Natural Causes Read Online Free PDF

floor.
    ‘Detective Constable MacBride,’ the young man said. ‘Chief Superintendent McIntyre sent me to help with your investigation, sir.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘Um ... She didn’t say. Just that you’d need another pair of hands.’
    ‘Well, don’t stand there in the door letting all this heat out.’ McLean dumped the box down on the nearest of the two tables as MacBride came in. He put the other one beside it, then looked around the room.
    ‘There’s no chairs,’ the constable said.
    ‘Looks like Her Majesty’s given us an eagle-eyed detective, sir,’ Grumpy Bob said. ‘There’s nothing gets past this one.’
    ‘Pay no attention to Sergeant Laird. He’s just jealous because you’re so much younger than him.’
    ‘Err ... Right.’ MacBride hesitated.
    ‘You have a first name, Detective Constable MacBride?’
    ‘Um ... Stuart, sir.’
    ‘Well then, Stuart, welcome to the team. Both of us.’
    The young lad looked from McLean to Grumpy Bob, then back again. His mouth hung slightly open.
    ‘Well, don’t just stand around looking like you’ve had your arse skelped. Get on out there and find us some chairs, laddie.’ Grumpy Bob almost chased the constable out of the room, closing the door on his retreating form before laughing out loud.
    ‘Go easy on him, Bob. It’s not as if we’re going to getmuch more help with either of these cases. And he’s good. At least he should be. First in his year to make detective.’
    McLean opened up one of the boxes, pulled out a thick pile of folders and laid them out on the table: unsolved burglaries, dating back over the previous five years. He sighed; the last thing he wanted to do was wade through endless reports on stolen goods that would never be recovered. He looked at his wrist and remembered that he’d forgotten to wind up his watch that morning. Sliding it off, he began turning the tiny brass knob.
    ‘What time is it, Bob?’
    ‘Half three.You know, they’ve got new-fangled modern watches with batteries now. They don’t need to be wound up. You might consider getting one yourself.’
    ‘It was my dad’s.’ McLean tightened the strap against his wrist, then checked his pocket for his mobile phone. It was there, but it was dead. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy a walk over to the city mortuary?’
    Grumpy Bob shook his head. McLean knew how the old sergeant was with dead bodies.
    ‘Never mind, then. You and young DC MacBride can make a start on these burglary reports. See if you can find any pattern that tens of dozens of other detectives have missed. Meantime I’m off to see a man about a mummified corpse.’
    The afternoon air was thick and warm as he walked down the hill towards the Cowgate. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back, and McLean longed for a cool breeze. Normally you could rely on the wind to make life bearable, but for several days now the city had been becalmed. Down in thecanyon of the street, shadowed by tall buildings on either side, the heat was stagnant and lifeless. It was a relief to push open the door to the city mortuary and enter the air-conditioned cool.
    Angus Cadwallader was already prepped and waiting when McLean walked into the autopsy theatre. He gave the inspector an appraising look.
    ‘Hot out there?’
    McLean nodded. ‘Like a furnace. You all set up?’
    ‘What? Oh. Yes.’ Cadwallader turned, then shouted for his assistant. ‘Tracy, you ready?’
    A short, round, cheerful young woman looked up from a cluttered counter on the far side of the room, pushed back her chair and stood. She wore green medical scrubs, and pulled on a pair of latex gloves as she walked over to the dissecting table. A white sheet covered it, mounded up in the middle over the dead body waiting to reveal its secrets.
    ‘Right, better get on with it then.’ Cadwallader reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jar. McLean recognised the preparation, a mixture of skin cream and camphor designed to blot out the smell of decay. The