Murder Undone - Gripping Psychological Suspense

PROLOGUE April 1995 The horizon over the harbour was pink, blending into gold and purple, the boats bobbing gently on the water. They'd done this often after they were first married, sitting on the deck with a drink watching the daylight fade to evening over inconsequential chatter and comfortable silences. Eva glanced at Charlie as he stared into the distance. He hadn't touched his champagne. Was he thinking about those early days? Even if he was, he'd feel no guilt. Maybe he was planning his exit strategy, preparing for the right circumstances to tell her he was leaving. Even in profile his face was drawn and weary. Having an affair was hard work—juggling the urgent passion of new love with the pretence of being a loving and devoted husband. He turned his head and smiled. Despite herself, her stomach flipped. After sixteen years of marriage she could still appreciate, as if seeing him anew, how attractive he was when he smiled. His golden-brown eyes twinkled under his caterpillar eyebrows, warming and softening his face, so you felt good just looking at him and you wanted to succumb to his charm. It had taken her many years to realise that the warmth was only skin deep. 'It was so good of you to do this, sweet pea,' he said. 'I could have taken you out to dinner if you'd wanted.' 'I like cooking for you. I thought it would be more romantic to spend our anniversary at home, just the two of us.' Especially as it would be their last night together. In less than three hours, he'd be dead. 'What delectable dish are you cooking? ' She smiled. 'You'll have to wait and see. I'll go and check on the progress.' She felt his eyes on her as she walked across the deck and through the open doorway into the kitchen. She'd bought a new cocktail dress for the occasion, Lisa Ho, royal blue with a plunging neckline, draped over her curves as if it was designed for her. Not that she didn't already have a wardrobe full of designer dresses, but she never passed up an opportunity to buy another one. Two saucepans simmered on the huge stainless steel stovetop. The aroma of curry filled the kitchen—beef vindaloo, Charlie's favourite. She took the lids off both the saucepans and peered inside. They both looked and smelled identical, but only the rear saucepan contained chopped up aconite root, one of the most poisonous plants known to man. She'd done a lot of research to find the right one—aconite was fast acting, undetectable in routine observation, and the symptoms mimicked those of a heart attack. It was pure good fortune that Charlie liked curry, which masked the taste, and that he never ventured into the kitchen, so he wasn't likely to ask why she was cooking two separate meals. The coconut rice in the rice cooker was almost cooked to fluffy perfection, and the naan bread was warming in the oven. All was going as planned. In the fridge were two creme caramels she'd made earlier for dessert. Of course they wouldn't get to dessert, but she had to make everything look as authentic as possible. Her insides were trembling and she felt light-headed, as if she were about to faint. She took hold of the kitchen bench to steady herself. Do you really want to do this? She loved and hated Charlie with equal intensity. Much as she couldn't bear to think of life without him, to think of him with her, the two of them living in this very house, was like having her heart ripped out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths until she felt calm and steady and her resolve had hardened again. She’d made the decision and she had to go through with it. ●●● They ate their entree of sauteed prawns and watercress salad sitting at the dining table, candles flickering in their antique brass holders next to a vase of fresh roses the gardener had picked from the garden. Natalie Cole’s sweet, mellow tones serenaded them from the CD stereo. Through the glass French doors the harbour was a shining, velvet expanse with the majestic rise of the Sydney Harbour Bridge arching against the dark sky. 'There's no mistaking that aroma of beef vindaloo,' Charlie said. He reached across the table and laid her hand in both of his. 'You're a good wife to me, much better than I deserve. I know I haven't been around much lately. Getting that new mine in Western Australia operational has just been one headache after another.' The humble pie act didn't fool her for one minute. 'I understand, darling.’ She gently slid her hand out of his and rose to get the main course. She returned with bowls of sides—cucumber and yoghurt, and banana with coconut, then two plates of steaming curry and rice and a basket of naan bread. She watched Charlie as he picked up his knife and fork, stabbed a large hunk of beef and piled some rice on top. Her heart was hammering, and sweat was pooling in her armpits and trickling into her cleavage. There was still time to stop it—she saw herself yelling, ’Don’t eat it!’ springing up and whipping the knife and fork out of his hands. But she didn’t. She sat there, unable to move, watching him shovel the forkful of food into his mouth. The moment was over. There was no turning back. ‘Superb, as usual,’ Charlie said, taking a piece of naan bread from the basket. Eva forced a smile. ‘I’m glad you like it.’ She picked at her food, willing her hands to stop shaking; fortunately Charlie was enjoying his meal too much to notice. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. At sixty-one he was twenty one years older than she was, and even his regular exercise regime had failed to prevent the beginnings of a paunch, the legacy of a love of fine cuisine. But women didn't care about a man's looks if he had money, and when you combined that with old school charm and an undercurrent of raw s****l energy it was an irresistible force. No doubt that was what had attracted her to Charlie, and many others before her. Charlie put down his knife and fork with a sigh of satisfaction. 'That was the best curry yet.’ He looked at Eva’s plate. 'You've hardly eaten anything.' 'I'm not really hungry after all that cooking. Come and relax until it's time for dessert.' Charlie refilled their glasses and they settled on the couch in the living room. ‘Cry me a river,’ Natalie crooned. Charlie seemed more at ease; the champagne had worked its magic. He put his arm around Eva, his hand warm on her shoulder. The sweat had dried on her body, leaving her chilled. A sense of fatalism had overtaken her and calmed her, and she had the sensation of standing outside herself, watching the events she had set in motion unfold. 'I haven't told you how beautiful you look,’ Charlie said. ‘Is that a new dress?' 'Yes.' Eva smiled. 'It's my anniversary present to you.' 'Lucky it looks so good on you, it wouldn't suit me at all.’ His hand dropped from her shoulder to her breast and he ran his fingers lightly over the soft material of her dress. Her n*****s hardened. He put his mouth to her ear. 'I have something for you, too.' He got up, went inside and came back with a small box. 'Happy anniversary, darling.' Eva opened it and took out a delicate necklace, diamonds glittering in the lamplight. 'Oh darling, it's beautiful!' 'Let me put it on for you.' As she held out the necklace, he groaned. His face was gray and beaded with sweat. He lurched off the couch, clutching his stomach and raced down the hallway. Eva followed him to the bedroom. She could hear him in the ensuite, coughing and retching. 'What's happened, Charlie?' she called to him from the doorway. 'I don't know,' he gasped. 'What did you put in the curry?' 'It can't be the curry, I'm fine. Maybe you've caught a stomach bug.' This was where she had to make a judgment call. She didn't want to call the ambulance too soon, in case he survived. If she called them too late, it would look suspicious. 'Should I call an ambulance?' she asked, knowing what his answer would be. He staggered out of the ensuite, wiping his mouth. 'No, probably just a stomach bug, as you say. I'll lie down for a while.' Eva hovered around as a concerned wife would, at the same time refusing to allow her mind to focus on Charlie’s distress. After half an hour of trips to the toilet, Charlie's breathing became laboured. 'I'm burning up, I feel as if I'm on fire,' he gasped. He gazed up at her from the bed, his eyes filmy with confusion. 'What's happening to me?' Once other symptoms besides vomiting and diarrhea kicked in, the end was near. She took his hand. It was cold and clammy. 'I don't know, but this is more than a stomach bug. I'm calling an ambulance.' She did so and it arrived within five minutes, sirens blaring. She described the symptoms to the paramedics as they placed him on a stretcher and hooked him up to an oxygen mask. By now he was unconscious. She fluttered around him, wringing her hands. 'We thought it was just a stomach bug, but I got worried when he became breathless. Will he be all right?' 'Can't tell you at this stage. We'll take him to St Vincent's. You can drive there and park in the emergency visitors’ car park.' As she negotiated her way through the traffic in her Mercedes, there was only one thought churning around her mind. Please don't let him live. She parked and rushed into the emergency department at St Vincent's hospital. She'd only been in the waiting room for fifteen minutes when a doctor came out. From the look on his face, she knew what he was going to say. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Dennehy, we couldn't save him.'