A Woman Worth Waiting For

by Meredith Webber

  Slowly, he pieced together words that began to describe some of what his mother had suffered, and some of the frustration he’d felt with his own profession and its inability to save her. And as he talked, the pain began to ease and he knew his healing had begun.

  Now he had to be there for Ginny, to work the same miracle for her if he could—to help her heal the wounds she’d suffered from the betrayal of the man she’d befriended. But tonight it was enough that she was in his arms, and that she’d wanted him there, sharing her unhappiness and concern.

  ‘Stay with me?’ she whispered, when her drooping eyelids told him fatigue had finally caught up with her.

  ‘As if you need to ask,’ he said, walking with her to the bedroom, helping her remove her clothes, even showering with her, rubbing soap across her beautiful body, keeping his own emotions under control because he knew all she needed right then was a friend.

  He dried her as carefully as if she were a child, slipped the nightshirt over her head and tucked her into bed. He slid in beside her and held her curved into his body, wondering if this was how their future might be or if the scars of this experience might mean she’d never want to see him again.

  ‘Thank you!’

  The words, whispered against the back of his neck, woke him, and he turned to have her snuggle into his arms.

  ‘For staying? What else are friends for?’ he said, hoping the lightness in his voice would mask the desire in the rest of his body.

  He edged backwards just in case, but she followed him, sliding one long leg between his, so he couldn’t escape— or hide his body’s reaction.

  ‘Are we just friends, Max?’ she teased, breathing the words into his ear this time. ‘Or something more?’

  Then, before he could reply, she lifted herself up and propped her head on one hand, so rosy breasts peaked towards him and dulcet green eyes snagged his gaze.

  ‘What kind of something?’ he asked, though his mouth was so dry that speaking was an effort.

  A mobile eyebrow lifted, and the smile that had brought him back to Australia lit up her face.

  ‘Lovers, perhaps?’ She moved her leg between his so he knew she knew just how he was feeling. ‘Friends and lovers, Max?’

  ‘Friends and lovers, Ginny,’ he confirmed, and he pulled her to him, to show her just how good a lover her friend could be.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘SO, NOW the threat to dark-haired young women is safely removed, you’ll be able to concentrate on your real job—the stress study,’ Sarah said, meeting Max as he hurried from Ginny’s flat to his to dress for work.

  ‘More on my real reason for coming to Australia,’ Max told her, nodding back towards Ginny’s flat.

  ‘Is she OK?’ Sarah asked.

  Max considered his response.

  ‘She’s shaken. No one likes to think someone they know is a cold-blooded murderer, so there’s an element of sadness and a lot of confusion in the realisation. He still needs friends—does she stay a friend in spite of the revulsion she must feel? There’s also uncertainty. OK, so the police have a motive, but have they the proof they’ll need to convict him?’

  ‘You know…’ Ginny joined them on the veranda and slipped an arm around Max’s waist ‘…I was thinking in the shower about the future, about you and I, even considering what to wear to a wedding, then I come out here and find you describing all my unspoken emotions, and I’m not sure I want to marry someone who can see so clearly what’s going on inside my head.’

  But she pressed against him so he didn’t take the threat seriously, simply put his arm around her shoulders to hold her close.

  ‘Believe me, where your feelings about romance—our romance, our love—are concerned, I haven’t a clue. We’ve been back together a little over a week and you’re picturing wedding gowns? Not that I mind—not a bit of it. In fact, if Sarah wasn’t here I’d kiss you I’m so delighted.’

  Ginny looked up at him and smiled.

  ‘I’ll hold you to that later. Cubicle four. I think that’s the only one where we haven’t stolen a kiss.’

  ‘I can see I’ll have to keep a closer eye on what’s going on in A and E,’ Sarah said, then she excused herself and walked away.

  ‘Did you mean that?’ Max said, turning Ginny to face him but keeping her clasped loosely in his arms. ‘About the wedding dress?’

  Colour crept into her skin, darkening the caramel freckles on her nose.

  ‘Pretty silly when you haven’t mentioned marriage,’ she mumbled, and Max drew her closer.

  ‘Not so silly,’ he whispered, the lump of emotion in his throat making the words sound hoarse. ‘In fact, so unsilly I want to jump and dance and yell and shout. To write it in the sky, and tell the world you’re mine.’

  Ginny’s smile lit up her face with a radiance he’d never seen before, but her eyes gleamed with mischief as she said, ‘Well, you go ahead and do all that stuff, but right now I’ve got to go to work.’

  She reached up and pressed a kiss on his lips then, before he could stop her, she was gone, taking the steps two at a time but turning at the bottom to call, ‘And next time you can kiss me back!’

  He watched her walk across the car park, his whole being flooded with the love he felt for her. She turned to wave from the roadside, knowing he’d still be there, and he waved back, secure in the knowledge he’d be seeing her again soon.

  But now his love life looked as if it was on track to a brilliant conclusion, he’d better concentrate on his day job—complete the stress study so he could think about the future, discuss with Ginny whether they’d stay in Australia or go back to the US.

  And then there were loose ends to tie up in the murder case. What was his responsibility there? And could they even consider their own future until they knew for certain what had happened?

  It was Brent who, eventually, filled them in.

  They were in Max’s flat three evenings later, and after a dinner of pizza, were ready for explanations.

  Earlier in the day of Ginny’s ‘date’ with Paul, Brent had tracked down the mysterious Sally who’d admitted she and Isobel had been lovers, and Isobel had planned to join her overseas.

  ‘Losing Isobel, and her money, gave Paul a strong motive. He had the means with access to drugs, and after the fourth victim we began to suspect the perpetrator had medical knowledge because it seemed he kept the victim unconscious but alive.’

  ‘Hoping all traces of the drug would pass out of the bodies,’ Ginny murmured. ‘We wondered if that might be why the last one was still alive. He hadn’t finished her off, and the young couple came along.’

  Brent nodded. ‘So we had a motive and a means, and he had the opportunity all along. With Isobel at yoga, he was always free on Monday nights.’

  ‘And there must be dozens of ways he could have ducked in and out of the hospital without anyone seeing him, in spite of his alibi of working late,’ Sarah pointed out.

  Brent nodded.

  ‘I arranged to put a twenty-four-hour watch on him, mainly to see if he’d do something which might give him away. We doubted he’d strike again. The fourth one was to throw us off the scent—to make Isobel stand out less—and he must have panicked when he was nearly caught while arranging the body so even if he’d intended doing more, it wasn’t likely it would be any time in the near future.’

  ‘That’s comforting, considering I was in his house,’ Ginny muttered. ‘But what else did you learn from Sally?’

  ‘Apparently Isobel had taken a long time to accept her sexuality, and had then been terrified of scandal touching her family, who are high-profile people in this state,’ Brent continued. ‘Eventually, she decided getting married would “cure” her. She started seeing Paul and when he proposed, she accepted.’

  Ginny shook her head as she imagined the terrible emotional trauma the young woman must have suffered, but Brent was talking again.

  ‘Everything was all right until she met Sally here at Ellison, and she rea
lised her sexuality wasn’t something she could cure. The two of them fell in love and, rather than cause a scandal here—particularly as Sally had been devastated by the suicide of the young woman last year—they decided to go away. Isobel was as anxious to protect Paul as she was the rest of her family. So no one would suspect, Sally left first, taking a job in the United Kingdom. Isobel was to follow three months later, and they were intending to settle eventually in Canada.’

  ‘But with all this secrecy, how did Paul discover the truth?’

  Brent shrugged.

  ‘We have to assume Isobel told him—or was persuaded to tell him. Possibly soon after Sally left. He needed time to hatch what was a very elaborate plan, and to do the preliminary work necessary to put it into action.’

  ‘Maybe he found out for himself, even before Sally went away,’ Ginny said, weighing each word. ‘Seen in a different light, Paul’s visits to A and E—his habit of popping in and out—might have been spying missions.’

  ‘And when she said she was leaving him, he put two and two together and decided it wasn’t going to happen.’

  Sarah’s voice held the heaviness Ginny was feeling, as sympathy for Isobel swamped her.

  ‘It’s all guesswork,’ Brent admitted, ‘but among the definites we found a wig in Isobel’s dressing room and the skirt he’d worn when dressed as a woman. It was in Isobel’s cupboard, hung amongst her skirts, but a bigger size. That’s probably why he didn’t want his sister-in-law going through the clothes.’

  ‘Yet he assumed I wasn’t observant enough to notice,’ Ginny said.

  ‘At least you’re still alive,’ Max reminded her, hugging her to emphasise his point.

  ‘I think his sister-in-law’s suggestion must have worried him, so he decided to ask Ginny to get rid of the lot, including the skirt,’ Brent said. ‘Up till then he’d balked at getting rid of his props just in case they were needed again. After all, a skirt and a wig in a woman’s closet shouldn’t have attracted attention.’

  ‘Has he admitted it?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Not one thing,’ Brent told her. ‘But evidence from the skirt links it to Yvette and Sukey Allison, the final victim, and evidence of hair from the wig, or one similar, on Sukey as well. Also samples of Paul’s hair were found inside the wig, though he says he often put it on, fooling around. He maintains the skirt belonged to either his wife or her lover.’

  ‘Surely he’s not trying to pin the blame on Sally Blair?’ Max asked, and Brent nodded.

  ‘You’ve got it! He’s citing jealousy that Isobel preferred him to her, but Sally’s passport is proof she was out of the country. The skirt and wig are enough to hold him, though not enough to ensure a conviction as yet. Since we published a computer-enhanced photo of him as a woman in the same style of ankle-length skirt and a suit jacket, we’ve had a number of people come forward.’

  ‘And?’ Max prompted. ‘We mightn’t have seen much of each other over the last six years, but I still know when you’re holding out on me.’

  ‘We’ve found a town-house rented in the name of Starr Model Agency, the principal of which seems to be one Merryl Starr. One of the rental agency staff recognised Mrs Starr from the computer-enhanced photo of Paul that was printed in the paper, even though she’d only seen her briefly when she came in to sign a rental agreement and collect the key. “Merryl Starr” paid six months’ rent up front, which was unusual enough for the member of staff to remember her.’

  ‘The modelling thing was a master stroke, really,’ Sarah said. ‘Young women would be so excited to be asked they wouldn’t take much notice of the “representative”. And a woman representing a modelling agency might be expected to wear a lot of make-up, which would make it easier for a man to pass himself off as a woman.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Brent agreed.

  ‘Where’s the town-house?’ Ginny asked, before Max could ask if Paul’s bank accounts had been checked for a large cash withdrawal at much the same time.

  ‘It’s one of a small complex not far from the hospital, each with its own courtyard and private entrance. In fact, with a remote-controlled garage door, you can drive in and out whenever you like and never be seen by the neighbours, though a man across the street thinks he saw an attractive young woman go into the place a couple of times.’

  ‘Fingerprints?’ Sarah asked the question hopefully, though she guessed there were none, or the police would have the case tied up.

  ‘Not so far and, yes, we’ve checked under the toilet seat. He’s cleaned up well but no one’s ever that thorough. There was photographic equipment in the living room which ties in with the women’s stories about modelling. The lure could have been the promise of a photo shoot. Dinner first to help the victim relax, though the story would be to relax before the photographs were taken. The lab has found minute traces of an antipsychotic in the last victim, so we can assume he did drug all of them then, as it took effect, he strangled them.’

  ‘Full marks to Ginny, who thought of drugs with a short half-life,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Had he abandoned the town-house? And if so, why leave the photographic equipment there?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I suppose if he’d shifted it to his place it would have been incriminating, and if he’d tried to get rid of it, who knows what might have happened?’ Brent replied.

  ‘Or he mightn’t have finished. He might have found he enjoyed it and wanted to kill again.’ Ginny sounded defeated, and Max touched her lightly on the arm.

  ‘They’ll get him,’ he assured her. ‘They’re only just beginning the search. There has to be more evidence somewhere. You don’t buy elaborate photographic equipment just anywhere.’

  Brent nodded. ‘We’re tracking the sales, and the trace evidence people are still hopeful of turning up something more at the flat.’

  ‘What about transport? How did he move about?’

  ‘There was a small dark sedan in the garage at the townhouse. Trace evidence found in it ties all the victims except Isobel to it. He’d obviously wiped it over for fingerprints but hadn’t vacuumed it carefully enough.’

  ‘And he’d have taken Isobel in his own car,’ Max suggested. ‘So, you’ve tied the flat and the car and the skirt and presumably the woman to the victims, but haven’t proved Paul and the woman are one and the same person?’

  ‘Handwriting experts are working on “Merryl Starr”’s signature and we’re hoping some of the paperwork for the purchase of the car and the rental agreement might show up fingerprints.’

  ‘Even though dozens of people have probably handled the paper since then?’

  Ginny’s words held the despair and sadness Max knew she must be feeling. He longed to comfort her but there were no words to cover the betrayal of someone to whom she had offered friendship, trust and sympathy.

  ‘You need official identification to transfer car registration,’ Sarah said, diverting Max back to the puzzle of proof. ‘A driver’s licence or some other form of ID. I wonder if she was ever a patient at the hospital—the real Merryl Starr. A hospital must be the easiest place in the world to pinch things like drivers’ licences and other forms of ID. Most patients, although told not to, won’t be separated from their purses or wallets. They take out most of the money and leave that at home, but leave in all the bits of paper that tell people who they are.’

  ‘Good point,’ Brent said. ‘We’ll check it out.’

  ‘But will you ever be able to prove he did it?’ Ginny asked.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Brent assured her, so positively that even Max believed him. ‘Bit by bit, little by little, we put it all into place. A thread here, a partial palmprint there—eventually it all comes together to make a very vivid picture.’

  ‘Does he know more than he’s saying?’ Ginny asked, and Max smiled at her.

  ‘For sure,’ he said. ‘He’s known more than he’s saying—or is allowed to say—all along. We bumbling amateurs simply filled in a couple of blanks.’

  ‘The meals!’ Ginny said. �
��There’d be frozen meals in the freezer at the town-house—the same type of meals you found at the house and the hospital flat. He would probably have taken plenty over there. Would he have bothered taking the remaining ones away?’

  ‘Clever, isn’t she?’ Brent said to Max. ‘We’re working our way through a list of customers who buy those particular meals and so far have eliminated most of them, but in the meantime we’ve got the refrigerator and all the contents in our labs while the pointy-headed boys work out a way to take fingerprints office.’

  ‘Perhaps they will get him,’ Sarah said, and Ginny found herself believing it was possible.

  ‘They found the fingerprints—not on ice but on the inside of the freezer compartment door.’

  Max burst into the doctors’ office the following day to share the good news with Sarah and Ginny. They both looked up from the paperwork they’d been doing, staring blankly at him for a moment, before comprehension dawned.

  ‘Wait, there’s more! The car dealer who sold the car also recognised the computer-enhanced photo, and gave evidence the buyer had paid cash. On the same day an identical cash amount was withdrawn from Paul’s bank account.’

  But while Sarah smiled, Ginny looked less than delighted.

  Max crossed to her and rested his hand gently on her shoulder.

  ‘Were you hoping it wasn’t him?’ he asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Not really—I was pretty sure. But I hate to think a man trained to save lives could not only kill the woman he purported to love but kill three other innocent victims to cover his crime.’

  She glanced up at Max, her eyes dark with the horror of it.

  ‘It’s the cold-bloodedness of it, the extent of all that pre-planning and precision.’

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘It has the taint of true evil,’ she said, ‘but fortunately such people are rare. When you consider the number of truly good people in the world—not just the Mother Theresas but the volunteers at any hospital—the evil ones are few and far between, and way outnumbered by the worthy ones.’