The Lipstick Killers (8 page)

21

Roxie bumped the Porsche up onto the verge and switched off the engine. Cars and lorries rushed by and shook the car. Margaret got out of the passenger side. ‘Coming?’ she asked.

‘No. I’ll just sit here and see if you’ve got any
half-decent
music in your collection.’

‘Cheeky cow. I won’t be long’

Margaret waited for another break in the traffic and ran across the dual carriageway. She climbed the verge that was rutted with tyre tracks from whatever vehicle had pulled Monty’s car away from the scene, and the transporter that had taken the car to the police garage. The fence and hedge that had grown around it was broken and there were deep scars on the grass beyond. She jumped down through the gap, cursing her stupid decision to wear high-heeled boots and walked across the small field to the tree line. There she found a tree where the bark was ripped and torn. She stood for a moment, the only sounds coming from the whooshing of
the cars on the road behind her. Damn them, she thought. Whoever did this. She had never been
particularly
fond of Monty, but as her sisters always said, she had never been particularly fond of many people. That was one of the reasons she had joined the police. She had no pity for the people she had banged up, but sometimes she found solace in the care she could take of the victims.

And now her own sister was a widow and her niece and nephew had been left without a dad. Maybe she could help them find some peace of mind by discovering what had gone on the night that Monty had seemingly been sent to his death.

She lit a cigarette that she found in her pocket and swore there and then to do exactly what needed doing – whatever trouble it brought to her door. Turning, she made her way back to the road where she stamped out the cigarette butt and ran back to the car. ‘Come on then,’ she said to Roxy, who was listening to some godawful house music on the car radio. ‘Let’s go and see what we can see.’

22

When Margaret left the car, Roxie turned the music down, sat back, and let the sun warm her face. She had no desire to see the scene. Talking about shooting had brought back more memories. Memories of that time in America. She hadn’t told Margaret the whole story. Far from it. More lies. It seemed her whole life had been a lie. She’d met the bloke all right. And he did have money. At first he’d told her it was a legacy – a trust fund, and she’d believed him. She’d been younger then, and more trusting of men. That was another problem. Men. She had always attracted the wrong sort, and been attracted to them in her turn. This one had been called Chase. And he
had
looked like the
Achy Breaky Heart
bloke. Tall, muscular, handsome, wearing a checked shirt cut to show his ripped arm muscles, he drove the biggest, fastest, most ostentatious red pick-up truck she’d ever seen. He’d picked her up in a bar in the French quarter of New Orleans one boiling hot night, when she was dizzy from the smell of exotic flowers
and spicy gumbo coming from the restaurants on the street, combined with cigar smoke and the heady perfumes worn by the beautiful women packing the pavements. The sights and sounds combined with the lethal cocktails she’d been drinking since the boat docked made her head swim. But in a good way, so when handsome Chase sidled up, cut her out from the other crew members, and took her to another bar, darker, more scary, she didn’t care.

Then, he took her for a drive through the back roads of Louisiana, speeding through the black night with the headlamps off, smoking dope, and occasionally
stopping
for a line of cocaine. Then back to the city to his penthouse in an apartment block by the river. More drinks, more drugs, then wild sex that lasted so long she literally missed the boat.

But Roxie didn’t care. By then she was in love. There was cash everywhere, and she put it down to Chase’s parents keeping him topped up. Chase took her out to a firing range and taught her how to shoot hand guns. Then there was the weekend in Vegas, where they’d almost got married in the Little Chapel by an Elvis impersonator – if they hadn’t been kicked out for being coked-up – and the further lessons at the firing range, this time using automatic weapons. Roxie found a high in shooting a gun that she had only felt previously under the influence of class As.

Then one fine morning, Chase turned round, and said. ‘I think it’s about time we went to work.’

‘I thought you didn’t have to work,’ she replied. ‘Family money, and all that.’

‘I kinda exaggerated that bit sweetness,’ he said. ‘It is
family money – in a manner of speaking. Just not my family, if you get
my
drift.’

She felt a cold hand on her heart. ‘So what kind of work?’ she asked.

‘Honey, I rob banks.’

‘Christ,’ she said. ‘For a minute there I thought you wanted me on the game.’

‘The game?’ he said, then fell in. ‘What whore you out you mean?’ He laughed long and loud. ‘Baby girl,’ he said, ‘I’m a one-woman man, and I expect my girl to be a one-man woman. Though the way guys look at you, I’m sure we could make a dollar or two.’

‘Chase, don’t.’

‘Sweetie, I’m only kidding. I would never do that to my lady. Now usually I work with a guy, but he got into a piece of local difficulty over a pool game that went all to hell, and he’s doing ninety days on the farm for breaking a guy’s skull with the thick end of his stick, so I need a driver. And I’ve seen the way you drive, so it looks like my search is over.’

‘The truck?’ she said.

‘Hell no. Something a little less noteworthy. I’ll fix that up. You game?’

‘Sure,’ said Roxie. ‘When?’ Simple as that. But she
was
in love.

Chase told her that there were two small, local banks that were ripe for the picking. Straight in, straight out, no violence, just show them his gun, and that was that. The bank’s staff were ordered to just hand over the cash. No heroics. A sweet deal. He’d done it scores of times all over the country. Then he told her they’d move on out of New Orleans. Head down to Texas maybe, and live high
for a while until they needed more cash, then the same again. His buddy would catch them up, or not. It was up to him.

When she told him of her family background he roared with laughter again. ‘I knew I’d picked the right old lady,’ he said.

So Roxie became a bank robber.

She was young and dumb, and Chase told her it would be easy. She believed him. ‘Piece of cake,’ she said, tilting her chin up and looking at him defiantly.

‘Piece of cake,’ echoed Chase. ‘I like that. And you’re the icing on my cake honey.’

23

The first job was at a branch of United Americas Bank, in a town outside New Orleans called St. Bernard. Chase had stolen a powerful, dark-coloured Chevrolet saloon which blended in with the traffic, plus a couple of sets of number plates that corresponded to the car. One week later they cruised into town during the quiet of a weekday lunchtime. Roxie was at the wheel, with a nine millimetre automatic tucked under her belt and Chase had exchanged his western clothes for a set of dark
overalls
, his long hair up under a woollen cap. He carried a pump action twelve-gauge shotgun in a workman’s bag.

‘Drop me off at the corner,’ he said. ‘Keep the engine running. When you see me go in, drive very slowly to the front of the bank and wait. I should be out within two minutes. I jump in the back, and Sweetie, we’re gone.’

It all went according to plan. A parking space opened up in front of the building just as she arrived. The door to the bank burst open and Chase came tearing across
the pavement, Roxie shoved the back door open, and he dived into the rear seat. She smashed her booted foot on the accelerator and the big car jumped away from the kerb with a scream of tires and smoke from the back wheels, up to the next set of lights which went green as if ordered to by a higher power. Roxie spun the car around the first corner and they were away out of town before the bank’s alarm had a chance to alert anyone to the heist.

‘Slow down,’ said Chase from the back seat. ‘Stay legal.’

’Did we get much?’ asked Roxie.

‘Enough to buy the finest dinner in The Big Easy, and a present for the best girl in the world,’ said Chase as he looked through the back window for any sign of pursuit. ‘Now take the next left, and let me change the plates on this old girl.’

He did just that, and they drove back to New Orleans, dumped the Chevy in the car park of a shopping mall, and took a bus home. ‘No cabs,’ said Chase. ‘They’d surely remember your gorgeous face.’

That night they dined in style, booked into a grand hotel and made love for hours. The next day they bought new clothes and Chase took Roxie to a jewellery store, treating her to a three carat, square cut diamond ring. ‘There’s no need,’ she protested. ‘We could live for weeks on that money.’

‘I promised you a gift,’ said Chase. ‘And I always keep my promises. Anyhow, there’s plenty more cash lying round ready to be picked up.’

Roxie felt a cold hand on her heart again. She just hoped that he was right.

As Roxie had feared, the second robbery didn’t go as smoothly. It was in a town called New Iberia, and although at first it seemed just as simple a job, it went wrong when the bank guard disobeyed instructions, pulled his gun, and Chase shot him. The sound of gunfire alerted a passing cop, and when Chase sprinted from the bank the police officer opened fire and hit him twice. He made the back seat of the Ford they were using this time for the getaway, but Chase was dying. Roxie took off again, but the cop was on her tail. They sped out onto the highway, but police cars were coming from all directions. Then they had the only stroke of luck of the day. Rain clouds had been gathering all morning and, as the pursuit progressed, the heavens opened. Roxie had never seen a storm like it before, even though she had spent time in the tropics on board the cruise ship. The rain was almost solid and the wipers could hardly cope, even at their fastest setting. ‘Take any turning,’ gasped Chase. ‘Drop the car, take the money and get lost.’

‘You need a hospital,’ shouted Roxie above the roar of the water.

‘I need an undertaker,’ he said. ‘Just do it babe. Go home, get your passport and head for Mexico. Take the truck. It’s clean.’

Roxie looked over her shoulder. The back seat was awash with blood and Chase was deathly-white under his tan. He’d been right. His next stop was the mortuary. ‘Do it babe,’ he said. ‘I’m going. I love you…’ he said, as his voice disappeared in a gurgle of blood leaking from his mouth.

Roxie fishtailed off the main road, drove the car into a gap in the undergrowth and leant over the back seat but
it was too late. Chase was dead, staring open eyed at the lining of the roof. She started to sob at the sight of him, but then her survival instincts kicked in. She knew there was nothing she could do for him, and this was no time for sentimentality. She was a Doyle, and her Doyle upbringing took over. She grabbed the money bag and dived out of the car, into a wall of rain which almost knocked her off her feet. There was no sign of the cops and she ran and ran until she found a bridge over a swollen river where she hid until the weather cleared and darkness came. She stayed there, shivering and soaked until sunrise. There was still no sign of a police presence, so she kept walking, hiding in the bushes by the side of the road if she heard the sound of an engine that might be cops. Eventually she came to a diner and gas station, used the facilities to make herself look more respectable, had breakfast, then charmed a truck driver into giving her a lift back to New Orleans. He was middle-aged and fat, and she thought he didn’t offer much of a problem. But if he did, she still had her pistol under her jacket. Luckily for him, he turned out to be a perfect gentleman, and went out of his way to drop her off close to home – but not too close. The robbery was on the radio and TV news, but he didn’t suspect the little English girl who’d lost her lift after an all night party, and needed to get back to the city. She headed back to the apartment, collected her stuff, counted the money – it was only a few thousand dollars, and hardly seemed worth getting killed for – took Chase’s truck and did exactly what he’d said.

She got clean away and ended up in Mexico city, selling the truck for half its value to a kid who asked no
questions. She quickly bought a ticket to Spain, and tried to forget him.

Sitting there by the side of the A3, it occurred to Roxie that she was constantly leaving dead boyfriends behind.