Maxim Jakubowski - The Mammoth Book of Best British Mysteries 6

I shut the phone off before she could whine. I could tell from the noises on the other end of the phone that she was winding herself up to go off on one and, quite frankly, I’d had enough of her. She was mouthy, self-centered, trashy and shallow. Her plans proved that she was also dangerous and I didn’t trust her one little bit. If I was going to meet her and Tom I needed some insurance. I opened the phone again and went to her contacts list. The phone was answered after one ring.

“Aye?”

“Billy? I want to buy a gun.”

The Necropolis was locked up at dusk, but it’s easy to get in, and so huge that it’s impossible to ensure that no one does. I’d arrived at seven p.m., crossed the Bridge of Sighs, and made my way to the Egyptian Vaults via a circuitous route, just in case Gillian and Tom had planned a wee surprise for me. The place was not exactly welcoming during the day, but it was even less so after dark. Dilapidated and overgrown, it was a haven for junkies, wee neds drinking Buckfast and taking illegal substances, the homeless and the hopeless. Between some of the gravestones and in the sheltered spots beside the vaults were sleeping bags – as yet unoccupied – their owners perhaps at the soup kitchen on East Campbell Street, getting a little warmth and light before returning to this creepy place to sleep.

I wasn’t worried about the dead. It was the living that concerned me, and I gripped the gun tighter. Billy had put me in touch with an acquaintance, who knew a guy, who had a friend who could possibly lay his hands on a gun. All very cagey, lots of ifs and buts, but I think Billy thought I was Gillian, since I was ringing from her phone, so he opened a few doors for me. I guessed that the fifteen grand she had paid him would help. I assured him – as Gillian, of course – that I wasn’t going to do a DIY job and cut him out. I just said I needed the gun for protection.

I met Billy’s contact behind a pub in Possilpark. Just to be on the safe side I wore a blonde wig and sunglasses. I felt like Dolly Parton in a bad spy movie. The transaction had been quick and easy. The guy had turned out to be a man who could have been anywhere between forty and sixty. His cheekbones were prominent and angular and when he sucked at his cigarette his face turned into a skull.

“Do ye ken how tae use it?” Spittle came out of his mouth with every word. He had a set of false top teeth that he appeared to be breaking in for someone with a much bigger mouth, and no bottom teeth at all, which caused his face to cave in when his mouth was closed.

I nodded. I had grown up on a farm. “Aye.” I held out the money we had agreed on and he passed over the padded envelope containing the gun.

He took one more drag of his cigarette. “Good luck, hen.”

“Cheers, pal.” And that was that. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it was like going into the newsagents and buying the Evening Times.

I reached the Egyptian Vaults and chose a vantage point where I could see but not be seen. Just before eight o’clock I heard footsteps coming up the path.

“This woman’s a weirdo. Why the hell did she want to meet us in this godforsaken place?” I recognized that shrill, whiny voice.

“Don’t worry babe. We’ll get the bag back and that will be that. These scumbags are only out for a quick score. I hope she’s on time. Kate’s expecting me home by nine.”

I recognized that voice too. Cheating, murderous bastard. I stepped out of the shadows. “Don’t worry, Tom. When you’re not home by nine, I’ll assume you have a good excuse.”

“Kate?” Tom said.

“Kate?” Gillian repeated, looking at Tom and then at me. “You mean this fat junkie bitch is your wife?”

“Well, Tom? What do you say to that?”

“I… She… I…”

“Apparently Tom is lost for words Gillian. So, yes, I am the fat, frumpy bore married to your boyfriend. Not, however, a junkie. That was an assumption you jumped to. Understandable given the circumstances, I’ll grant you that.”

“How did you…? What are you…?”

“How did I know about your sleazy little affair, Tom? Well, let’s face it, you’re not exactly Mr Discreet. And you look so guilty when caught answering text messages that are supposedly from your mates. So I followed you one day. And, well, not to get all Hercule Poirot about it, here we are.”

Tom started towards me with his hands outstretched. “I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but let’s just go somewhere and talk.”

I raised the gun. “Just stop right there.”

“A gun?”

“Ooooh, well done. That’s exactly what it is.”

“She’s a fucking lunatic Tom. I told you what she was like on the phone. She…”

“Tom, tell her to shut the fuck up. This is between you and me right now.”

“Don’t you talk to me…”

“Gillian, just do as she says and shut the fuck up.”

Gillian subsided into whimpering silence. It still sounded like fingernails scraping down a blackboard, but as long as there weren’t any actual words, I could tune her out.

“So, did you go and see that divorce lawyer?”

“I… well… I…”

“No. The answer you’re groping for is ‘no’ Tom. Because you chose a slightly more dramatic way out.”

“It was Gillian’s idea.” His voice had turned from pompous to bleating and I could see him starting to sweat now.

Gillian’s eyes opened wide. “You were all for it.”

Tom ignored her. “It was easier for her because of the money. She would lose out on a fortune if she divorced Stewart. But I didn’t want anything to do with it.” A wavering smile appeared briefly as he tried to look sincere and honest. He looked about as sincere and honest as a politician caught with his trousers down in a brothel.

“You said it would be the best way. You lying bastard!”

We both ignored her. “I was caught up in it all, Kate. I wouldn’t have hurt you. You’ve got to believe me.”

This time it was my turn. “You lying bastard.”

“Honest, Kate… I…”

“Tom, you wouldn’t recognize honesty if it gave you a hug and called you mother.” I could feel tears pricking behind my eyes. “Get your clothes off, both of you.”

“What?”

“Clothes off.” I gestured with the gun. “Now. And fold them up neatly in a pile.”

“Look, okay, you want to humiliate us, I understand.” Tom hopped on one leg as he struggled to remove his jeans.

“Nah. I don’t want to humiliate you. Now, lie down on the grass.”

“I’m not doing-”

“Gillian, just shut it and do what I say. Lie down on the grass and put your arms around each other. Tom, you’re looking decidedly unaroused. I’ve never seen it quite so shriveled and tiny. What’s wrong? Lost your desire?” It was a cheap shot, but I couldn’t resist.

They were on the ground, naked and shivering.

“Look Kate, this is just ridiculous. Let’s go and talk somewhere like civilized…”

The shots were louder than I’d expected. And there was more blood. I pulled Tom’s wallet out of his jeans and picked up Gillian’s handbag. I would throw them in the Clyde on my way home, along with the gun. I wiped my prints off Gillian’s phone and left it under the pile of clothes. If the police didn’t think this was a mugging gone badly wrong, then maybe the text messages would lead them in Billy’s direction. As far as he knew, Gillian had bought the gun. There was nothing to lead the police to me, and plenty to lead them away.

As I made my way out of the Necropolis and back to my car, it struck me that Gillian’s handbag was another Prada. If nothing else, I’d saved Tom a small fortune in accessories.