Deadline for Murder

by Val McDermid

  “I see,” Lindsay croaked through dry lips. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat and said, “I’ve been out working on the case. Interviewing suspects. You know the drill.”

  “I know the drill,” Cordelia murmured, moving closer to Lindsay. “Who better? Now you’re here anyway, why don’t you come through and have a coffee?” She put her hand out to touch Lindsay’s arm.

  Lindsay flinched from her former lover’s touch as if it had been a blow. “Thanks all the same, but I’d better get on,” she replied. “After all, Claire is paying me. We don’t want to waste her precious time, do we?”

  “Oh Lindsay, stop being so prickly. Relax.” She ran a hand through Lindsay’s hair, sending an involuntary shudder through her body. “Come and tell me how you’ve been getting on. I can pass it on to Claire, and that’ll save you having to come back later.”

  Cordelia smiled wickedly and walked confidently through to the kitchen. As if pulled by an invisible string, Lindsay followed, hating herself for her susceptibility. She stood in the doorway while Cordelia poured out two mugs of coffee from a jug and put them in the microwave. Cordelia leaned back against the kitchen unit, looking relaxed and, to Lindsay, unbelievably sexy. Although it was only hours since she had been lying in Sophie’s arms, it might have been a lifetime ago for all the effect it had on Lindsay’s reactions. “Have you made much progress?” Cordelia asked.

  Lindsay shrugged. “Some. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather wait till Claire’s here. There are one or two things I want to ask her about, so I might as well save it till then. If she’s got any queries, we can sort them out on the spot.” Realizing that she sounded churlish, Lindsay softened her tone and struggled for something to say that was emotionally neutral but offered some kind of olive branch. “Do you know if she’s done anything about Alistair Anderson yet?” she managed.

  Cordelia showed no reaction to Lindsay’s words except a slight raise of her eyebrows. She took the coffees out of the microwave and said, “Here you are,” holding one out to Lindsay, who came warily across the room to take it. “She’s organized a small drinks party for this evening. Alistair’s one of the guests. So we might have something for you tomorrow.” She moved closer to Lindsay, penning her into a corner of the kitchen, and put down her coffee. “Why are you so nervous of me?” Cordelia asked innocently. “You’re acting like I’m the big bad wolf.”

  “Is it any wonder I feel a bit nervous?” Lindsay demanded. “Here I am, trapped in the kitchen with a half-naked woman. I mean, Claire could walk in at any minute. And the last woman who found herself in a compromising position with one of Claire’s lovers ended up dead,” she added, falling into the old habit of telling Cordelia exactly what she was thinking.

  Cordelia laughed delightedly. “You’re surely not suggesting that Claire killed Alison? Oh Lindsay, you really are something else again! But set your mind at rest. Claire won’t be back for a couple of hours at least. She’s not going to catch you in a compromising position. Besides, she’s an adult. She’s not the sort of woman who indulges in temper tantrums.” Cordelia reached out and gently stroked the side of Lindsay’s head.

  Lindsay felt her defenses dissolve under the familiar touch. “Meaning that I am?” she asked, desperately trying to fight her feelings and provoke a less intimate atmosphere. Being alone with Cordelia at such close quarters was uncomfortable, but she was determined that she wasn’t going to let her former lover defeat her.

  “You are a very passionate woman, Lindsay. And sometimes that passion shows itself in ways that are less comfortable than your stunning lovemaking,” Cordelia teased.

  “Yes, well, that’s something you won’t have to deal with any longer,” Lindsay replied, feeling herself start to sweat.

  “I never imagined I would, but I miss your temper, your passion, your arrogance. It’s not too late, Lindsay. We could make up for lost time,” Cordelia murmured persuasively, letting the towel fail away from her slim body and moving into Lindsay’s arms.

  As she felt Cordelia’s lips on hers, Lindsay suddenly came to her senses. She turned her face away, saying, “Wait a minute.”

  With a puzzled look on her face, Cordelia stopped. “It’s all right,” she soothed.

  “No it isn’t,” Lindsay protested, feeling confused. “It’s all wrong. What about Claire? You made your choice, Cordelia, and it wasn’t me.”

  “It wasn’t so much a choice as a default. I was lonely, Lindsay. And I was confused. I still am, come to that. As soon as I saw you the other night in Soutar Johnnie’s, I couldn’t help thinking I’d made a stupid mistake. Maybe if I hadn’t kept on running into you, maybe if we weren’t living in the same city, I’d have been able to carry on with Claire without these doubts surfacing all the time. But every time I see you, I get all churned up again. I can’t forget the way I feel about you. Oh Lindsay, let’s give it another try.”

  Cordelia’s voice held a note of pleading Lindsay had never heard before. But something was wrong. Lindsay couldn’t put her finger on it, but something didn’t ring true in Cordelia’s words. She’d only started seriously seducing rather than teasing after Lindsay had voiced her suspicion of Claire. Did Cordelia genuinely want her, or was she simply trying to protect Claire from Lindsay’s inquiries? In bed, with her defenses down, Lindsay knew she’d believe anything Cordelia wanted her to. She felt torn. In spite of the peace she’d found the night before with Sophie, her body told her to ignore her doubts and follow her instincts into bed with Cordelia, but inside her head, a voice screamed “No!”

  Lindsay pushed Cordelia away and moved back toward the door. “No,” she said. “No.”

  “But why not?” Cordelia asked, her voice trembling. “We still care about each other. I can see you still love me, for God’s sake!”

  “But it’s not just between you and me any more, is it? This is so dishonest, Cordelia. If you’d really wanted me back, why didn’t you just leave Claire and come back to me? I might have believed you then. But this? Trying to seduce me in Claire’s kitchen? Were you planning on bonking me in Claire’s bed?”

  Cordelia flinched at Lindsay’s words and took a tentative step toward her. But Lindsay shook her head angrily and Cordelia stopped in her tracks. “I didn’t mean it to be like this,” she protested. “It’s just the way it happened that’s all.”

  The feebleness of her response fueled the rage that had begun to burn in Lindsay. “Apart from anything else, I’m still working for Claire. How the hell can I carry on with that if I’m sleeping with you? I still don’t hear you saying you’re going to leave Claire and come back to me! After what we’ve had, do you really think I’m going to settle for being your bit on the side?” Lindsay demanded angrily.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that. You don’t have to work for Claire. And I don’t have to stay here, where Claire’s still around to cause confusion. We can go back to London together. Start again. Give it another try,” Cordelia pleaded.

  Lindsay’s heart sank. Cordelia’s words served only to confirm her suspicions that her motives were suspect. Was Cordelia protecting Claire after all? “And just abandon Jackie?” she blurted out. “No way. I made a commitment. I’ve started, so I’ll finish, like the man says. Besides, it’s not just Claire who’s involved,” she blurted out.

  Cordelia paled. “What do you mean?”

  Lindsay silently cursed herself. She hadn’t meant to tell Cordelia about Sophie. “Nothing,” she mumbled.

  “It’s that bloody Helen, isn’t it?” Cordelia demanded. “I always knew she fancied you. Couldn’t wait to get her claws into you, could she?”

  “It’s not Helen. It’s Sophie. And you’ve no room to talk about people who couldn’t wait,” Lindsay shouted, almost glad of an excuse to pick a fight. Anything to escape a situation that she was finding increasingly intolerable. “You knew I’d be back. You knew it wasn’t you I was leaving. But you couldn’t give me time, could you? I hadn’t been gone six months when you were throwing yo
urself into Claire’s arms. I never looked at another woman in all the time I was away. And when I did come back, it was straight to you. Or it would have been if you hadn’t been too busy bedding your new girlfriend.”

  Cordelia scowled. “How the hell was I supposed to know when you were coming back? Or even if you were coming back?”

  “How could I let you know? It’s not as if I went away without a word. The whole point of me leaving the country was so the security forces would get off my back. I knew they’d be tapping your phone and checking your mail. The last thing I wanted was for you to have to suffer even more because of my pig-headed principles.” Lindsay stood staring defiantly at Cordelia’s naked body. She wasn’t going to give in, she wasn’t, she kept telling herself. She shook her head. “I think it’s too late,” she sighed. “I think it’s too late for both of us. I’m sorry, Cordelia. But you turned your back on me when you started living with Claire. Now I’m turning my back on you. Sophie has made me feel good for the first time in months. And I don’t believe any more that loving more than one person is a good thing multiplied. It’s not. It’s a good thing divided.”

  “But we need each other,” Cordelia pleaded. “Don’t be so stubborn. You know we belong together. Sophie can’t give you what I can. Sophie won’t be any use to you trying to track down a killer. Sophie doesn’t know the way your mind works. She won’t put up with your crazy working routines, all those unexplained absences.” Her face was flushed and angry, her straight brows twisted in a frown.

  “At least Sophie’s loyal. Sophie never made a pass at me while she was still living with Helen, or while I was with you.”

  Cordelia flushed a deeper scarlet. “You’d better go,” she said softly.

  “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said today,” Lindsay replied. “I’m sorry it had to end like this, Cordelia.”

  The cliché was still ringing in her ears as she stumbled blindly from the flat and ran through the streets to her car. It was fully five minutes before the shaking in her hands subsided enough for her to drive the car safely. Lindsay drove back to the flat like a maniac, desperate to shut the door on the world and lose herself in drink.

  13

  Once the emotional storm had abated, Lindsay found herself ravenous. Cursing Cordelia, she fixed herself a bacon sandwich. “Damned if I’m going to let her interfere with this job,” she muttered as she slung her dirty plate into the sink. Fired with anger and energy, she grabbed the phone and rang Ruth Menzies at her gallery. “It’s Lindsay Gordon, Ruth,” she announced. “I’d really like to get together with you and Antonis. Are you free tomorrow evening for dinner?”

  Ruth was instantly flustered by the positive approach, which was what Lindsay had banked on. “Well, I . . . em . . . there’s nothing in the diary, and Antonis hasn’t said anything about . . .”

  “That’s great. I’m really looking forward to seeing you both again. Half past seven suit you? I’ll expect you then. 21 Halbeath Drive. First floor, right hand flat. The name on the bell is Hartley. Got that?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Ruth stammered, repeating the address.

  “See you then,” Lindsay said cheerfully. “Bye.” She put the phone down with a grin. It had been a pushover. Ruth was far too polite and diffident to ask her what the hell she was playing at. They were hardly friends, after all. If it hadn’t been for Alison, they’d have been little more than nodding acquaintances.

  The adrenaline surge that had carried her through the phone call to Ruth soon abated, however, leaving her feeling worn out and confused. What exactly had Cordelia been playing at? Had it been because of genuine feelings for Lindsay? Or was it about protecting Claire, either by distracting Lindsay or by making sure that she was privy to Lindsay’s every move? Whatever her motives, Cordelia had defeated herself by her appalling sense of timing. She knew only too well that the way to Lindsay’s heart was via her body, and she’d gone straight for her weak point. She’d have stood a good chance of success if she’d made her move anywhere other than her lover’s flat.

  Lindsay shrugged and looked at her watch. Half past four. The next burning item on her agenda was to confront Barry Ostler. But she felt too drained even to plan their encounter, let alone carry it out. It would have to wait till morning. That left her with a couple of hours to kill before she could reasonably expect Sophie, so Lindsay decided to cook something for dinner. She was halfway through an inventory of the store cupboard when the phone rang.

  “Hello?” she said wearily as she picked it up.

  “Well, love certainly knocked the ginger out of you,” Sophie’s familiar voice teased her. “You sound like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  “Sorry. It’s nothing to do with you, I promise. I’ve just had a particularly difficult afternoon.”

  “Will it keep, or do you want to tell me all about it now?” Sophie asked kindly.

  “It’ll keep. What can I do for you? I mean, I take it you didn’t just ring up to whisper sweet nothings down the phone?”

  Sophie laughed. “I think we’re both a bit too long in the tooth for that. Though I must admit it’s been kind of difficult to concentrate today. However, that isn’t why I rang. As you correctly deduced, I do actually have something to say.”

  “McIntosh?” Lindsay asked eagerly.

  “I looked up the records. He did a routine D&C on Alison just over a year ago, in December 1988. She had a follow-up appointment three months later, at the beginning of March 1989, then nothing.”

  “I see . . .” Lindsay mused.

  “I thought you’d be interested. He’s just written a fairly pedestrian paper on combating postpartum infection, which is actually very relevant to my work, so I rang him up and suggested we meet for a drink,” Sophie continued.

  “Well done! When?”

  “This evening. Half past six in The Cricketers. If I can make a suggestion?” Sophie asked tentatively.

  “Please do. I need all the help I can get.”

  “Why don’t you arrive about five to seven? Then I can introduce you. You can give me some spurious phone message, from Helen or someone, asking me to call her between seven and half past. Then I can slope off to the phone and you can do your Perry Mason bit with him. How does that sound to you?”

  “Sophie, you are a star. I couldn’t have plotted it better myself. I owe you one.”

  “I’ll collect later,” Sophie replied, her voice heavy with innuendo.

  “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  “Mine too, I hope. See you in The Cricketers.”

  “Yes. And Sophie—thanks.” Lindsay switched the phone off and grinned, delighted that Sophie had so swiftly proved Cordelia wrong. So much for her insistence that Sophie would be of no use in a murder inquiry! She checked with her copy of Alison’s list and found the dates referring to the man they believed to be Ian McIntosh. Interestingly, Alison had made a passing reference to him around the time of her operation. But they hadn’t actually become lovers till a few weeks after her follow-up appointment. So technically, she had no longer been a patient when she had started sleeping with him. Lindsay wondered fleetingly how the General Medical Council would view that. When did a patient stop being a patient, as far as disciplinary matters are concerned? Could he have been struck off for his affair with Alison?

  No point in cooking a meal now, Lindsay thought. She’d treat Sophie to a takeaway after they’d seen McIntosh. Then they could switch off the phones and forget about Alison Maxwell for a while. She’d tell Sophie about Cordelia’s futile seduction attempt, and show her that last night had been more than a desperate search for comfort. Feeling pleased with herself, Lindsay ran a hot bath and soaked in it for an hour while she read a new crime novel she’d found on Sophie’s shelves. As she skimmed forward to check the ending, it amused her that she had spotted the murderer eighty pages before the detective did. If only real life were so simple!

  After her bath, she put on a clean pair of Levis
and her Aran sweater, pulling a face at her limited wardrobe. When she’d come back from Italy, she’d gone back to Cordelia’s to drop off her lightweight clothes and pick up some winter outfits. But she hadn’t anticipated being away for more than a couple of weeks. She was going to have to go down to London with a van soon and clear her possessions out of Cordelia’s house. And she’d have to find somewhere to live in Glasgow till her own flat became vacant in July. Whatever was on the cards for her and Sophie, she felt wary about moving in on a semi-permanent basis, even supposing Sophie wanted her to. After Cordelia, Lindsay needed a place to call her own, a place she couldn’t lose on the whim of her lover.

  At twenty to seven, she left the flat and drove to The Cricketers, the pub attached to the local cricket club. Instead of planning her encounter with Ian McIntosh, she was too busy with the rosy glow of memories. When she’d lived in Glasgow three years before, she and Sophie had often met here after work in the long, warm summer evenings, sitting out in the garden, drinking cool lagers, putting the world to rights. Cordelia Brown had only been a name on a book jacket to her then.

  Impatiently, Lindsay shook off the past and took a deep breath. She walked into the bar and immediately saw Sophie sitting at a window table with a slim man in his thirties. Ian McIntosh had straight, light brown hair cut like Robert Redford’s. As Lindsay approached, however, she noticed that the youthful image presented by his fashionable casual clothes was tarnished by the network of fine lines round his eyes and mouth.

  As Lindsay reached the table, he leapt to his feet and turned a poor imitation of Redford’s engaging boyish grin on her. “Hi,” he said effusively. “Sophie mentioned you’d be joining us. You must be Lindsay. Nice to meet you. Any friend of Soph is a friend of mine. Let me get you a drink. Same again, Soph?”