The Lipstick Killers (23 page)

79

‘You reckon,’ said Margaret. ‘Well you’re wrong. We’re going to walk out of here, the three of us, and we’ll go and get the kids. And you’re coming with us. You and Peter.’ She pushed her gun into the skin of Haywood’s neck.

‘I don’t think so.’

Margaret smiled, lifted the gun she was holding and shot Trent in the thigh. His leg spouted blood and he cried out as much as in surprise as pain. Losing his grip on Frankie he fell to the floor. ‘That’s for our sister,’ said Margaret. ‘If it wasn’t for you and this lot she’d still be alive, and so would Monty.’

The other man hauled his gun round, but Roxie fired too – and she was quicker. The heavy slug hit him in the upper body and he spun round and fell beside Trent. Frankie screamed and held her ears. ‘Come on Frankie,’ said Margaret. ‘Keep it together.’

‘Well, that’s torn it,’ said Roxie, her gun on Saint Cyr, who surveyed the scene, visibly shaking as Haywood
rose up from his chair. ‘Sit down,’ ordered Margaret. ‘I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if necessary.

‘My men,’ said Haywood.

‘As if you care. Plenty more where they came from.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ said Roxie. ‘So, where are Peter and Susan?’ she asked Frankie.

‘At that safe house. I went home to get them some things and there were men waiting. They made me take them to the house. That policeman was there.’

‘Who?’

‘Mahoney. He’d come over to relieve the
policewoman
, but it was no good. They hit him, and then brought me here. I told them I’d give them the money if they let us all go.’

‘Mahoney,’ said Margaret under her breath. ‘Stupid.’

‘So what now?’ said Roxie.

‘We leave, just as we planned all along,’ said Mags.

‘Hopeless,’ said Haywood. ‘You’ll never make it.’

‘We need a diversion,’ said Margaret, and looked around, then out at the view from the penthouse. ‘Got it. Give me your gun, Roxie. And get that one on the floor, and see if Mr Trent is armed. We need all the firepower we can get.’

Roxie did so, found another Beretta on Trent, and stuck both pistols into the pockets of her jacket.

‘Right,’ Margaret said to Haywood.’Get ready to go. Peter, you’re coming too.’

Haywood shook his head and ducked as Margaret fired at the huge picture window behind his desk. One two, three shots, and the toughened glass began to splinter, then broke with a bang like a grenade going off, and the glass fell into shards down to the courtyard
below. ‘Hope no one’s taking a smoke break,’ she said, as a huge gust of air from outside came through the window frame, tearing at the clothes and hair of the people inside, picking up paper from Haywood’s desk and thrusting it through the open door into the office beyond. Alarm bells began to ring through the building, and Margaret shouted to be heard above the din. ‘Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.’

80

Margaret and Roxie hustled Frankie, Haywood and Saint Cyr out of the office, past Haywood’s
openmouthed
PA who had been pushed against the inner wall by the force of the gale that was blowing through the room to the corridor, where the lift doors stood open. ‘No point in trying to use the lift,’ said Haywood. ‘When the alarms went off, all lifts were locked.’

‘No problem,’ said Margaret. ‘We’ll take the stairs.’

‘I can’t hurry, I’ve got a heart condition,’ he said.

‘It’ll be worse if I put a bullet in it. Just get moving.’ The fire door opened easily, and they started downstairs where office workers were beginning to head down in packs. Inside the staircase the sound of the alarms were deafening. ‘One word,’ Margaret screamed in Haywood’s ear, her gun jammed in his back. ‘And I’ll kill you.’

The journey down seemed to take an age, but
eventually
they arrived at the back of the building without being detected. The car park was beginning to fill up
with staff from the building who were milling about. ‘Get to the Lexus,’ said Margaret above the din of the alarms. They ran across the car park, and piled into Saint Cyr’s Lexus; Haywood, Saint Cyr and Roxie in the back, and Frankie in the front passenger seat. Margaret fired the car up and she sped towards the exit, hand on the horn, scattering pedestrians as they went.

The barrier was down and Charlie was blocking the road as an overhead metal gate began to descend. Margaret aimed the car at the ramp, the barrier smashed over the top of the car, Charlie dived for safety and the gate just caught the top of the Lexus with a screech of metal – but they were through. Margaret gunned the motor onto the main road, sideswiped a bendy bus, spun back onto the wrong side of the road narrowly missing a taxi, slammed her foot onto the accelerator and they were away.

‘Nice driving,’ said Roxie breathlessly. ‘But I thought we were gonners there for a minute.’

‘Trust me,’ said Margaret as the car flew in the
direction
of the river. ‘I’m a copper.’

‘Or was,’ said Haywood, before Roxie dug her gun into his ribs hard enough to break bone.

81

The drive to Guildford was uneventful, although Margaret was flashed by every speed camera on the way. ‘There goes my licence if we get caught,’ was all she said.

They took the back roads to the cottage where Margaret let the Lexus drift up to the turnaround. They could see Frankie and Mahoney’s cars, parked close to the front gate. ‘Right,’ she said, reversing the car back out of sight up the drive, and forcing it back into the undergrowth. ‘Frankie, you stay here. Haywood, Peter, you’re with us.’

‘Haywood, have you got a phone number for those people inside?’ asked Margaret.

‘Why would I? I don’t deal with the help personally.’

‘Peter?’

‘They’re Trent’s men.’

‘Jesus. It’ll have to be Mahoney’s phone then.’ She took out her telephone and dialled Mahoney’s number. Inside the cottage, they heard a ringing tone. After a
minute the phone was answered. ‘What?’ said a gruff voice.

‘Got your boss for you,’ said Margaret, and handed the instrument to Haywood. ‘Tell him who you are,’ she said.

‘You inside,’ he said. ‘My name is Roger Haywood. You know who I am?’

He seemed to get a positive answer.

‘Tell him to show himself,’ ordered Margaret.

Haywood did so.

The front door to the cottage opened and a man emerged. He was dressed in a track suit with a hooded top pulled up, a scarf covering the bottom of his face.

‘Tell him to come to the gate,’ said Margaret.

Haywood did so.

‘Now tell him we’re coming in.’

Once again Haywood obeyed.

Margaret and Roxie pushed the two men in front of them, forming a human shield and they all walked slowly up the gravel-topped drive towards the cottage.

Just as they drew level with the parked cars, Haywood suddenly pushed Saint Cyr out of the way, and dived between the vehicles shouting ‘Shoot them. Shoot them,’ at the hooded man who lifted his gun. But Margaret fired first and he took a bullet in the arm before running back into the cottage and slamming the door shut.

‘Bastard,’ said Roxie. ‘I’ve had enough now,’ and ran to where Haywood had vanished. He was lying on his back on the ground between the motors breathing heavily.

‘The old jam tart?’ said Roxie.

He could hardly speak, but fearing another trick, Roxie held the gun close to his head.

‘I’m dying,’ he gasped. ‘Help me.’

‘Like you helped all the people you’ve had murdered,’ said Roxie. ‘Fuck you.’

She slammed her hand on his chest – hard.

‘Did that hurt?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Serves you right,’ and hit him again.

His eyes bulged, and he opened his mouth, but said nothing. He gasped once more, then he was still.

‘Serves you right you old bastard,’ said Roxie.

She crawled back to where Margaret and Saint Cyr were sheltered behind Mahoney’s car. ‘He’s dead,’ she said. ‘Heart attack.’

‘Looks like it’s down to us now,’ said Margaret.

‘We could call the police.’

‘Sure. So far we’re guilty of kidnap, murder, criminal damage, not to mention car theft, leaving the scene of an accident and more speeding than you can shake a stick at. And probably half a dozen more crimes I can’t even think of.’

‘I get your point.’

‘No. We’ll sort this ourselves, and then vanish. Start again.’

‘If we make it.’

‘There’s always that of course.’

‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Roxie.

82

‘Right Peter, what about you?’ said Margaret.

‘I could just go. Vanish myself,’ he replied. ‘Things can never be the same again with Haywood dead.’

‘Understatement of the year,’ said Margaret. ‘No. I don’t think so. Give me your hand.’

He did as he was told, and she cuffed it to the door handle of Mahoney’s car. ‘You stay here like a good boy,’ she said. ‘And we’ll sort you out later. And keep your head down.’

He just pulled a face in disgust.

‘Right,’ said Margaret. ‘It’s all quiet in there, but there’s one injured man, and according to Frankie two more. All armed. And then there’s Peter and Susan. It’s not looking good Roxie.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘If it wasn’t for Mahoney and the kids I’d burn the fuckers out. As it is, they don’t know we haven’t called for backup, and are just waiting for SO19 to come steaming in guns blazing, so I reckon they’ll make a
move sharpish.’

‘There’s one thing,’ said Roxie.

‘What?’

‘How did they get here? Sharon’s car is here, and Mahoney’s. But they must’ve driven themselves.’

‘Stashed away on the woods like ours.’

‘Right. And that’s what they need.’

‘Clever girl. That means they have to get out of there.’

As if to prove her point, one of the front windows broke with a crash, a gun barrel protruded and three shots were fired in rapid progression, hammering into the metal of Mahoney’s car. Peter Saint Cyr, and the two women ducked down, as a figure emerged from behind the cottage, jumped the fence and vanished into the surrounding undergrowth.

‘Told you,’ said Margaret.

‘What do we do?’ asked Roxie.

‘There’s only two of them inside now. We go in and shoot the shit out of them.’