The Lipstick Killers (11 page)

30

When the sisters got back to Sharon’s she was with the children watching TV. Margaret and Roxie took Frankie in to the kitchen and told her what they had found at Monty’s office. ‘Christ,’ she said. ‘What the hell is going on?’

Margaret shrugged. ‘It looks like Monty was involved with some very bad people. This is not good. Not good at all.’

‘What sort of bad people?’ asked Frankie, looking pale and nervous.

‘That’s what I intend to find out.’

‘You should leave it to the police.’

‘I am police. And this is my family. I need to speak to Joyce. Remind me of her number, love.’

‘What about Mahoney?’ said Roxie. ‘You lied about not knowing Joyce’s address but he can easily find it in Monty’s stuff.’

‘That’s true, but I want to talk to her first. See what she knows. She was Monty’s secretary after all – she’ll know
what was going on in that office.’

Frankie got out her address book and pointed to numbers for a land line and a mobile. Margaret took out her phone and tried both. ‘The land line’s engaged and the mobile’s off,’ she said. ‘It’s only five minutes to hers in the car. I’m going to go round.’

‘Do you want me to come?’ asked Roxie.

‘No. You stay here. Tell Sharon about the office. This is only going to upset her again, so it’s better if you’re both here.’

She grabbed her keys and went out to the car. Joyce’s house was closer to the centre of town. She put the address in her Sat-Nav and soon pulled up in front of a two up, two down end of terrace. She remembered it from giving Joyce a lift home on one of the few occasions the family had a big party. She parked outside, pushed open the front gate and went up the path. There was a light on in the hall, but no answer when she pushed the bell. Mags started to get a bad feeling. Joyce lived alone, had few visitors and was frugal, not one to waste
electricity
. She walked round the front of the house to the side gate when there was a rustling in the hedge and she jumped. ‘Christ,’ she said, ‘bleeding hell kitty, you gave me a fright,’ as Joyce’s big, old grey Persian cat emerged from its hiding place. Margaret bent down to pet the animal, who she remembered was called Thomas. Joyce loved the cat like it was her own child. In a way, it was. ‘You’re all wet,’ she said. Her heart started to pound with adrenaline.

The gate was on the latch so she pushed it open and went up the narrow path at the side of the house, followed by Thomas, mewing loudly.

The back door into the kitchen was closed, but unlocked, and Margaret knew that something was badly wrong. Joyce was a glutton for security, being a
middle-aged
woman living alone. Gingerly, she pushed open the door and called out Joyce’s name. No answer. The kitchen was scrupulously tidy and Thomas’s water and food bowl were empty on the floor with traces of dried food in one. Joyce would never have left the cat like that. Thomas slithered between Margaret’s legs and started to miaow. ‘Shh,’ she said, then grabbed his water bowl, filled it, and placed it in front of him. He immediately shut up and started lapping at the liquid.

Margaret went into the hall. The living room was tidy but empty also. The phone sat on a side table, the receiver off the hook, the machine giving off a high pitched whine that made her wince.. Holding her jacket sleeve over her fingers, she replaced the instrument and the place was suddenly deadly silent.

She climbed the stairs and went into the back bedroom. Empty. The bathroom, the same. The front bedroom was Joyce’s, and she gingerly pushed open the door. The curtains were drawn and the room was in darkness. Margaret fumbled for the light switch and as the bulb lit she saw Joyce lying on her bed. She blinked at the scene that lay before her, not quite believing her own eyes. Joyce was on her back, fully clothed. Her eyes were open and looking up at the ceiling and the pillow where her head was resting was a rusty brown colour. It appeared that she had a second mouth beneath her chin where someone had cut her throat from ear to ear. The only sound in the room was the buzzing of the flies circling the corpse on the bed.

31

Margaret didn’t venture any further into the room. She knew a dead body when she saw one, and didn’t want to disturb anything. She stood for a moment outside the room, dry eyed, although she felt a terrible sorrow for this harmless woman who had her life ended so brutally. Her police instincts kicked in and she cocked her head, listening carefully but all she could hear was the sound of traffic outside. The house was deathly silent and it was obvious that Joyce’s killer was long gone. She went back downstairs to the kitchen where Thomas was still prowling hungrily about, picked up the protesting animal and took him into the tiny back garden. She hunted in her handbag for Mahoney’s card, opened her phone and called his number.

‘Mahoney,’ he answered.

‘It’s Margaret Doyle,’ she said. ‘I’m at Joyce’s house. Monty Smith’s secretary.’

‘I thought you were going to call me with her address…’

‘I was,’ she cut him off. ‘I just wanted to see her for a minute. Tell her about what happened at Monty’s office. Look, you’d better get over here, sharpish. Bring some uniforms and your SOCO team.’ She reeled off the address.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘She’s dead. Been murdered.’

‘
What
?’ came the exclamation at the other end of the phone.

‘You heard. Are you coming?’

‘Of course. Stay where you are.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ And she snapped her phone shut.

Thomas was still rubbing himself on her legs and distracting her thoughts, so she went back into the kitchen, opened the fridge door with a tea towel and saw a half full tin of cat food. She took it out, grabbed a saucer from the dresser, went back out, shutting the door behind her, and took both to the back of the garden where she emptied the tin onto the saucer and Thomas dived in. ‘That’ll keep you quiet,’ she said aloud and went out to the street to wait for Mahoney and his crew. She found her cigarettes and lighter in the bottom of the bag and lit up, the nicotine helping to quell the growing panic that was rising in her. Who the fuck would have done this to Joyce?

She heard sirens long before Mahoney’s car, and two squad cars sped into the street. With a sigh she dropped the cigarette butt onto the pavement and ground it out with the sole of her boot. ‘Here we go,’ she said to herself. ‘What the hell did we all do to deserve this?’

32

Mahoney’s car skidded to a halt in front of Margaret’s Porsche, his ever-present DC at the wheel, and he was out of the passenger door almost before it stopped. ‘What the fuck have you got into now?’ he demanded.

‘Language, sergeant,’ said Margaret, coolly. ‘Your public are watching,’ she gestured to a couple of
passers-by
who were rubber-necking the scene.

‘Come here,’ said Mahoney, grabbing her arm and tugging her through the gate into the shelter of the hedge.

‘Get off me,’ said Margaret, shaking his hand off her. ‘I’m not one of your suspects.’

‘You might be,’ he said.

‘Don’t be stupid. I rang you, remember?’

‘Call me stupid again and I’ll nick you.’

‘What for?’

‘I’ll think of something.’

Meanwhile, the DC had joined them, and the uniforms were gathered outside on the pavement.
‘Where is she?’ asked Mahoney.

‘Upstairs, front bedroom.’

‘If you’ve contaminated my crime scene…’ Mahoney didn’t finish.

‘I fed the cat, went upstairs, didn’t touch anything. I’m a copper, I do know what to do.’

Mahoney made no comment at this. Instead he turned to the DC and said. ‘Jacko, get upstairs, take a squint. Make sure there
is
a body.’

Margaret let out a snort as the DC pulled on another pair of latex gloves and went inside. ‘You lot,’ said Mahoney to the uniforms. ‘Clear the area, and keep it clear. Tape it off.’

‘So you do believe me,’ said Margaret.

‘Of course. You are police after all. Sort of. But you were the one being stupid. Going in there alone, no backup,
and
unarmed.’

‘They took my gun away. Remember? Plus, I didn’t think I was walking into a murder scene, did I?’ said Margaret. But he was right. She had been foolish and regretted leaving her guns back in Battersea. Another reason for a trip home as soon as possible. Clean knickers, clean guns and more coke.

‘Come on,’ said Mahoney, and he led the way round the side of the house.

The DC was back before they reached the kitchen door. ‘There’s the body of a woman on the bed upstairs,’ he said.

‘Her name was Joyce Smart,’ said Margaret.

‘We’ll wait for a relative to identify her,’ said Mahoney.

‘She has no relatives. Sharon’s family were her family,
she always said, apart from Thomas.’ said Margaret. For the first time she felt a lump in her throat and a tear in her eye, but she swallowed the lump back, and shook her head angrily.

‘Thomas?’ said Mahoney.

‘The cat.’

‘The one you fed.’

Margaret nodded. ‘He was starving.’

‘Lucky the doors were all shut or pussy would’ve been snacking on mum by now,’ said the DC.

‘She was a friend,’ said Margaret, shooting daggers at him.

‘Sorry,’ said the DC. ‘But it’s happened before. You must’ve seen it.’

Margaret just glared at him, icily.

‘Anyway, from first sight it looks like it was a straight killing. She’s fully dressed. I don’t think there was any fiddling about done. Mind you she was getting on. Not that
that’s
ever stopped anyone.’

Margaret moved forward, grabbed the DC’s hand and twisted his little finger back until she felt the tendons about to snap. He screamed and went down on one knee. ‘I said she was a friend,’ she hissed. ‘Have some fucking respect or I’ll break this like a matchstick.’

‘Leave him,’ roared Mahoney.

‘Now apologise,’ said Margaret, putting on more
pressure
.

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ said the DC in a high pitched voice.

Margaret let him go, and when he looked up he had tears in his eyes. ‘Jacko. Get outside and wait for SOCO. And keep your big mouth shut,’ said Mahoney.

When Jacko had gone, Mahoney said, ‘technically, that
was assault of a police officer.’

‘Think he’ll press charges?’ asked Margaret.

‘What? And admit a woman made him nearly wet his Y-fronts? I don’t think so. But watch him. I think you’ve made an enemy there.’

‘Not the first,’ said Margaret.

‘I bet.’

33

Mags and Mahoney were interrupted when the SOCO team arrived and Margaret said. ‘Do you need me anymore? I should get back and break the bad news.’

‘That won’t be easy, after everything else,’ said Mahoney.

‘Tell me about it. There seems to be nothing else lately,’ said Margaret, shaking her head.

‘It’s a hell of a mess, I’ll give you that.’

‘You can say that again. Well, do you need anything more?’ she said, looking at him directly.

‘Not right now. But we’ll need a statement and I’ll want to talk to you again today.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Do you fancy meeting for a drink tonight?’

‘Tonight? Are you asking me on a date, Mahoney?’

‘Don’t push your luck’, he said, smiling slightly now. ‘But we should talk – away from your family.’

‘Can’t we do that down at the station?’

‘Yes, but I can think of better places to be. What about
The George down by the river? Know it?’

‘Sure, I know it. Will you be able to get away though, aren’t you in the middle of the case?’

‘It’s police business and it will only be for an hour or so. And we
do
need to talk.’

‘OK. What time?’

He looked at his watch. ‘Say six?’

‘Six it is.’

‘What about the cat?’ asked Mahoney.

‘Oh Christ. I forgot about him. I better take him, you lot trampling about will frighten him to death.’

Margaret and Mahoney went back into the garden and found Thomas glaring at one of the SOCOs. ‘It’s all right,’ said Margaret. ‘He won’t bite.’

‘That’s not my experience,’ said the man, eyeballing the cat as it arched its back and hissed at him.

‘I’ll take him.’

‘And you are?’

‘It’s OK,’ Mahoney interrupted. ‘She’s family.’

The SOCO shrugged and Margaret picked up Thomas, who struggled for a second, then settled down in her arms. ‘Later,’ she said to Mahoney and took the cat out to her car. On the way she saw Jacko, who gave her another look that could kill. She put Thomas inside the Porsche and drove back to Sharon’s, dreading what was to come.

Once back at the house, she left Thomas locked inside her car, hoping that he wouldn’t tear her upholstery to shreds, and went to the kitchen where her three sisters were sitting around the table. Frankie saw the look on her face as soon as she walked in. ‘What now?’ she asked.

‘This is not easy,’ said Margaret slumping into an empty chair.

‘What? Just spit it out sis,’ said Frankie again.

‘It’s Joyce,’ replied Margaret. ‘She’s dead.’

The colour left the faces of the other three. ‘Are you serious?’ said Roxie.

‘It’s not something I’d joke about.’

‘How?’ Sharon asked.

‘Murdered. In her bedroom.’

‘When?’

‘Dunno. That’s for the experts. By the look of her, maybe last night.’

Sharon moaned, got up, and slumped down deeply in her chair. ‘How the hell am I going to tell the children? They loved her like a grandmother.’

Margaret sighed deeply. ‘I don’t know love. This is just about as bad as I’ve ever seen it.’

‘What the hell is going on?’ said Roxie, suddenly seeming very young and very scared.