The Lipstick Killers (21 page)

70

After that, the evening went just as Margaret had
forecast
. After a shaky start, Tess and Peter began an animated conversation, and she seemed to warm to him more and more. It seemed that Peter was a big man in finance and security and Tess owned several beauty salons. ‘You’re too young, surely?’ said Peter.

‘Thank you, but I decided early on that I was going to be my own boss.’

‘Very wise.’ ‘No boyfriend?’ Saint Cyr had noticed that there were no rings on her left hand.

“Fraid not. No man can keep up with me. That’s why it was a girl’s night out tonight – or supposed to be. Makes a change from sitting in front of the box though. How about you?’

‘No. No boyfriend,’ said Saint Cyr with a laugh.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘They work me too hard at the office. That’s why I end up here most nights, keeping the barman company.’

‘Well cheers,’ said Roxie, touching her glass to his.
‘Looks like it didn’t work out too bad for either of us,’ she flirted.

An hour or two passed companionably as they sipped their drinks and chatted about inconsequentials – the weather, the US elections and the best restaurants in the West End, and Roxie said all the right things to make Saint Cyr sure he was onto a result.

‘Listen,’ said Roxie, checking her watch and seeing that it was close to ten pm, ‘I really have to go.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Battersea,’ she replied. ‘You?’

‘Fulham. Are you driving?’

‘I don’t drink and drive. I got a cab. You?’

‘Yes. Company car parked at the office. That’s why I stick to just a couple.’

Roxie smiled.

‘Let me give you a lift,’ he said.

‘To Battersea?’ said Roxie. ‘That’s right out of your way.’

‘Nonsense. It’s just a hop over the river.’

‘You really don’t have to leave on my account.’

He smiled at her charmingly. ‘With you gone the evening would only go downhill.’

‘Flatterer. But I like it,’ she teased.

Saint Cyr smiled again, settled the bill for their drinks and they left together. They walked back to his building and Roxie waited on the pavement whilst he went into the parking garage. A few minutes later the Lexus appeared, and she got in. ‘Nice car,’ she said. ‘You really must be important.’

‘Oh, you know,’ he replied with a modest grin.

Arsehole, she thought, but kept her painted smile in place.

He steered the car in the direction of the river, and once over Wandsworth Bridge Roxie gave directions to Margaret’s street.

He parked the Lexus a few doors down from the house where Margaret lived, and turned towards Roxie. ‘This has been a wonderful evening,’ he said. ‘Maybe we could do it again.’

‘I don’t see why not. But remember, no man can keep up with me,’ she replied.

‘Who knows, you might have just met one,’ he said, and he kissed her on the mouth.

She responded back, even though she was repulsed by him, and said. ‘You might be right Peter. How about coffee?’

‘I thought you had an early start?’

‘Forgive me, I don’t usually act like this. Too many drinks perhaps,’ said Roxie, turning coquettish. She had an idea that this attitude would make him putty in her hands.

‘Or the company,’ said Peter, a little too cocksure.

They both got out of the car, and walked the short distance to the flat, arms entwined. Roxie let them in with Margaret’s keys. ‘Upstairs,’ she said as they entered the communal hallway.

She went first, and could feel his eyes on her backside, which she gave an extra swing as she climbed the stairs. She opened the front door to the flat itself and stepped back. ‘Straight through,’ she said and allowed Saint Cyr to lead the way. ‘I always leave the lights on, hate coming back to a dark place alone,’ she said.
‘But you’re not alone tonight,’ he said, leering over her figure as they walked down the short hall. He walked through the open door of the living room where Margaret was sitting in the armchair facing the door – Colt .45 in one hand, her mobile in the other. ‘Hello Peter,’ she said. ‘Welcome to our world.’

71

‘You?’ he said, recognising Margaret from her visit to the office. ‘What the hell?’

Roxie shoved him roughly from behind and he
stumbled
into the middle of the room ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded, a look of utter disbelief on his face

‘Sit down
Sincere
,’ said Margaret, and gestured with the gun to the sofa.

‘I don’t…’

‘Just sit,’ said Roxie who had pulled the smaller gun from her bag.

Saint Cyr did as he was told, a look of complete
disbelief
on his face. ‘Is this a joke?’ he asked.

‘No joke,’ said Margaret. ‘Deadly serious, as you’ll find out before long.’

‘Did you hear it all?’ asked Roxie.

‘Every word. You’re a smooth operator Peter, I’ll give you that.’

‘God, I actually kissed the old fucker,’ said Roxie. ‘Made me sick.’

‘But he fell for it. You were very convincing.’

From his seat Saint Cyr looked from one woman to the other. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Monty Smith,’ said Margaret. ‘Remember?’

Saint Cyr’s face changed, and he began to rise.

‘Don’t,’ said Margaret. ‘These aren’t toy guns, and we’ll use them.’

‘What would the neighbours say?’ he said,
challenging
her.

Margaret pulled her police issue asp from the side of the chair, pressed the button that extended it with a snap, and smacked Saint Cyr hard on the knee. ‘More than one way to skin a cat,’ she said.

He cried out in pain, but sat back.

‘That’s better,’ said Margaret, standing, the asp swinging in front of his face. ‘Now – Monty Smith. Or do I have to prove I don’t give a shit for you
or
the
neighbours
?’

72

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said St Cyr, his eyes wild.

‘Peter,’ said Margaret. ‘This is not going to work unless you tell us the truth. We’re Monty’s sisters-in-law. I’m a copper. We know that you’re an errand boy for John Haywood. Monty’s dead, so is his secretary, and my sister killed herself a few days ago. All because someone at your office threatened her and her children. Now don’t fuck us about. Tell us the whole sorry story or
you’ll
be bloody sorry.’

Saint Cyr looked at Roxie. ‘Bitch,’ he said, looking at her with hate.

Margaret swung the asp again and landed a blow on his upper arm. He squealed in pain. ‘And less of that sort of talk. Roxie, keep him covered.’ She put the gun and the asp down. ‘Put your hands in front of you,’ she ordered Saint Cyr.

He did as he was told, and Margaret cuffed his wrists. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Looks like we’re in for a long night.’

She sat, and picked up the pistol again. ‘Come on now, Peter,’ she said. ‘Spill the beans.’

‘You’re police?’ he said. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Where do you think I got the asp and the cuffs?’ she asked. ‘Army surplus?’

‘And what’s she?’ He nodded in the direction of Roxie. ‘Tess, or Roxie, or whatever her bloody name is.’

‘What I said,’ said Roxie. ‘Beauty consultant. Well,
ex-beauty
consultant to be exact.’

‘Who carries a gun?’

‘Some of the ladies can get vicious,’ said Roxie. ‘But this isn’t getting us anywhere.’

‘So how long do you intend to keep me here?’

‘As long as necessary,’ Roxie said, shortly.

‘I’ll be missed.’

‘Not tonight. You live alone, remember?’ said Margaret.

‘So what makes you think I know more about this Smith person than I told you on our last meeting?’

‘You made a mistake,’ said Roxie, shortly. ‘You used your mobile to call the man who called my sister, and threatened her.’

‘No I didn’t,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t me, it was…’ he stopped.

‘Gotcha,’ said Margaret.

73

‘Listen,’ said Saint Cyr, his voice beginning to whine as he finally realised the seriousness of his situation. ‘I didn’t want any part of it.’

‘Threatening innocent women? Women with young children?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And what about killing Monty and his secretary?’

‘That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not killing him. It was meant as a frightener. The brakes were supposed to fail immediately. Not somewhere down the road at speed.’

‘And Joyce Smart? Sliced like a Christmas turkey – are you saying that wasn’t supposed to happen? I found her you know.’

‘Not me again.’

‘Then who?’Margaret picked up her gun and screwed the barrel into Saint Cyr’s cheek. ‘I’ll kill you,’ she said, her voice as cold as ice. ‘I swear. Tell me the truth or I’ll do it.’

‘It was Trent. A young buck in the organisation, looking for points from Haywood. I’m head of security – killing women isn’t in my job description.’

‘But why Monty at all? What did he do?’

‘He stole money. Lots of money.’ Saint Cyr almost seemed relieved to start talking.

‘What kind of money?’

‘Dirty money of course.’

‘From?’

‘VAT fraud. Gold and diamonds from South Africa. Import, export, but cut out the revenue. Simple. But how do you know about any of that?’

‘I’m a bloody copper,’ said Margaret. ‘It’s my job to know things like that.’

‘But not the copper you pretended to be.’

‘I had my reasons.’

‘So why Monty?’ pressed Roxie.

‘I met him at a school reunion. He was younger than me of course. We got talking, and when I told him who I worked for he asked if there was any work for him. Old school, you know what that means. I introduced him to Haywood, and it turned out he was an accounting genius. Christ knows what he was doing in Guildford doing the accounts for the local shopkeepers. We gave him more and more responsibility for the VAT. But then he got greedy and started ripping us off. We didn’t mind a little. Comes with the territory. But he obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with, because he just didn’t stop.’

‘So you killed him.’

‘I told you, it wasn’t supposed to happen. Then Trent’s thugs got over eager and killed his secretary.’

‘And threatened my sister.’

‘Another stupid mistake. We should have just forgotten about the money, Christ. We thought it was all over when Smith’s wife went off the deep end. We were prepared to cut our losses.’

This time Margaret hit him with the barrel of the Colt. ‘Our sister, remember? Our dead sister.’

Saint Cyr was almost in tears by then. The urbane, cocky man of the world was gone, leaving a scared child in his place. ‘So what do you want?’

‘You, Haywood, and whoever else was involved.’

‘Are you going to call the police? I mean, you’ll be in trouble yourselves after what you’ve done to me. Kidnap, assault, false imprisonment.’

‘You’ve been watching
The Bill
again Peter’, said Margaret. ‘Trouble is, I’m already up to my neck in trouble.’

‘Me too,’ said Roxie. ‘Besides, I haven’t had so much fun in years. You can’t imagine how boring it is doing another Paris Hilton cut and colour.’

‘Christ,’ Saint Cyr said again, but under his breath this time.

‘So we’re all going to have a quiet night in,’ said Margaret. ‘And tomorrow we’re going into work with you and we’re all going to sort this out – one way or another.’