The Lipstick Killers

win.’
    ‘That’s my spot,’ he said, indicating a parking space marked AH No5.
    ‘Spin the car round and reverse in,’Margaret ordered. ‘Just in case we have to leave in a hurry. Be prepared, that’s my motto.’
    He did as he was told and the trio exited the car, leaving it unlocked and the keys in Margaret’s pocket.
    ‘Through here to the front,’ he said, indicating a door.
    ‘What’s that?’ asked Margaret, pointing at another, larger, accordion door.
    ‘Service lift.’
    ‘How high does it go?’
    ‘Nineteenth. That’s it.’
    ‘Then I suppose you have to take the front lift, like we did the other day?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    ‘And the front lift takes us right up to Haywood’s office?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘So if we use this one to the nineteenth, no one will know we’re coming?’ said Roxie, catching on to her sister’s plan.
    ‘There is CCTV down here.’ He pointed at a camera above the door to the main part of the building.
    ‘Who sees that?’
    ‘An external security office. The company that owns the car park watched those cameras.’
    ‘What about on your floors?’
    ‘Our security office oversees that, and we can see the inside of the staff and visitors’ lift.’
    ‘But not this one? Right, we’ll use this lift. Gives us an advantage.’
    Saint Cyr tugged the lift door open. Inside was a scruffy metal box that smelled slightly of garbage. Saint Cyr pressed the button marked 19 and the lift ground slowly upwards.
    ‘When we get there, I want to go up to Haywood’s office.’
    ‘You’ll never make it.’
    Margaret pulled the revolver from her pocket and Roxie again produced the big Colt. ‘These say that we will,’ said Margaret.

76
     
     
     
    Eventually the lift stopped and Saint Cyr pulled the gate open. Inside was a large, scruffy loading bay with a key pad set to the side of another door in the opposite wall.
    ‘Your card works on that,’ said Margaret to Saint Cyr, at which he nodded.
    ‘You’re turning into such a good boy, Peter,’ she said. ‘It makes me think you have some surprises up your sleeve.’
    He shrugged by way of reply. It was hard to do with a gun pressed hard into his spine.
    ‘Now I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,’ said Margaret. ‘We’re going to walk through like we all belong here. We don’t want to use these.’ She held up the gun then put her hand holding it into her handbag. ‘But we will, if forced. You say there are armed men in here?’
    He nodded.
    ‘Christ! Peter, what kind of place is this? Thought you just dealt in import and export?’
    He shrugged again. ‘A place you don’t want to be.’
    ‘Quite the contrary. Now we go upstairs and see Mr Haywood.’
    ‘OK. But you’ll never get out alive.’
    ‘Let’s see about that.’
    Saint Cyr used his keycard, punched in a series of numbers on the pad, then pushed open the exit door revealing an empty corridor. ‘This way,’ he said.
    The two women followed him along the corridor, through another door and into the reception from the back. The same black girl as on her previous visit was at the desk – she looked shocked at their entrance.
    ‘Good morning,’ said Saint Cyr, sounding as if he was trying too hard to be natural.
    ‘Good morning,’ she replied, as he pushed through the double doors leading to the internal lift. When Margaret looked back, she was picking up the phone on her desk.
    ‘We’ve been rumbled,’ she said. ‘Come on Peter, move.’
    He took out his keycard again, inserted it in the slot by the side of the lift door, pressed four buttons and the lift door opened. He pressed for the penthouse office and the lift rose swiftly.
    The door opened onto a small room where Haywood’s PA sat behind a desk. ‘Mr Saint Cyr,’ she said, half rising from her seat. ‘What’s going on. Who are these people?’
    ‘We’re here to see Mr Haywood,’ said Margaret.
    ‘Impossible.’
    Margaret pulled her gun out of her bag. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘I assume he’s in.’
    The PA watched open mouthed as the three of them crossed her office and into Haywood’s inner sanctum. ‘I’m calling security,’ she said.
    ‘You do that,’ said Margaret.

77
     
     
     
    Haywood was sitting behind his desk, the sun shining through the window behind him, throwing his body into silhouette. ‘What’s this, St Cyr?’ he said. ‘Who are these unexpected, but charming visitors?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ stuttered Saint Cyr. ‘I had no