The Lipstick Killers

by Lee Martin

  She amassed her own small arsenal of illegal weapons after Dunblane, and often drove to some deserted spot for a bit of shooting practice. Too fucking good, she thought with a bitter grin. It would’ve been better if I’d missed that sod last night.

  She finished her coffee, drove home, snarfed up a line and poured a glass of wine.

  ‘Welcome to the rest of my life,’ she said, as she toasted herself in the mirror over her dead fireplace.

  13

  Margaret woke with a start to see Frankie in the doorway of her room. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘Two,’ replied Frankie.

  ‘In the afternoon?’

  ‘That’s right. You’ve been asleep for hours.’

  Margaret shuddered as she remembered the uneasy sleep she had fallen into thinking about the fateful events of three months ago.

  ‘What’s up? Are you okay?’ said Frankie.

  ‘Nothing, I just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m glad I woke you then. Roxie called. Her plane gets in at four.’

  ‘I’d better get moving.’ Margaret climbed out from under the duvet and headed for the bathroom. ‘I’ll see you downstairs,’ she said. ‘How’s Sharon?’

  ‘Not good.’

  ‘I won’t be long,’ said Margaret.

  After showering and dressing quickly, Mags recovered her stash of coke and took a hit that opened her eyes wide. She wiped her nose and went down to find the rest of the family in the lounge. The TV was turned to CBBC with the sound off, and altogether it was a cheerless sight, with Sharon, Peter and Susan huddled together on the sofa. Outside, it had started to rain.

  ‘I’d better be off soon,’ said Margaret. ‘Friday afternoons on the motorway are crazily busy, and it’s pouring with rain.’

  Sharon nodded, and Frankie called out, coming in from the kitchen, ‘anything to eat or drink before you go?’

  Margaret shook her head. The fact was, she couldn’t wait to get away from the house full of sadness. She berated herself inwardly for the thought. ‘It’ll be good to see Roxie again,’ she said as she got her coat.

  ‘How long has it been?’ asked Sharon, still slumped on her sofa.

  ‘Ages. Birthday and Christmas cards, but that’s it for almost two years.’

  ‘We were going to go out to Spain to see her this summer, the whole family…’ Sharon started to cry.

  ‘Be strong love,’ said Frankie. ‘For them,’ she said, gesturing towards the kids cuddled up to Sharon, ‘if not for all of us.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Sharon, fighting back the tears.

  ‘I’ll be going then,’ said Margaret, and found her keys in her pocket.

  ‘Drive carefully,’ said Sharon. The words hung heavy in the room.

  ‘I will.’

  Frankie followed Margaret outside, and they stood in the shelter of the porch. ‘It’s been bloody awful,’ she said. ‘Tears and more tears.’

  ‘Get used to it,’ said Margaret. ‘There’s plenty more where they came from.’ The words slipped out before she had a chance to stop them and she cursed herself inwardly.

  ‘At least Roxie might cheer the place up. You know her. It’ll be so good for us all to be together again,’ Frankie said, forlornly.

  Margaret nodded, kissed her sister on the cheek and picked her way through the rain to her car.

  14

  The drive from Guildford to Gatwick Airport was grim. Margaret couldn’t get last night’s thoughts out of her head, and the rain, which got progressively worse, didn’t help. As usual, the Friday afternoon traffic was monstrously heavy, huge trucks throwing up spray that threatened to drown her windscreen wipers. There was an accident at one point which narrowed the road and brought her speed down to single figures, so that a drive that should have taken an hour took more than two. It was past four o’clock when she finally dumped the Porsche in the short term car park at the airport. Once upon a time, her warrant would have allowed her to park anywhere, but times had changed, she thought ruefully, as she made the long walk to the arrivals lounge for European passengers.

  She spotted Roxie right away. Her hair was even more blonde now, cut into a stylish bob her face tanned, and she had a flash looking mobile stuck to her ear. ‘Oi,’ said Margaret, smiling at her baby sister. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘She’s here,’ said Roxie into the mouthpiece. ‘See you later, bye,’ and she cut off the phone and stuck it in the pocket of her immaculately tailored jacket. ‘Mags,’ she said, brightly, a huge grin on her face. ‘Oh Mags. It’s so good to see you. No. No. Not like this. You know what I mean.’

  ‘You too Dolly,’ said Margaret, using everyone’s special name for the baby of the family. ‘I haven’t seen a smile for a long time.’

  ‘I’d better knock it on the head then,’ said Roxie. ‘What’s it like at Sharon’s?’

  ‘About as bad as it can get.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘No one does. So no one speaks much.’

  ‘How are the kids?’ Roxie asked, frowning.

  ‘Shellshocked. They remind me of how we were when mum passed.’

  ‘Yeah I remember, even though I was only little at the time. How’s Frankie doing? She was always close to Sharon and Monty.’

  ‘Being mum as always. Holding everyone together.’

  ‘Typical. That’s what she does best. And what about you? Still going for cop of the year?’

  ‘You know me Dolly. Skating on thin ice as usual.’

  ‘How’s work for Her Majesty?’

  ‘Not good. I’m on the shit list. That’s why I could get away easily. I’ve been suspended.’

  ‘What, you – super cop? I don’t believe it. What happened?’

  ‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it over a glass of Pinot Grigio some time. Anyway, you look well.’

  ‘And doing well,’ Roxie lied. ‘The salon’s going a bomb. All those old ex-pats wives wanting to look seventeen again. I’m doing Botox, chemical peels, fillers, the lot.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Well come on then, let’s go and face the music,’ said Margaret.

  Roxie wheeled along her suitcase bag, slung her handbag over her shoulder and they made their way back to the car park. ‘How long can you stay?’ asked Margaret on the way.

  ‘As long as necessary,’ replied Roxie. Christ, forever, she thought. Can’t go back there in a hurry. In fact never. A dead body on the floor of my shop would be hard to explain. ‘Josie, my manageress, is a diamond. She’ll look after things for the duration. I haven’t had a holiday in years.’ She’d let Josie go two months previously, when she could no longer afford to pay wages. More lies, but Roxie was an expert. And being a copper – even a copper on suspension – Margaret probably wouldn’t understand.

  ‘This won’t be much of a holiday I warn you,’ her sister reminded her.

  ‘You know me Mags, I could always find some fun and games. And talking of fun and games, how’s your love life?’

  Margaret pulled a face. ‘Don’t ask,’ she said.

  ‘But I will. Over that glass of wine maybe.’

  15

  The drive back was better than the journey out, as most traffic seemed to be heading in the opposite direction, out of the city for the weekend and the rain had eased off. ‘Nice wheels,’ Roxie said when she climbed into the Porsche. ‘Bet it goes like the clappers.’

  ‘It does. But I don’t need any tickets to add to my troubles, so don’t go getting any ideas,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Can I have a go sometime? I wouldn’t mind one of these.’

  ‘Hmmm, we’ll see about that. What are you driving?’

  ‘A jeep. Open top. You should come out when this is all over. We’d have some fun.’More lies and Roxie hated doing it – but she knew it was necessary.

  ‘I haven’t had any fun for a long time,’ Margaret said quietly.

  ‘Poor Mags,’ said Roxie. ‘
I’ll make it better.’

  They spent the rest of the journey catching up on the last few years, Roxie telling her sister funny stories about some of the clients she had at the salon.

  ‘Sis, you think it’s hard catching criminals? Try doing a Brazilian on a 64-year-old woman!’

  For her part, Mags traded stories about life on the force. But they both kept more to themselves than they dared to reveal.

  They were back at the house just after six, and Frankie, looking worse than ever, opened the front door. She embraced Roxie, and stepped back. ‘My, but you look good,’ she said, taking in her little sister’s highlighted hair, deep tan and inch-long acrylic nails.

  ‘It’s more than I can say for you,’ said Roxie taking in the deep circles around her eyes. ‘You running yourself ragged as usual I suppose?’

  ‘Someone had to look after the family.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now, you can get some rest. Mags said you haven’t stopped.’

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘Rubbish. When I’ve seen Sharon and the kids, I’m going to take you home and get you to bed.’

  Frankie just nodded, as if she was too tired to argue.

  ‘Where are they?` asked Roxie.

  ‘Sitting down.’

  Roxie dropped her bag and went into the lounge where Sharon and her children were still sitting together on the sofa. ‘Sharon,’ she cried. ‘Petey, Soo-Soo.’ And she went to them and tried to hold them all.

  ‘Roxie,’ said Sharon. ‘Thank God you’re here.’

  Roxie fitted herself on the sofa, her arms around all three, and all four started to cry. ‘Sorry,’ said Roxie. ‘I didn’t want to upset you. But…’

  Susan snuggled up into her lap and Peter hid his head on her shoulder whilst Sharon hugged her neck.

  ‘It’s better now,’ said Roxie. ‘We’ll make it better, all of us together.’

  16

  As promised, Roxie took Frankie home in her car, and after a supper of takeaway pizza, which the adults picked at and the children wolfed down, Sharon put the children to bed early in her room. She came downstairs to find Margaret sitting in the kitchen with a glass of wine. ‘Joyce came round after you left,’ she said. ‘It was awful. She couldn’t stop crying. She saw she was upsetting the children, so she went. I felt terrible letting her go back to an empty house, but what could I do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Margaret. ‘At times like these, everyone has to mourn in their own way. Later, we can mourn together.’

  ‘But she was so much a part of us,’ said Sharon. ‘You know that. She had nobody else. She’s been with Monty so long, she looks on Peter and Susan like her grandchildren.’

  ‘We’ll see her tomorrow,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll sort her out. I promise.’

  It was quiet in the house. During the day Frankie had called up friends and family to tell them the news, and the phone had been busy with outgoing and incoming calls. But Margaret had insisted on switching all the phones off now that the kids had gone to bed, except the one in Monty’s study attached to an answering machine. She’d also turned off all the mobiles in the house. ‘You need some peace tonight,’ she said to Sharon. ‘Tomorrow will be a busy day.’

  She didn’t realise how right she was.

  ‘Want some?’ she asked Sharon, tapping the wine bottle as her sister sat down at the kitchen table.

  Sharon shook her head.

  ‘Don’t mind if I finish the bottle?’ asked Margaret. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ came the reply. ‘Have as much as you like.’

  Sharon got up and started to make coffee. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do,’ she said, in a daze.

  ‘I know it will be hard love but you’ve got to persevere,’ said Margaret, gently. ‘You’ve got Peter and Susan to think about.’

  ‘It’s not going to be easy. Monty was my rock. He was the only man I’d ever known.’

  ‘You’ve got us.’

  ‘For how long? You’ll have to go back to London and sort yourself out. And Roxie will fly away back to Spain. She’s got a life out there.’

  ‘There’s always Frankie.’

  ‘Always Frankie. That’s it isn’t it. The only one of us without a life of her own.’

  ‘She loves us all. You know that. That’s what she does – look after people’

  ‘I know. Sorry. It’s just been another hard day. I’m going to drink this and go upstairs,’ said Sharon. ‘The kids are in with me tonight. You staying down here?’

  ‘I’ll take my glass and watch some crap TV if you don’t mind,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Whatever you want,’ said Sharon as she left the room.

  * * *

  Next morning dawned bright and breezy, with clouds scudding across a bright blue sky. Under normal circumstances, it was the kind of morning that made you glad to be alive, but the good mood didn’t filter through to the house in Guildford. Margaret was the first one up, and after a swift shower and a short line chopped out on the dressing table, she went down to prepare the house for another difficult day.

  On the way she looked in on Sharon and the children. Peter and Susan were in bed asleep, but Sharon was standing by the window gazing out. When she heard the door, she turned, her face was drawn and white. ‘Hello Mags,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Me neither. Just a bit anyway. I’m going to make breakfast. Want some?’

  ‘Just coffee.’

  ‘What about the kids?’

  ‘Orange juice and cereal if they can eat.’

  ‘They have to. They’re more resilient than us. You saw them with the food last night. You too. You have to keep your strength up at a time like this.’

  ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘Are you going to wake them?’

  ‘I thought I’d let them sleep for a bit. I could hear Peter crying in his sleep last night.’

  ‘Poor little mites. I’ll go and get the kettle on,’ said Margaret, gently closing the door behind her.

  She laid the kitchen table and when the coffee was steaming Sharon, now dressed, joined her. ‘That smells good,’ she said, pouring a cup. ‘I’ve left the kids.’

  Margaret nodded, and just then they heard the front door open and Frankie, now looking better, and Roxie joined them. Frankie looked better than she had the day before, the dark rings under her eyes having faded slightly.

  ‘Coffee,’ said Roxie. ‘Bloody great.’ She kissed Sharon and Margaret and poured two more cups.

  ‘I’d better switch the phone back on and check for messages,’ said Sharon, and as she got up to go to the study the front doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Margaret. ‘You check the phone.’

  She went to the front door where she found a man in his mid-thirties standing on the porch. ‘Detective-Inspector Mahoney,’ he said, showing his warrant card. ‘Guildford CID. Mrs Smith?’

  ‘No, I’m her sister,’ said Margaret. ‘Margaret Doyle. Detective-Sergeant.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Detective-Sergeant Doyle. I know about you.’ The way he said it, and the insolent way he grinned, made Margaret think he didn’t much like what he’d heard. But she didn’t care. Straightening her back, she looked him in the eye and said. ‘I’m sure you do. What can we do for you?’

  ‘I need to speak to Mrs Smith,’ he said.’ Something’s come up.’

  ‘I’m her sister. You can talk to me.’

  ‘Sorry. I need to speak to Mrs Smith personally.’

  ‘Then you’d better come in.’

  17

  Margaret showed the policeman into the living room. ‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Just Mrs Smith,’ he replied, quite obviously dismissing her.

  Mags walked out of the room and left him standing there as she went upstairs. ‘It’s the police,’ she said, knocking on Sharon’s door. ‘Some big-headed DI. He wants to see you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno. He wasn’t ver
y forthcoming. Didn’t take to me at all. It’s obvious he knows all about what happened in London. My suspension. Must have done his homework.’ She cursed the fact that the consequences of that day continued to follow her around.

  ‘You’ll come with me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  They both went downstairs to where DI Mahoney was pacing up and down the carpet. ‘Mrs Smith,’ he said to Sharon as they entered the room.

  Sharon nodded.

  ‘I need to speak with you… privately.’ He gave Margaret a look.

  ‘I want my sister to stay,’ said Sharon.

  Mahoney blew out a breath, not best pleased. ‘She doesn’t need to be here,’ he said, not looking at Mags.

  ‘I’ll be the best judge of that,’ said Sharon, her voice hard.

  ‘Very well, if you insist.’

  ‘I do. Please sit down.’

  Mahoney took an armchair, Margaret and Sharon sat on the sofa. Margaret shut the door before she sat down.

  ‘Mrs Smith,’ said Mahoney, referring to a notebook he took from his pocket. ‘First of all let me say how sorry I am for your loss. You and your family.’ He gave Margaret another long look. ‘But something new has come up in the course of our investigations.’

  ‘What?’ asked Sharon, perplexed.

  ‘As you know,’ Mahoney went on. ‘We removed the car from the crash site and took it to be examined at our garage. Our technicians went over it and found something.’

  ‘What?’ Sharon again.

  ‘The truck driver who witnessed the accident said that the car seemed to speed up instead of slow down on the hill. It seems the brakes were tampered with – the servo, so that the brake fluid leaked away. It was an inexact attempt at sabotage. The brakes could have failed just parking up outside the house. But unfortunately not.’