The Lipstick Killers

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.

24
     
     
     
    Roxie jumped when Margaret got into the car. ‘Sorry,’ she