The Lipstick Killers (17 page)

52

The next day passed slowly as she pottered around her flat and waited for the evening to arrive. She phoned Roxie and Frankie, they had nothing to report but she was relieved that there had been no more threatening calls. Around five she put on her blonde wig and completed her disguise with the same dark glasses she had worn the previous evening. She left the Porsche at the flat and took a cab to Kensington, and went straight to the bar to see if Saint Cyr was the regular she
imagined
him to be. She sat at the same table and ordered coffee and a sandwich just like the night before. She had the same waitress too, who remembered her. ‘Hello again,’ she said. ‘Have you moved in round here?’

‘No,’ replied Margaret, smiling. ‘Just visiting. Sightseeing, you know. Catching up on old friends.’

‘Not from London?’

‘Originally. Moved on.’

‘You staying long?’ asked the young blonde waitress, a chatty Australian.

‘No. Just a few days.’

‘Well, enjoy.’

‘Thanks.’

At seven Peter Saint Cyr came in, alone, made a beeline for the same seat at the bar that he’d sat at last night and was greeted by the barman who poured him a drink without asking.

Excellent, thought Margaret. A creature of habit. Easy to track.

Saint Cyr seemed to know most of the customers, but never engaged in conversation with them too long. He smiled at the women, and flirted with the waitress who cleared Margaret’s dishes when she had finished her meal. ‘I’ll have a glass of dry white,’ she said to her, keeping St Cyr in the corner of her eye.

‘Sure,’ nodded the waitress as she rushed to the bar to get her drink.

When she returned with the drink Mags said to her, ‘he seems to be enjoying himself’, nodding in Saint Cyr’s direction.

‘Who, Peter? Yes, he’s a regular. In every night when he’s in town.’

‘Seems like a nice bloke.’

‘If you like that sort of thing. He’s a bit handy, if you know what I mean. But he brings in a lot of trade at lunchtime. Business lunches, so we have to be nice,’ said the waitress, indiscreetly.

‘Oh, one of those,’ said Margaret knowingly, filing away the info for future reference.

‘Yeah,’ replied the waitress. ‘Enjoy your drink.’

This should be easy, Margaret said to herself as the waitress left.

53

Margaret sipped her drink and watched as Saint Cyr played the most popular man in the bar. He drank two drinks, then left, wishing everyone a good night. Margaret didn’t follow, just finished her wine, left the waitress a decent tip and went home in a taxi.

Like the previous evening she poured herself another glass, switched on the TV, but didn’t follow the plot of the
CSI Miami
that was showing. Around midnight she went to bed, only to be woken by the phone as the digital display on her bedside clock showed three am. Feeling a deadly sense of
deja vu
, Margaret hooked the receiver off its stand. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘It’s me, Roxie. You’ve got to come back.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s Sharon. She’s taken an overdose.’

‘Oh God, no,’ cried Margaret.

‘And Peter found her, when she didn’t come in and say goodnight. Frankie’s with them now at this safe house place.’

‘Christ, I can’t believe she would do that. Not Sharon. She loved those kids. Did she leave a note?’

‘No.’

‘Stupid cow.’

‘No sis, think about it. She’s been through it lately. Monty, Joyce, then those threats. She just couldn’t cope. You know Sharon was always the soft one.’

‘But Peter and Susan? Why put them through this? After everything that’s happened to them recently?’

‘You know Monty was her life, Mags. She must’ve been desperate,’ Roxie persisted.

‘I know how she feels. Was anyone there with them?’

‘The copper acting as liaison or whatever you call it. She got an ambulance.’

‘Thank Christ for that. At least the kids weren’t on their own. What’s the prognosis? Are you at the hospital?’

‘She’s still unconscious, but alive.’

‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can. See you later,’ she replied and put down the phone. She got out of bed, and got dressed. Christ, she thought again, unable to take it all in. These bastards have got something to answer for. And they will, if I have to go to prison for the rest of my life.

54

Margaret sped through the empty streets of south London down to the motorway and on to the hospital in Guildford. She was getting tired of the drive and felt nauseous with the panic gripping her empty stomach.

She found Roxie pacing up and down outside the entrance of the hospital. ‘What’s the story, Dolly?’ Mags demanded.

‘Glad you’re here. Its not looking good, but there’s no change sis. Come on, let’s go up and see her.’

They went upstairs to the side ward where Sharon was in the only bed; tubes and wires poking out of her mouth and body. The machines next to the bed were bleeping quietly and Margaret took her hand. ‘Why Sharon?’ she said. ‘Why do this to all of us?’

‘She did it to herself,’ said Roxie.

‘No. To us and the kids. Where are they by the way?’

‘Still at the cottage with Frankie. She thought that one of us should be there when they woke up.’

‘That’s the best plan. Do they know?’

‘Not really.’

‘Sister or no sister of ours, this was a bastard thing to do.’

‘Don’t be so hard, Mags.’

‘We’ve got to be hard. The kids need her more than ever and this is so selfish. Where’s her doctor?’

‘That one there,’ said Roxie, pointing towards a youngish, prematurely balding man in green scrubs heading their way. ‘Doctor Ramsey.’

Margaret buttonholed him in the corridor. ‘Doctor Ramsey,’ she said. ‘It’s about Sharon Smith. I’m her sister Margaret. Is she going to be all right?’

‘It’s a waiting game at the moment,’ said the doctor. ‘She took a massive overdose. We pumped her stomach of course and we’re just monitoring her for now. It was lucky the ambulance got there so quickly. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.’ He went to Sharon’s bedside and checked the monitors. ‘She’s breathing and her lungs are clear. She’s sleeping quietly. That’s all I can tell you. We’re close by, and doing everything we can.’

‘Can we stay?’ asked Margaret.

‘If you wish, but it could be a long night.’

‘We’ll manage,’ said Roxie, eyes fixed on her sister in the bed.

55

It was almost dawn by then and the next few hours did indeed pass slowly for Roxie and Mags sitting by Sharon’s bed. Although they both prayed for some sign of recovery, Sharon hardly stirred as the nurses and her doctor came and went. Margaret used the time to explain to Roxie about her observation of Peter Saint Cyr and her plan for him and his associates.

‘Saint Cyr is the key to this. We grab him and find out everything he knows,’ said Margaret. ‘And then, if it’s true they were behind Monty’s and Joyce’s death, we’ll go straight in and sort out this Haywood character.’

‘And if it isn’t what we think?’

‘Believe me, we’re right,’ said Margaret. ‘Copper’s instinct.’

‘OK. I trust you sis. Then what?’

‘Then we will do what needs to be done. These people have fucked with us once too often. I want a full
confession
.’

‘This is dangerous you know. We could both end
up arrested, or worse.’

‘Sure. Listen Dolly, if you want out just say so. No hard feelings.’

‘And if I did?’

‘Then I’ll carry on in my own sweet way and come up with another plan. Roxie, I’ve had enough of being pushed around. That’s what happened to me in the force. I turned into the bad guy through no fault of my own – then all this started. To be honest with you Roxie, I was half convinced to turn in my papers anyway. It’s all changed being a copper. Health and safety and hours of paperwork, and what thanks do you get? Fuck all. Why should I waste any more of my life on the force when it doesn’t give a fuck about me? I care about my family and they’re my priority now. I don’t care what happens to me, I just wanna get the fuckers that harmed my family. So what’s it to be?’

Roxie looked at the prone body of her sister in the bed next to them, so pale and quiet, and looked at her sister with a determined glint in her eyes. ‘Mags, I think it’s time I told you a thing or two about myself.’

56

‘Like what?’ asked Margaret, perplexed.

‘I haven’t been telling you the truth since I got back. Well, you know some of it, but I’ve done some bad things.’

‘What have you been up to Dolly? I know you had a little dabble with drugs but you didn’t do anything too bad, did you?’

‘That’s not the half of it. Remember I told you about the bloke in America? Chase?’

‘Sure. Your cowboy lover.’

‘That’s him. Well, he died,’ said Roxie, her voice cracking.

‘I’m sorry love. How did it happen?’

‘Shot dead whilst taking part in an armed robbery.’

‘Bloody hell. When?’

‘When I was with him.’

‘With him? You mean like his girlfriend?’

‘No – well, yes. But
literally
with him. I was driving.’

‘In an armed robbery?’ exclaimed Mags. ‘But I
thought you went back to the ship.’

‘I was crazy about him. I jumped ship in New Orleans and stayed with him for two months. He told me he wasn’t the rich kid I’d taken him for and actually made his money knocking over banks. I told him about Mum, and about our background and he said that we made a good couple. We ran out of dough after a while and needed to get some more, quickly. His old partner was in jail. He saw the way I drive, and how I liked shooting, and we did a couple of jobs. The second one went wrong. He was shot by the cops and bled to death in the back of the car. I dumped the body, and got away. He told me to. I think he really loved me too.’ By this time tears were running down Roxie’s face, unchecked.

‘And I thought I was in trouble,’ said Margaret, hugging Roxie tight.

‘That’s not all,’ said Roxie.

‘There’s more? God you have been busy little sis…’

‘That’s not the half of it. I went to Spain, opened the salon. I had a bit of money, borrowed the rest from a ‘friend,’ if you know what I mean. Cash was easy come, easy go on the Costa in those days. I hooked up with another bloke. Tony. I knew him from my days in the club scene in London. Bit of a dangerous bloke – finger in a lot of pies.’

‘And?’

‘He was a bastard. A bit handy if you know what I mean.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ said Mags.

‘We split up and the business went down the pan. I told you about sleeping with a shotgun under the bed? Well, I had another gun too. Before I came back to the
UK, Tony came looking for some money he said I owed him. He conveniently forgot that most of it went on bubbles and Charlie for the two of us, living the high life. He threatened me with a knife. Said he was going to rape and then kill me if I didn’t pay up, so I shot the fucker.’

‘Classic self-defence Dolly. I would have done the same in your situation.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve had trouble with the police in Spain too. There were some dodgy cheques I cashed for dodgy people so I tried to stay out of their way. Couldn’t exactly go crying to them now.’

‘But even so…’

‘I took him out the morning I got the call about Monty. I couldn’t hang about. I knew I’d end up in some stinking jail so I dumped the gun and headed here.’

‘So you’re wanted?’

‘Expect so. The temperature was pushing thirty degrees. Someone was sure to find the body before long.’

‘Jesus, Roxie.’

‘So you see, I don’t give a toss either. I’m in this with you Mags – whatever happens. Unless of course you want to turn me in.’

‘What do you reckon, Dolly?’

The two sisters hugged again as the machines beside Sharon’s bed bleeped on.