The Lipstick Killers

anything?’ she asked him, softening.
    ‘A cup of tea would be great. I missed breakfast.’
    ‘I’ll only be a moment,’ said Margaret and left the room, leaving Sharon staring numbly into space.

18
     
     
     
    Margaret went into the kitchen, her mind racing after hearing what Mahoney had said. The kids were upstairs, but Frankie was sitting at the table with Roxie, talking quietly. ‘What’s up?’ asked Roxie. ‘You look awful.’
    Margaret leant against the sink as she filled a glass with water. ‘Christ,’ she said. ‘This is getting worse.’
    ‘What’s happened?’ asked Frankie, her voice full of concern.
    ‘This copper. Mahoney. Flash git. He reckons Monty’s car was fixed.’
    ‘How do you mean, fixed?’ squealed Roxie, loudly.
    ‘Ssshh, keep it down. Tampered with. The cops reckon the brakes were sabotaged.’
    ‘Are you serious?’ said Frankie, quietly.
    ‘Yeah. Look, I’m going back. Make the sod a cuppa will you?’
    ‘How did Sharon take it?’ said Frankie, as she got up and filled the kettle.
    ‘Not well. Would you? She was just getting a bit stronger but I’m worried that this is going to put her right back where she started,’ said Margaret, and left the room, glass in hand.
    She went back to the living room where Mahoney and Sharon were sitting in silence, Sharon dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She took the glass and gulped down half the water. ‘Once again I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ said Mahoney. ‘But this is bound to alter the verdict at the inquest.’
    ‘When will that be?’ asked Margaret.
    ‘Tomorrow. The coroner’s court is in town.’
    ‘We’ll find it.’
    ‘I’ll call and let you know what time.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    Just then Frankie came in with tea, milk and sugar on a tray. Mahoney stood and was introduced to Frankie, who quickly left the room again, then sat back down and accepted a cup. ‘We need to find out what happened and where,’ he said to Sharon. ‘Is there any way of finding exactly where your husband spent the evening? I’m sorry to keep on, but it’s important.’
    ‘I suppose Joyce might know,’ she said.
    ‘Joyce?’ said Mahoney.
    ‘Monty’s secretary. Assistant. She’s at home as far as I know. But she’s as upset as the rest of us. She’s been with Monty for years…’ said Sharon, her voice trailing away.
    Then Margaret remembered the jacket, wallet and phone that the uniformed sergeant had brought round the previous day. ‘There were some things of Monty’s that were recovered from the car. I’ve got them upstairs.’
    ‘I know,’ said Mahoney. ‘I wonder if I could see them.’
    ‘You didn’t say,’ said Sharon to her sister.
    ‘I meant to,’ said Margaret. ‘I was going to tell you today. I just didn’t want to upset you any more.’
    ‘As if I could be,’ said Sharon.
    ‘I’ll get them,’ said Margaret.
    ‘Shall I come with you?’ asked Mahoney.
    ‘No need. I won’t be a minute.’ She was gone before he could argue.
    She ran up the stairs and collected the wallet from the drawer where she’d stashed it. She went through it fast. Cash, credit cards, a family photo of Sharon and the children , a couple of receipts, but nothing from the day he’d died. She stuffed everything back into the wallet and found the jacket in the wardrobe. It was empty except for one card tucked into the breast pocket. It was for the Crown Hotel, Lovedean, Hampshire and on the back was a mobile number scribbled in blue ink. She shoved it in her pocket and went back downstairs. At the sight of the familiar jacket Sharon started to cry. ‘Sorry, love,’ said Margaret, touching her on the shoulder, tenderly.
    Mahoney took the jacket, the wallet and the phone. ‘Can I search these?’ he asked.
    Sharon nodded.
    He went though the pockets and the wallet carefully. ‘Nothing here. I’ll take the phone with me if I may,’ he said. ‘I’ll have one of our technical blokes go through it, retrieve any information that may be germane, and get it back to you.’
    ‘Germane?’ said Margaret, her eyebrow raised,
    He nodded, ignoring her sarcasm.
    ‘So, is that all?’ she said.
    ‘For now. But I would like the number for Mr Smith’s assistant.’
    Sharon reeled it off, and he made a note in his book.
    ‘Will you be there tomorrow? At the court I mean?’ asked Margaret.
    ‘I will,’ said Mahoney, standing up to leave.
    ‘We’ll see you then, then. I think you’d better go now. Will you