freezer.

  ‘See!’ he said proudly. ‘Not only beautifully prepared and packed, but labelled. Name your choice, my lady. There’s filet mignon, steak Diane—a bit heavy on the meat, I’ll agree, but I’m a big meat fancier. Next rack is chicken— Kiev, cordon bleu, breast with mango and pistachio nuts. Down here on lower shelves, we get into pasta, a lot of vegetarian stuff. Isobel was more into that.’

  Paul’s voice seemed to be coming from a great distance, echoing meaninglessly in her ears.

  Concentrate, she warned herself. Pull yourself together. Act natural.

  But all she could think of was Sarah discussing what the most recent victim had eaten, then explaining how they’d all had if not gourmet, at least ‘fancy’ meals before they’d died.

  ‘Isobel found this wonderful woman who prepares meals and freezes them, then delivers them, frozen, to the door. I think she bought six months’ supply every time she ordered. And though the idea of eating a reheated meal didn’t appeal to me at first, I’ve tried most of the varieties and haven’t found one I didn’t like.’

  He pulled a parcel from the freezer and thrust it in front of Ginny.

  ‘See!’ he said. ‘They come complete with vegetables, or rice, or pasta. The woman’s perfected some means of getting everything cooked to the exact degree it needs before going into the microwave, so the final heating also finishes the cooking. See the label. “Steak—Rare”!’

  Paul pointed out this miracle while Ginny wondered how much longer she could control her heaving stomach.

  ‘I still think I’d prefer to do the clothes first. You don’t have to come with me, just point me in the right direction.’

  Could he hear the wobble in her voice?

  Maybe he’d put it down to nerves.

  ‘But you haven’t chosen. What would you like?’

  If she said she was feeling ill and didn’t want to eat, would he become suspicious?

  And if he did?

  She didn’t want to think about that!

  Her mind raced in panicky circles.

  ‘Chicken,’ she said. ‘The one with mango. Sounds great. Have you got a bathroom in this place?’

  Paul chuckled at what he assumed was a joke but pointed her in the right direction.

  She reached the sanctuary of a downstairs cloakroom, locked the door and sank down on the loo, head in hands, groaning slightly as she tried to work out what to do.

  ‘Having pre-cooked meals in his freezer doesn’t make him a murderer,’ she told herself, muttering the words under her breath to give her the illusion she wasn’t quite so alone.

  ‘Max knows where I am,’ she reminded herself. ‘And Sarah.’

  All she had to do was act as if nothing was wrong, which it wasn’t, and get through the evening as quickly as possible. She could plead tiredness—that was true enough.

  Though terror was taking precedence right now.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ she scolded her over-active brain.

  She stood up, flushed the cistern, splashed water over her face and combed her fingers through her hair. She looked so terrible it was likely he’d guess what she’d been thinking, though, of course, he wasn’t really a murderer, so why on earth would he guess she thought he might be one?

  A groan threatened to erupt but she bit it back and opened the door. After all, what possible reason could Paul have for murdering four women?

  She’d have to stop asking herself these questions.

  As a cover for murdering his wife. That had leapt to mind far too quickly.

  She headed in what she hoped was the right direction, found herself in a laundry and had to backtrack.

  And why murder his wife?

  The fleeting glimpse she’d had of Sally Blair on the funeral video flashed across Ginny’s mind.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Paul said. ‘I was beginning to think you’d got lost.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah demanded, but Max ignored her, too busy searching for something.

  Apparently his keys, for he grabbed them up then seized Sarah’s hand.

  ‘Come on, I’m going to do a spot of breaking and entering and need a witness.’

  ‘What on earth—’

  ‘Isobel didn’t cook—he told us that. They ate out or had pre-prepared meals. He mentioned that as well. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ Sarah protested.

  But Max didn’t answer, dragging her out onto the veranda and along to the door of Paul’s flat.

  ‘Pre-prepared meals. They’d have to be frozen—there’s no other way to keep food any length of time. He’s been feeling so safe I bet he saw no reason not to bring some with him.’ />
  He slid his key into the lock while Sarah protested it wouldn’t work, but it did and she stepped, reluctantly and still protesting, just inside the door.

  ‘No,’ he commanded. ‘You’ve got to see. We’ve both got to look. This isn’t the kind of thing Brent can do, but if we see what I expect…’

  Sarah followed, and when Max opened the door of the freezer section of the tall refrigerator she peered obediently in.

  ‘Frozen meals,’ she said. ‘So what?’

  Max pulled one out.

  ‘Read what it says.’

  ‘Steak and mushrooms.’

  Understanding made her feel weak, then fast on understanding’s heels came fear.

  ‘But Ginny’s out there. She’s at his house.’

  ‘I know,’ Max growled. ‘Which is why I’m going out there—now. You coming?’

  ‘This is police business,’ Sarah reminded him. ‘And us butting in could ruin something in their case. Phone Brent.’

  They returned to his flat, where Max phoned his cousin, dialling and cursing at the same time.

  ‘Brent? Where are you, mate? Ginny’s out at Markham’s house right now and I’ve got a motive for you—or a possible one.’

  Sarah watched Max as she listened to his cousin’s reply and saw something like relief relax the strained features.

  Slightly!

  ‘Well, get in here. Now!’

  He dropped the receiver back into its cradle and turned to Sarah.

  ‘We’ve got a motive for him? You might have, but I’m still in the dark. Having frozen meals in the freezer doesn’t make Paul a murderer, surely.’

  ‘I know you don’t know him well, but what’s your reading of Paul Markham?’

  Max was striding back and forth across his kitchen as he asked the question, and Sarah’s gaze followed his agitated progress as she considered her reply.

  ‘Likes to be liked,’ she said, deciding that was the best way to sum him up. ‘And used to being liked—even admired. He’s good-looking, obviously clever, good at his job and tagged as going places.’

  ‘A man who appreciates his own importance?’ Max demanded, crossing to the door to let Brent in.

  ‘Yes, I’d say so.’

  ‘So how would he react if his wife wanted to leave him?’

  ‘Badly, but most men would,’ Sarah said. ‘Especially if it was for another man. That brings pride into the equation.’

  ‘And what if it wasn’t for a man?’ Max said softly. ‘What if it was for a woman? What would that do to his pride? His masculine assurance?’

  Fear for Ginny raced through Sarah’s mind, and Brent’s arrival, his assurance that he was ahead of them and had men watching the house, did little to allay it.

  ‘Not good enough,’ she said, almost shaking with fear for the woman who could so easily become a hostage. ‘Let me have the phone.’

  She dialled the hospital, and after agonising seconds finally spoke to Brad.

  ‘Page Ginny from there and when she phones in tell her she’s needed back at work urgently. MVA and a fire—all hands on deck. Tell her you’ve already called me, and I’m on my way. Do it now, Brad, and make it sound mighty urgent. I’ll be over in a couple of minutes and explain it all.’

  Max caught her in his arms and hugged her hard.

  ‘You’re a genius! I’ll drive over and pick her up. I can say you suggested it when you were called in and you knew Brad would be paging Ginny.’

  ‘Do you know where to go?’

  ‘I’ll follow Brent. After all, we should leave the police something to do.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Brent told him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get out before we reach the house. I can’t say I like civilians being caught up in a situation like this, so I’m hoping I’ll think of a better plan before we get there.’

  ‘Why have you got men watching the house?’ Max demanded, once they were in the car. ‘If you suspected him, you should have told me—we could have kept Ginny out of his way.’

  ‘We’ve always suspected him—among other possibilities. You know that. And we didn’t much like his shifting into the flats—as if he was keeping an eye on the newcomers in A and E. But this afternoon we finally spoke to the mysterious Sally and a lot of things fell into place.’

  He paused to whisper into a lapel mike then asked Max to pull over in the shadow of a huge weeping fig tree about twenty metres from an elaborate stone gateway.

  ‘You go through there. The men in the grounds are ready for action and know you’re coming in. Just don’t do anything stupid. Drive in, get the girl and drive out.’

  Get the girl!

  Max prayed he was in time—that nothing had happened to the woman he loved so dearly. His hands trembled on the steering-wheel as he manoeuvred down the winding drive towards the river, then suddenly lights blinded him.

  He held up his arm to break the glare. He realised he couldn’t turn around, but neither could the approaching vehicle pass him. He opened the door and stepped out, his arm still raised to cut the worst of the headlights’ power.

  ‘That you, Paul?’ he asked, getting out of the car and moving as casually as he could manage towards the driver’s side of the other vehicle. ‘I guess you’re taking Ginny to the hospital. When Sarah had the call, she suggested I come out here and pick Ginny up as she didn’t have her car.’

  He reached the driver’s side, and as Paul hadn’t made an effort to get out he leaned through the window.

  ‘Hi, Ginny!’ he said, nodding a super-cool acknowledgement to his precious love, before turning his attention back to Paul. ‘It’s your turf, mate. Your driveway. Is it easier for you to back up, me follow you down and turn around, or for me to reverse out of here? Actually, it didn’t seem far. Quickest way would be for Ginny to nip into my car and then I’ll back out. Save you the trip to town as well.’

  Max’s heart was aching with tension and the click of the door-latch as Ginny moved to obey sounded like a pistol shot in the darkness.

  But before Ginny could get out, Paul clamped his hand around her wrist.

  ‘As you said, it’s my turf, Max, and I’ll back up. I’ll also drive her into town.’

  Afterwards, Max claimed it was the possessiveness in the man’s voice when he spoke of Ginny that made him do it, but at the time it was as if a flood of red rage ricocheted through his body. Without being consciously aware of his actions, he hauled off and punched Paul Markham flush on his chin.

  Voices called in the darkness, and Ginny slid out of the car. Max was shoved out of the way by the first policeman to reach them, but he’d already been moving, striding towards Ginny.

  ‘Get her into your car and away from here.’ The order came from Brent who must have followed Max’s car down the drive. ‘Back up so we can get in here.’

  ‘Darling, darling woman!’ Max realised he was muttering almost incoherently, but to have Ginny safe in his arms was such a relief he couldn’t find real words.

  ‘Come on,’ she urged him, breaking out of the embrace. ‘I’ve got to get to the hospital.’

  He hugged her tighter but led her to the car.

  ‘No, you don’t. That was Sarah’s clever thinking to get you out of there. A lot of things began to fall into place—’

  ‘More than you know,’ Ginny said, shuddering as she remembered her discovery. ‘His freezer’s full of gourmet meals—heat and eat.’

  Max started the car and began the tricky reversing procedure. But he was grinning with delight at the same time. At having Ginny safe—and that they’d both made the same discovery.

  ‘We worked it out as well. Because you hadn’t done anything about the keys and locks, I tried mine in Paul’s and it opened it. Sarah and I found the meals, then she put Sally being at the funeral together with the scandal story you’d told her, and wondered about Isobel…’

  They drove home, sharing the bits they knew but aware there were so many blanks they might never learn the whole truth.


  Sarah’s flat was in darkness and, not wanting to leave Ginny on her own, Max held her hand as she got out of the car and led her, tucked tightly against his side, up the steps.

  ‘Would you like to come to my place? I’ve plenty of leftovers if you’re hungry.’

  Ginny looked up at him, and offered a strained smile.

  ‘The way I feel right now, I might never eat again. But I’d be happier at home…’

  A hesitation suggested she had more to say.

  Had she been going to say ‘alone’?

  Max touched her lightly on the cheek and, his chest tight with anxiety, dared to ask.

  ‘With or without me?’

  Her smile improved marginally.

  ‘With you, Max,’ she murmured, and pressed her body close to his, ‘if you don’t mind being a prop for me to lean on for a while.’

  ‘A prop for ever, I hope, but we won’t talk about it now. Won’t talk at all, if that’s what you want.’

  They walked into her flat and although she’d denied a need for food he made a cup of tea and some toast, spreading it thickly with honey to boost her blood sugar.

  ‘Talk to me, Max. Tell me things so I don’t have to think,’ she said, when he’d joined her on the couch and she’d moved closer so their bodies shared each other’s warmth. ‘Tell me about America.’

  So he talked, first of his home in Washington, of his favourite places in the nation’s capital, of the colours of the changing seasons, of celebrating holidays he hadn’t known as a child—the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving.

  He paused, wondering what else might interest Ginny— distract her from what was probably happening to a man she’d thought a friend—when she pushed away her plate and cup and squiggled around on the couch so she could put her arms around him and rest her head against his chest.

  ‘Now tell me about your mother—tell me how it was.’

  The suggestion stunned him—to such an extent he couldn’t speak at all. But he found it easier when she reached up to kiss him gently on the lips and whispered, ‘I’ve thought about it, Max, and realised why you had to write that letter. You had to give so much of yourself to her, that worrying about me—about any relationship— would have been a distraction. But if I couldn’t help you then, maybe I can now. Please, Max, share it with me.’