The Lipstick Killer

This story has been made exclusively available on the d.ustb.in as a part of the “Down the Road” collection of stories published by Grey Oak, India.

I was visiting my best friend Raghav and his live-in girlfriend Jia. My plan was to stay with them for two weeks and then head down south. But two weeks passed in the blink of an eye and when they insisted I stay longer, I couldn’t refuse.

I was in love with the campus that had hosted me for the last two weeks. It was sprawling, clean, and so green. And the pubs, well, they were the best thing about the place. Overflowing spirits, hot babes, and most importantly, no last orders.

There was this one thing about the campus town which made me slightly uneasy. It just wasn’t safe. It was a recent development, of course. You see, there was a serial killer on the loose!

He (or she, these days you can never be sure) had already claimed two lives. Both women, both petite, both in their early-twenties, both working part-time. There were no eyewitnesses, just a clue next to the bodies. A tube of crimson lipstick. Not surprisingly, the murderer came to be known as The Lipstick Killer.

Well, the mere mention of him was enough to make me nervous. Not that I had anything to worry about. I was neither a woman nor working. Hey, I was on a well-deserved sabbatical.

But you know how it is when there is a serial killer in your midst. I mean, I jumped every time the doorbell rang! To make matters worse, the police released a statement based on some circumstantial evidence. They believed the killer to be male, of above slight build and average height and (obviously) mentally unstable.

Jia and Raghav asked me to chill. They were taking it pretty well. They seemed so calm, so unafraid. But their brave act was short lived. The very next day, a woman who lived in the next dorm was found dead in the bushes. With, you guessed it, a tube of crimson lipstick next to her.

Jia didn’t really know her but she was pretty shaken up. The Lipstick Killer had struck our neighbourhood. Who would be his next victim? The police sealed the dorm and requested the students to come forward with information.

‘Raghav and Suraj had gone for a walk last night,’ volunteered Jia.

All eyes turned on us. We squirmed. That wasn’t necessary, really. We hadn’t seen a thing. We had barely walked for fifteen minutes, for God’s sake. Raghav had gone off in another direction to buy some ciggies and I had jogged back home. We told the cops as much.

‘Keep your eyes open. If you see anything that is out of the ordinary, report it to us immediately.’ With that, they were gone.

I took their instructions to heart. I swore I would be vigilant. I would snoop around the neighbourhood and report my findings to the cops. I would not let another helpless woman die.

So every morning, after Jia and Raghav left for their classes, I pulled on a cap and oversized sunglasses and went for a round in the beat up Maruti 800, my hosts had been kind enough to lend me.

But I didn’t have to look every far for clues. Because as days went by and the killings continued (six, at last count) I became more and more convinced that the killer was Raghav! Yes, my best friend Raghav. No, I wasn’t on drugs or out of my mind.

It’s just that every time he went for an evening walks ever so often, a woman wound up dead. It had happened three times in a row. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, I had left the house along with him on all those occasions but he had given me the slip each time, on some pretext or the other. ‘I have to buy cigarettes’, ‘Shoot, I forgot my wallet’, ‘I will run back home and get some change’. I mean, what the hell was going on?

Maybe I was wrong and Raghav was clean. But I had to report his shady activities, didn’t I? Sure, I would be stabbing him in the back. He had been a wonderful host. Caring and affectionate. But I had to think of Jia. Sweet, innocent Jia. What if she was his next target, I thought with a shudder. I so wasn’t going to take that chance.

So I did the right thing. Shortly after the sixth killing, I marched up to the police station and told the cops what I knew. They agreed to station a cop (in plain clothes) near our house and asked me to call him the next time Raghav stepped out for a walk.

Two days later, at about 9 in the evening, Raghav got to his feet. ‘Gosh, I have eaten too much. I better walk it off.’ Alarm bells went off in my head. I dialled the cop’s number and hurried out of the house, Raghav in tow.

Sure enough, five minutes into the walk, Raghav felt his pockets and slapped his forehead, ‘Left my cell at home, dammit.’ And he trotted off into another direction. I called the cop again. He assured me he was on Raghav’s tail. I headed back home. Next thing I know, sirens were blaring and half a dozen police cars screeched to a halt outside our house.

‘What’s going on?’ asked a terrified Jia as she answered the door.

‘We got him! The Lipstick Killer! Caught him red-handed! Bending over the body of a young woman,’ a cop bit out.

‘What does this have to do with us, Officer?’

‘Sorry, Miss, but it was your boyfriend, Raghav. He claims to be innocent, of course. Says he was just chanced upon the body. Yeah, right!’

‘Noooooooooo!’ Jia screamed and ran upstairs to her room.

‘I will take care of her,’ I promised the cops as they trooped out.

Oh, yes, I would. I let out a manic laugh, whipped out a tube of crimson lipstick from my pocket, and bounded up the stairs.
*****
Author: Vibha Batra