Shopping for a Killer

By Megan Carr

The Roger Smith murder caused a sensation in 1982. The court was mobbed with local and international press as the rich English woman was tried and convicted, together with her two hired co-accused.

The murder plots revealed thirteen failed attempts, some even funny. Many careless mistakes and bungles got them all arrested within four days.

The story delivers to the reader – a fast, easy read, ticking all the boxes – many plots, murder, smart police work, careless mistakes, loyalty, disloyalty, blind obedience and an interesting reason why it all happened in the first place.

In the bigger picture, this is not just the murder of an unlucky man, but also a fascinating human tragedy in all its various forms of misplaced loyalties and, strangest of all, that Roger Smith thought everyone liked him.

The facts of the story are true and publicly exposed at the time through massive media coverage, the author’s access to the Appeals file and a personal interview with Maureen Smith after her release.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Carr
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005747220

Book preview

PART 1

HOW IT ALL BEGAN

Back In April 1982

Maureen Smith has her standing hair appointment every Friday morning. Today, as she arrives, she doesn’t wait for Jack, her chauffeur, to open the car door for her. She hops out and scurries into Hair Boutique, ignores reception and heads directly to Michelle who is just finishing styling a client.

Late again, Mrs Smith. Michelle shakes her head in exasperation. She turns back to her client, saying over her shoulder, Go straight to the washbasin. My next client is almost due.

Sorry, Michelle, wringing her hands, Maureen simpers, I have a big problem on my mind, as she heads click-clacking on her spiky heels over to the washbasins.

The fussy stringy bird of a woman pouts at the lack of interest in her big problem. She is not used to being summarily dismissed.

Shampoo, conditioning and dreamy head massage done, wet hair piled up in a towel, Maureen’s sulky look has gone as she settles into the styling chair. She is satisfied as she studies herself in the mirror, awaiting Michelle’s undivided attention. It reflects a skinny, tanned thirty-eight-year-old. Her unremarkable looks are saved by the finesse which money has given to her grooming. Her lilac woollen dress is expensive. The plunging neckline and short skirt suggest that here is someone who spends much time lazing in the sun.

She is jerked out of her thoughts as Michelle starts combing and talking, Now tell me all about it.

Maureen feels better, finally getting some attention. Oh, Michie, its daddy. He says I have of get rid of Roger. Roger is making my father’s life difficult. Remember I told you I asked him for a divorce. And he turned it down flat? Now he has told Daddy that he wants a share of his business in London or he will expose all the shady deals he knows are going on there. Daddy was furious when he discovered Roger had found out. Now he wants him dead. Just to protect himself, you understand. I really don’t know where to start.

Michelle rolls her eyes. So, divorce Roger or talk him out of it. Surely it’s not that difficult. I bet he’s just testing your dad. Just walk away is my advice to you.

No, Michie, Roger is serious. He doesn’t want to repay his loan to daddy, he doesn’t want a divorce and daddy is furious. Michelle, do you perhaps know of anyone to does murders? I’ll pay him well.

It dawns on Michelle that Maureen is on the level. There is a long silence except for the noise of the hairdryer. Then, You serious? O… K… She takes a few minutes to consider. There’s this man in Hillbrow. His name is Len Sparrowhawk. He is an actor and a regular at the Mariston Hotel pub every afternoon. Try him. But are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to get involved, you understand?

I’m not really sure, but I don’t have a choice. I do what daddy says. He’s the moneybags. His word is law in our family. He keeps us going. Roger’s got a good job, but the money is never enough. And he owes daddy that twenty grand. Anyway, I’ll try your contact. It’s a start. I’ll let you know what happens.

Michelle looks annoyed. No, no, leave me out of this. Please.

As Michelle holds a mirror to show Maureen the back of her styled hair, she also sees past the salon door. She jumps up and says, Oh, there’s Jack, waiting at the car. She pays and hands a tip to the apprentice at the basins. She adds, Hair’s looking good, sweetie. See you next week.

Dressed neatly in his dark blue driver’s uniform, Jack Ramogale is a scrawny twenty-three-year-old man who looks permanently anxious. He jumps to attention as Maureen emerges from the salon and respectfully holds the car door open for her.

Thanks to his connection with the Zionist Christian Church, the ZCC, and with good driving references, he was offered the job with the Smiths soon after their arrival in April. He is from rural Lebowa in the north of the country, so his English is not very good but he tries his best and is helped by the housemaid Assie who got him the job through their church.

He puts on his peaked cap as they drive off. They don’t speak on the way home. They rarely do unless it’s work related.

The Smith’s home is in the fairly new upmarket white suburb of Kelvin, a fast-developing middle-class movement to the north of Johannesburg. In stark contrast is the nearby poor working class township of Alexandra, a place for the black community from which most of the northern suburbs of Johannesburg drew its domestic servants and general labour.

Jack feels very fortunate to have landed this good job and accommodation with nice English people. He arrived in the white man’s city in 1974 from his birthplace in Lebowa near Pietersburg where there were no jobs. He was brought up in a household of women, his mother and three sisters. A very respectable and honest family.

At five-thirty that cool Autumn Friday, Jack drops Maureen off at the Mariston Hotel in Hillbrow.

The Mariston Hotel bar is on the first floor. She knows the hotel well as they had lived there when they first moved to Johannesburg.

Maureen takes the stairs. She nervously enters the smoky bar lounge. Nobody gives her a second glance because she is nothing but an over groomed, uninteresting bony woman looking self-consciously out of place.

Her golden-brown permed hair is perfectly styled. Today she took special care dressing. She is smartly turned out in a red dress with a short bolero jacket. An attempt to disguise her flat chest. The choice of red is fresh and bright considering her dark mission that day. She has good legs and wears spiky high heeled matching red peep-toed shoes. No pantyhose needed because of her magnificent tan. A sign of the wealthy idle housewife she is. The heels tap too loudly as she crosses the floor.

Maureen has no idea what Len Sparrowhawk looks like. She surveys the line of male heads through the pall of smoke at the heavy mahogany bar. Which one is he? She tries to guess. Aha. It must be the handsome one at the end. I’ll try him. She patters up to the bar and orders a gin and tonic. Pays with a generous tip and strolls to the bar end. No spare stools there so she hovers behind her target and says hesitantly, Hi, I’m looking for Len. Is he here?

Handsome turns and looks at her without much interest and points to the other end of the bar. That’s him in the jeans and fancy cravat. Needs a shave. Must be out of work. Maureen takes a long swallow of her drink to drum up some courage and heads to the bar’s other end.

Hello, Mr Sparrowhawk. We haven’t met. My name’s Maureen Smith. I need to talk to you privately. She is speaking too fast to get it out while her courage lasts. It’s business. Can we go somewhere to have a little chat? She has rehearsed over and over exactly what she wants to say.

Englishman, Len Sparrowhawk, is a middle-aged actor, well known around the Johannesburg theatrical scene.

Slightly slurring his words in a deep actor’s voice, he half turns to her. Not necessary. Come and sit here. Nobody listens. Too busy with their own affairs. He finds a barstool and pulls it up, intrigued yet a little impatient at his wasted drinking time. He thinks, She’s the nervy type. Not even attractive enough to make it fun.

Maureen starts, OK. Firstly, can you keep our conversation confidential?

Sparrowhawk: Depends. Tell me what you have in mind. I’m a very busy actor, you know.

I’m told you are occasionally available to ‘take care’ of people.

You mean ‘kill’ people? I have no idea what you are talking about. I sometimes play criminal parts on stage. That’s it.

Maureen is desperate. My hairdresser, Michelle, recommended you could help me with my problem. I will pay well for it.

I know Michelle. She told you that? Sorry, no can do. Not right now anyway. Let’s have another drink. And talk about something else. Maureen clenches her hands tightly. She wonders what to do next. Embarrassed and lost for words, unusual for her, she refuses the drink and stalks off. He chips in as she walks away, I’ll give it some thought. You never know!

Outside she finds Jack leaning patiently against the car chatting to other waiting drivers.

Let’s go home, Jack.

Yes, ma’am. I must hurry because I have to come back to town to pick up Mr Roger.

Now, Jack, don’t tell him I came to town. It’s a private matter and he doesn’t need to know.

Yes, ma’am.

Sulking, thoughts in turmoil, she says no more for the entire journey home. Respectfully silent, Jack drops her off at home and thankfully drives away.

Meanwhile, across town, Roger Smith is happily unaware of what his family has in store for him.

Tall, handsome forty-one-year-old Roger pockets his black rimmed spectacles as he and his pals John Clayton and Robert Murton arrive at the Pig and Whistle Millpark Holiday Inn pub for Friday happy hour.

John Clayton became his friend and colleague in the Johannesburg land surveying firm. He had been friendly with Robert Murton in Durban and was pleased when he was invited to join their Johannesburg firm. The three of them became good friends.

The room is smoky. The three friends find their usual reserved table and prop themselves up on the high stools. They order their drinks from a waitress in black fishnets, leotard and a bow tie on her bare neck. Her neckline is open almost to her navel showing generous tanned cleavage. They are over polite gentlemen whilst ordering but can’t resist making lewd remarks with nods and winks in her direction as soon as she heads back to the bar. She knows it and does an extra wiggle for their benefit.

Tonight, the special entertainment in the improvised raised boxing ring will focus on two busty blondes wearing clinging wet t-shirts and satin shorts. Plump red boxing gloves wave above their shapely bodies, drawing all eyes as they face up for a fake fight.

The MC bounces into the ring. He holds up an arm of each contestant.

"Laideees and Gennelmen… The moment you have been waiting for!

On my right in red at forty-five kilograms is Annabel. On my left in yellow at forty-two kilograms is Jasmine. They hate each other! Prepare yourselves for a knockout evening.

There will be three rounds of two minutes. Seconds leave the ring. Bets on the table.

The bell rings. The fight is on. Cheers from the audience.

Back home in the kitchen of the Kelvin house, Maureen Smith has changed into her housecoat. She is irritated at the failed meeting with Sparrowhawk.

She mutters to herself as she stomps through to the dining room and slaps dinner of fish and chips with mushy peas on the table. She says to her daughter, Karen, He’s late again. I’m sick and tired of his late pub crawling and foul language. Always reeking of booze and smoke. The whining continues. Karen is bored with the usual complaints and ignores her as the list of Roger’s sins grinds on and on.

Karen interrupts her, Mom, just listen to yourself. He never complains any more. He comes home every night. He’s not slapping you around. He’s not drinking so much. What’s got into you?

He enjoys a good time with his drinking pals while I have to stay home all alone. Always thinks of himself and not me. I miss my friends in Durban. He still won’t give me a divorce and now he is threatening Harry. Daddy says I must get rid of Roger. One way or the other.

Karen asks, Mother why do you always jump when grandfather snaps his fingers?

This hits home. It is so true, he still calls the tune. She casts her mind back over the pattern of her life.

Daddy’s Iron Fist.

Maureen recalls her father and his demands and feels the old familiar helplessness under his iron fist protective control since childhood.

She was born in 1943 during the time of the London Blitz. Harry Mullocks and pregnant wife Rosalie returned home after an out-of-town visit to find their home and business bombed out with nothing to salvage from the hole in the ground where their little flat had stood. Gone was the office and hundreds of files of the insurance business. Gone was the flat which had housed the young couple’s new furniture, ready nursery and wedding presents. Harry was angry at the enemy which was indiscriminately targeting the ordinary people of his beloved London.

The fierce Cockney Harry was determined not to let them win. He would build up the business again and make lots of money and protect his family.

The couple had to move in with Harry’s parents in the East End.

When Rosalie eventually went into labour, it was during an air raid. Harry’s mother had to attend to Maureen starting labour. When the All Clear sounded, they were able to call the midwife who arrived in time to bring the baby into the world.

Mr Mullocks, you have a beautiful baby daughter. Harry had wanted a son to carry on the business, but as he held his baby girl in his arms, he was happy and proud. This is my little girl. You will want for nothing. Your name will be Maureen.

The London business and the start of Maureen’s career

It was Harry’s habit to make one-sided decisions without consulting his wife or daughter. For instance, Maureen had been very happy at her Convent in junior school. The nuns were kind and she flourished. Instead of continuing to the convent high school, Harry moved her to the fashionable Fairfield Hall, where she was miserable. Then a year before she finished her secondary schooling, she was summarily taken out and brought home.

The next stage of her education was planned to suit the business.

He found a well-established business college in central London. Maureen was enrolled for a diploma course in bookkeeping and secretarial practice.

At no time was Maureen consulted on her career preferences, which were fashion, interior design, or her passion to work with animals.

Her secret dreams went far beyond the claustrophobic home office with its dreary dark furnishings and antiquated filing and office systems.

She definitely did not want to work for her father, much as she loved and respected him. And what was more, she hated anything mathematical.

Perhaps this stemmed from earlier days when, helping her with her school homework, he whipped her knuckles with a cane until she got the sums right.

There was no question about allowing his daughter to escape the family business which Harry had inherited from his wife’s father. He was forever saying that the business was there for her and the family.

When she confided her dreams to her mother, she got no help at all. Always the obedient wife and peacekeeper, Ros just said, You know your father. When he decides something – that’s it. She then begged, Don’t tell these things to your father. It is not worth the trouble it causes and you will just make yourself miserable.

When she first came back home from school, she was still young, almost seventeen, a tall, slim girl with striking eyes and a lovely smile. And she had just starting to become interested in boys. A minefield in itself.

Harry had strict ideas about any relationships which might happen outside his front door and out of his control. Everything out there connected with his daughter was regarded with automatic suspicion.

However, Maureen managed to persuade him that she needed to meet people of her own age. Reluctantly, he allowed her to accompany Ros and himself to a masonic party at the local lodge. Ros bought her a pretty new dress and silver shoes. She fussed around her daughter, dabbed the shine off her nose with a little powder and added an almost invisible pale lipstick.

The sight of his daughter in make-up outraged Harry. He ordered them to take off that muck. The excitement of the evening was ruined and the feeling of helplessness and persecution was imprinted on her mind for years. She tip-toed around life at home, fearful of doing something wrong and bringing on the unfair wrath of her father.

She was allowed to continue attending the