His own shadow had moved, gliding over the floor in four different shades. But the pattern on the floor had remained solid underneath it...
Natural Causes opens with Inspector Tony McLean of the Lothian and Borders Police, pulling up at a house in Edinburgh when he sees uniformed police and Scene of Crime van there. He recognises the elderly victim as Barnaby Smythe, seated in a chair in his study, eviscerated. He receives the familiar warm banter from pathologist Angus Cadwallader, but DCI Duguid is in charge and bridles at McLean’s presence.
He didn’t much like Duguid because the chief inspector was a sloppy investigator. Duguid didn’t like him because he knew it.
But the central mystery is the body of a teenage girl, found perfectly preserved, bricked up in a cellar of a large house, discovered during renovation by a property developer. Lain within a sigil-pattern circle, her dress suggests the body has been there for sixty years: a gruesome ritual killing involving crucifixion, rape, and the removal of organs, stored separately in ceramic jars in alcoves in the wall, each with a small personal item and a name.
In the same time frame McLean’s grandmother who raised him from a boy, passes away after being comatose following a stroke. This brings him into contact with the legal firm that has handled her affairs and not insubstantial estate, left to McLean. Which also links to a series of unsolved burglaries on the homes of the recently departed, by someone with detailed knowledge of alarm systems scanning the obituaries. McLean pays a visit to the company handling the alarm systems for businesses and properties across South-east Scotland.
The room was divided into small squares of office partitioning boards. In each one, a dozen or more people sat at individual computer screens, telephone headsets strapped to their heads, talking to small microphones that hovered like picnic wasps in front of their lips.
The bodies come thick and fast: elderly men in prime physical condition, slain with an internal organ removed; younger people with incurable disease committing suicide. and with so many persons involved the reader can only follow or second-guess McLean as he separates connections from misdirection. As he gets closer to the truth he finds himself the target of a hit-and-run.
The warehouse had probably stored something valuable once, but now its roof was gone, its cast-iron girders home to pigeons and rust. Even in the summer, after days of dry heat, the concrete floor was puddled with filthy water. In the winter when the east wind blew in sleet from the North Sea, it must have been a really welcoming place. A foul stench filled the air; rotting carcases and smoke mixed with bird shit and the salt tang of the sea. In the centre, surrounded by SOC officers like ants around a dead bird, stood a blackened Transit van.
Verdict: James Oswald has perfected the atmospheric crime novel with undertones of the occult.