Natural Causes by James Oswald

he’s been calling you all day and leaving messages.’
    ‘Did he say what he wanted?’
    ‘Something about your grandmother. How is the old girl anyway? Any improvement?’
    The blood drained from his face. It wasn’t as if he had forgotten, exactly. More that he’d compartmentalised her illness for so long, her death hadn’t really had time to sink in. He’d managed to duck the question with Jenny Spiers, but there were no secrets in a police station, not for long anyway. And, of course, the quickest way to let everyone know was to tell the duty sergeant. It would only get around quicker if he said it was a secret.
    ‘She passed away last night.’
    ‘Jesus, Tony. What’re you doing coming into work then?’
    ‘I don’t know. I guess there wasn’t a lot else I could do, really. It’s not as if it was sudden or anything.’ Although, in a way it was. He had grown so accustomed to her being there, comatose, in the hospital. He’d known that she would die sooner or later; there were even times when he had hoped it would be sooner. But he’d expected there tobe signs that she was going. He thought he’d have time to prepare.
    ‘Did he leave a number? This Carstairs?’
    ‘Yeah, and he asked if you could call back as soon as possible. You know it wouldn’t hurt for you to turn your mobile on from time to time.’
    McLean reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. It was still dead.
    ‘I do, but the batteries keep going flat on me.’
    ‘What about an airwave set then? I don’t know why you detectives think you shouldn’t have to use them.’
    ‘I’ve got one somewhere, Pete, but it’s even worse. Nothing holds a charge unless it’s plugged into the wall. Kind’ve defeats the point of a mobile, really.’
    ‘Yeah, well. Get something that works, aye?’ The sergeant handed McLean a scrap of notepaper with a name and number scribbled on it and buzzed him through into the station.
    McLean had an office all to himself; one of the perks of being an inspector. It was a dismal place, with one small window that was obscured by the nearby tenement buildings and so let in very little light. Filing cabinets still full of his predecessor’s case notes took up most of the available space, but some genius at geometry had also managed to squeeze in a desk. A pile of folders sat on top of this, a yellow Post-it with ‘Urgent!’ scribbled on it and underlined three times pasted to the first. He ignored them, sliding round the edge of the desk until he could sit down. Picking up the phone, he dialled the number, glancing at his watch as he did so. It was getting late for office hours, but he had no idea if this was an office number.
    ‘Carstairs Weddell, how may I help?’ The swift response and polite tone of the receptionist put him off his stride. McLean recognised the name of the firm of solicitors who had been dealing with his grandmother’s affairs since her stroke. He felt a bit of a fool for not remembering.
    ‘Oh. Err. Hello. Could I speak to Mr Jonas Carstairs, please?’ Previously he’d only ever dealt with a junior clerk, Perkins or Peterson or something like that. It seemed odd that the senior partner would contact him in person.
    ‘May I ask who’s speaking, please?’
    ‘McLean. Anthony McLean.’
    ‘One moment, inspector. I’ll put you right through.’ Once again he was caught out by someone knowing more about him than he did about them. He had no time to be any more than surprised. The brief holding music was cut off by a click.
    ‘Detective Inspector McLean, Jonas Carstairs here. I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother’s passing. She was a great woman in her time, Esther.’
    ‘I take it you knew her, Mr Carstairs.’
    ‘Jonas, please. And yes, I’ve known her a long time. Far longer than I’ve been acting as her solicitor. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. She appointed me as executor of her will. I’d appreciate it if you could drop by my office sometime