Natural Causes by James Oswald Page A

soon to sort a few things out.’
    ‘OK. Would tomorrow be all right? Only it’s getting late and I didn’t really sleep last night.’ McLean rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his free hand, realising as he voiced the thought just how exhausted he was.
    ‘Of course. I understand. And don’t worry about the arrangements. I’ve got everything in hand. There’ll be anannouncement in the
Scotsman
tomorrow; they’ll probably run an obituary too. And Esther didn’t want a church funeral, so it’ll just be a simple memorial service at Mortonhall. I’ll let you know as soon as we can get a slot booked. Would you like me to organise a wake? I know how busy you officers of the law can be.’
    McLean only half took in what was being said. He had thought about all the little things that needed to be done now that his grandmother had actually died, but there was so much else going on in his head it was easy to lose track. The cocktail dress with its floral pattern, securely wrapped in its evidence bag, lay on the desk in front of him, and for a moment he couldn’t remember what it was there for. He needed food, and then he needed sleep.
    ‘Yes, please,’ he said finally. He thanked the solicitor and arranged to go to the firm’s offices at ten the next day, then hung up. The evening sun painted the tenements outside a warm ochre, but little of the light made it into his tiny office. It was too stuffy, and as he leant back in his chair to stretch, resting his head against the cool wall behind him, McLean closed his eyes for just a moment.
    She is naked as the day, a skinny thing with bone-thin legs and arms. Her hair hangs lank from her skeletal head, her eyes sunk deep in their sockets. As she walks towards him, she holds out her hands, reaching forward, begging him to help her. Then she stumbles, and a wound appears in her belly, ripping upwards from her crotch to her cleavage. She stops, grasps at her entrails as they start to drop to the ground, scooping them back with one arm, stillreaching for him with the other. She shuffles forward again, slower this time, her dark eyes pleading.
    He wants to look away, but he is trapped, immobile. He can’t even close his eyes. All he can do is watch as she falls to her knees, spilling her innards on the ground, still trying to crawl towards him.
    ‘Inspector.’
    Her voice is pain. And as he hears it, her face begins to change, her skin drying, stretching even tauter over her cheekbones. Her eyes draw further back into her head and her lips curl in a grimace, a parody of a smile.
    ‘Inspector!’
    She is right beside him now, her free hand reaching out to his shoulder, touching him, shaking him. Her other hand struggles to keep her intestines inside, like a lonely housewife answering the postman’s knock in her dressing gown. Bits of her start to fall out; her kidneys, her liver, her spleen.
    ‘Tony, wake up!’
    With a snap, McLean opened his eyes, almost falling out of his chair as his perceptions shifted from the dream back to reality. Chief Superintendent McIntyre stood beside his desk, looking down at him with a mixture of irritation and concern across her face.
    ‘Sleeping on the job now? That’s not the kind of behaviour I expected when I recommended you for promotion.’
    ‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ McLean shook his head slightly, trying to dislodge the disturbing image of the eviscerated girl. ‘It’s this heat. I only closed my eyes for a moment.I ...’ He stopped when he realised McIntyre was trying to suppress a smirk.
    ‘I’m just joking, Tony. You look done in. You should go home and get some rest.’ She sat herself down on the edge of the desk. There was room in the office for one other chair, but it was piled high with box files. ‘Sergeant Murray told me about your gran. I’m very sorry.’
    ‘She died a long time ago, really.’ McLean felt slightly uneasy with the chief superintendent perched above him. He knew he should stand, but to do so now