Tangled web, p.1
Tangled Web, page 1
Tangled Web
Ken McClure
(2000)
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Rating: ★★★☆☆
Tags: Fiction, Physicians, Infanticide, False Arrest, Fertilization in Vitro; Human
Fictionttt Physiciansttt Infanticidettt False Arrestttt Fertilization in Vitro; Humanttt
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Another fast-paced and devastatingly plausible medical thriller from Ken McClure The quiet life of the Welsh village of Felinbach is shattered when the baby of a local couple is stolen from her cot. No one can think of any reason for the crime as the couple are not wealthy and the baby is badly deformed having been born without legs. The police, in the absence of any other suspect or motive, suspect the Palmers and their suspicious are confirmed when the body of a baby is discovered buried in their garden. Local GP Tom Gordon cannot believe the Palmers had anything to do with the murder. But it is not until Tom is co-opted to investigate the theft of the body of a cot-death baby from a nearby general hospital, that he begins to see a sinister connection between the hospital and the IVF clinic where the Palmers had been treated.
### From Kirkus Reviews
Medical thriller from England about the scary things that can happen when you send in the clones.The Palmers, John and Lucy, a loving couple, have come home from the fertility clinic with little Anne-Marie. She was born legless. No matter, they tell each other, she belongs to them, and they adore her. But when the child's savaged body is discovered buried in their garden, John immediately confesses to murder, becoming at once an object of scorn, a pariah in the small Welsh village of his birth. Only his stalwart family doctor, Tom Gordon, rallies round. Convinced of John's innocence, Tom is prepared to risk his reputation, his career, even his very life to prove it. But why, if John is innocent, has he confessed? For the noblest of reasons, Tom explains. In his first grief-stricken moments--not thinking clearly--John decided that Lucy, having found the child's deformity too much to bear, must have killed little Anne-Marie. Thus, his confession was meant to shift blame from the woman he loved to himself. Since the police have made it clear, however, that they consider the case solved, the presumed guilty party is jailed, and Tom turns sleuth. He soon discovers that strange things are going on in Caernarfon General's fertility clinic: it seems that human cloning has been dabbled in by staffers cavalier indeed about ethical behavior. And then suddenly another infant girl is in the headlines. Little Megan Griffiths is dead, and no one can find her corpse. Obviously Anne-Marie and Megan are connected somehow, argues Tom. Needless to say, he's right. Needless to say, rural Felinbach hates him for as a result. Needless to say, he cracks his case, wins his girl, and earns the heartfelt gratitude of John and Lucy.Plodding plotting, pedestrian prose: veteran British thriller writer McClure debuts inauspiciously here. -- *Copyright © 2000 Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.*
### About the Author
Ken McClure is an award-winning research scientist with the Medical Research Council of Great Britain. His medical thrillers have been translated into twenty-one languages and all are international bestsellers. He lives and works in Edinburgh. Author Residence Edinburgh
TANGLED WEB
by
KEN McCLURE
O what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive.
Sir Walter Scott
Marmion 17
(1771 – 1832)
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
THIRTY
Epilogue
THE END
Other Titles by Ken McClure
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
REVIEWS
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
John Palmer came into the room and placed another log on the fire. He made sure it was stable before turning round and looking at his wife, Lucy, who sat with their baby daughter on her knee.
‘You know, Lucy this is how I always hoped it would be,’ he said, ‘You and me and our baby in our own home.’
‘You’re just a big softy when it comes right down to it,’ smiled Lucy. ‘But it’s not going to be easy, you know.’
John knelt down beside them and brought his forefinger gently down the baby’s cheek. ‘She’s our daughter,’ he said. ‘That’s all that really matters. We’ll cope with the problems as they come along.’
‘We will,’ agreed Lucy.
John tickled the baby’s tummy and she responded with a gurgle. ‘See,’ he said. ‘She knows it too.’
‘You smell of sawdust,’ said Lucy.
‘I’ve been cutting logs, I’m entitled to smell of sawdust,’ said John with a grin.
‘I didn’t say it was unpleasant,’ countered Lucy. ‘It’s quite macho really in a lumberjack sort of a way. Is it still snowing outside?’
‘A little, but this’ll be the last snow of the winter, I’m sure,’ replied John. He moved over to the window, leaning both hands on the sill to look out at the garden.
‘The weather forecast said it was going to get warmer towards the end of the week,’ said Lucy.
‘If it’s going to thaw then maybe I should build Anne-Marie a snowman today,’ said John thoughtfully.
‘A snowman?’ exclaimed Lucy through stifled laughter. ‘She’s only three months old!’
‘No matter. We can take her out into the garden and show it to her – make sure she appreciates the finer points of her father’s artistic talents.’ John turned round, his face filled with growing enthusiasm for the idea. ‘Tell you what, you have a hunt for clothes for the snowman and I’ll get started. Play your cards right and you can have the honour of naming him. Come on, let’s get cracking!’
‘Oh, all right,’ agreed Lucy, knowing that any argument would be pointless once John got a bee in his bonnet. ‘I’ll put Anne-Marie down for her sleep and then have a hunt through the wardrobes, see what I can come up with.’
‘We’ll also need a carrot for a nose and buttons for eyes and - ‘
‘One thing at a time,’ protested Lucy.
‘C’mon, chop, chop!’
‘First, your daughter is going down for a nice nap.’ Lucy cradled Anne-Marie in her arms and stood up. ‘So don’t make too much of a racket.’
‘Maybe I should build it in the front garden instead,’ said John, hesitating at the door.
‘Good idea - you do that.’
‘I’ll expect you outside in ten minutes if not before.’
‘You took your time,’ said John but not unkindly when Lucy finally reappeared a good half-hour later, carrying a laundry basket full of bits and pieces. ‘I’ve practically finished. What kept you?’
‘It’s amazing what you find when you start emptying out the wardrobes,’ said Lucy. ‘I came across things I hadn’t seen for years - stuff I’d completely forgotten about This is the blue dress I wore to your sister’s wedding, remember? Here are the beach sandals I bought in Greece, and that top I spilled spaghetti down - I’ve never been able to get the marks out. I found lots of things, including some of yours. I’ll show you later.’
‘Well, look, I’m just about finished here. You can dress him and put the final touches to his face, if you like.’
‘Thank you - I shall enjoy that,’ said Lucy, tongue in cheek. ‘It does need a more artistic hand …’ She inserted the button eyes and carrot nose and stuck a little piece of red material below them as a mouth. She adjusted it into a crescent shape. ‘Let’s give him a nice big smile,’ she said.
Lucy stood back to admire her handiwork and John put his arm around her shoulders. He said, ‘This is fun. It’s like being a kid all over again. I can’t wait to go to the zoo and have picnics at the beach. I’ll build her a little house in the garden too and she can keep her dolls in it. Maybe we can get a dog when she’s a bit older.’
‘Steady on,’ smiled Lucy. ‘She’s only little.’
‘It’s going to be great,’ said John. ‘You’ll see.’
Lucy smiled but her eyes held a hint of sadness. She tilted her head so that her cheek touched John’s hand on her shoulder. After a few moment, she said, ‘I’ve just remembered, I’ve got a red scarf somewhere - hall cupboard I think, I’ll get it.’
‘That would be perfect,’ agreed John.
Lucy went into the house and returned a few moments later with a scarlet woollen scarf. She wrapped it round the snowman’s neck then she and John stepped back again to look at the rotund white figure standing proudly in their front garden. ‘Handsome devil, isn’t he?’
‘What have you decided to call him?’ asked John.
‘Captain Mainwaring,’ replied Lucy.
‘Perfect!’ agreed John, appreciating the definite resemblance to the pompous Dad’s Army TV character. ‘Captain Mainwaring it is then. Is it too soon to wake Anne-Marie?’
‘We’ll have a cup of tea first,’ said Lucy.
The y came inside and had tea and biscuits in the kitchen, warming their hands by the wood-burning stove and creating small puddles around their boots from melting snow.
‘Anything good on telly tonight?’ asked John.
‘Haven’t looked.’
‘Saturday night - let me think. There’s a Ruth Rendell thing on at eight if I remember right, but that’s going to be a bit too early for me I’m afraid, I’ve still got some marking to do. I’ve skived off long enough making Captain Mainwaring.’
‘Have you got a lot?’
‘Well, all of Class 3c’s thoughts on the biological basis of life. In terms of intellectual ability, I think Captain Mainwaring might make the middle of that lot if he put his mind to it.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Lucy.
‘Maybe not,’ agreed John with a smile, ‘But they can be exasperating. Let’s wake the baby and introduce her to the Captain.’
‘All right,’ agreed Lucy. ‘But I’ll have to wrap her up warmly. We don’t want her catching cold.’ She left the room and John washed out the mugs they’d been using.
Suddenly a scream tore through the air making him drop the second one in the sink. It broke into three pieces. His blood ran cold as he ran through the house to Anne-Marie’s room where he found Lucy staring at an open window. The Disney pattern curtains were billowing gently in the icy breeze.
‘She’s gone!’ Lucy said hoarsely, her whole body beginning to shake.
‘But how?’ protested John. ‘Where? How could she?’
‘Someone’s taken her!’
‘Oh my God.’ John looked disbelievingly at the empty cot with its covers thrown back and its sidebars dropped. Coming quickly to his senses, he ran round to the back of the house to look for footprints in the snow, but his heart fell as he discovered he couldn’t make anything out: he had trampled down most of the area when he’d been out there earlier chopping logs. There was no trail to follow.
‘The police,’ he exclaimed. ‘We must get the police!’
Lucy was standing at the window, staring into the distance, seemingly paralysed with shock. John stumbled inside and grabbed at the phone in the hall. His frozen fingers jabbed out 999. ‘Police? Come quickly! Our baby daughter’s been kidnapped.’
ONE
Dr Tom Gordon looked down from the top of the hill behind Felinbach, the small North Wales coastal village that had become his home over the past two years. Out in the Menai Strait, the wintry sun was setting over Anglesey and a clear sky suggested that there might be a frost tonight but it was fast approaching the middle of March so he took comfort from the thought that spring could not be far away.
Weather was an important factor in the life of a GP in rural North Wales and he felt he’d just about had enough of coaxing his Land Rover over icy roads and up snow-covered mountain tracks for one year. Today it had taken him longer that he had anticipated to get through his outlying calls because of a sudden fall of snow on the Llanberis pass, but he had still managed to complete his list and get back on time for evening surgery. Not that this would have been a major problem because his colleague and senior partner, Dr Julie Rees, herself a native of Snowdonia, understood the vagaries of travel on local roads in winter only too well: she would be ready to cope on her own if need be.
The sun was now very low and its glow was reflected off the calm sea, bathing the village below in a pleasing orange light. Felinbach was home to some fifteen hundred inhabitants who lived in a variety of houses clinging to the steep hillside leading down to the harbour. Main Street boasted six shops and two pubs - one at either end - and a third pub nestled down by the harbour wall next to the yacht chandlers. There were two bus stops on Main Street, one on either side depending on whether you wanted to go to Caernarfon in one direction or Bangor in the other.
The village had a primary school, two churches and a chapel, all of them built in Victorian times. In fact, the sepia-tint photograph of the village, displayed in the post office window and taken in 1898, showed Main Street pretty much as it looked today apart from the lampposts. The harbour area however, had changed out of all recognition in recent times, with the construction of a modern marina to accommodate the smart yachts belonging to wealthy visitors. Where once, grimy barges had filled their holds with slate from Welsh quarries, sleek catamarans with quirky names now nestled in safety while their owners enjoyed the hospitality and laundry facilities of the local yacht club.
A white baker’s van drew up alongside Gordon’s vehicle and a plump, red-faced man wound down his window to ask, ‘Everything all right, Doc?’
‘Fine thanks, Glyn,’ replied Gordon. ‘Just stopped to enjoy the view for a couple of minutes.
‘You’d be hard pushed to find a better one,’ agreed Glyn Morris, the local baker.
‘Outside of Scotland, that is,’ said Gordon, tongue in cheek.
‘Oh, I’d quite forgotten you were a Scot,’ exclaimed Morris with a smile. ‘You’ve been here a while now.’
‘Two and a half years,’ the young GP told him.
‘Can’t be that bad then?’
Gordon answered with a grin and Morris put his van into gear. ‘See you around, Doc.’
Gordon wound up his own window and prepared to move off. He supposed what Morris had said was true. It couldn’t have been ‘that bad’ or he wouldn’t have stayed so long. But was that entirely true he wondered? People often imagined that they did things out of personal choice when that was rarely the case in his view. Most people tended to move with the flow of events in and around their lives. People singing the pub anthem, ‘My Way’ were taking harmless liberties with the truth. Doing things the government’s way, the family’s way, society’s way or even the Church’s way, was usually a much more realistic appraisal.
Gordon had originally come to Felinbach to work as a locum in general practice after the trauma of divorce back home in Edinburgh. He had seen the advert for the job in the British Medical Journal and it had come up at a time when he had felt the need to be away from the trappings of his old life. He wanted to take a look at things from a distance before even thinking about making any plans for the future. North Wales had seemed like a good idea at the time.
The fact that he was still here over two years later was down to changing circumstance. He’d only been at the practice for four months when the senior partner, Dr Glyn Williams, the man who’d taken him on in the first place to help smooth his own passage into semi-retirement, had collapsed and died. Dr Julie Rees, his married daughter, had taken over the running of her father’s practice and had surprised him by offering him a full partnership if he agreed to stay on. He in turn had surprised her by agreeing almost without a second thought.
He supposed on reflection that there might have been an element of not having quite got over the pain of divorce at the time but on the other hand he had been sure that he liked Julie and felt they’d get on, as indeed they had. He also liked the village and loved the area with its breathtaking scenery. He’d come to love the mountains of Snowdonia as much as he used to love the Cairngorms and the Cuillins of home. In many ways North Wales was like Scotland in miniature. Only the great tracts of featureless moorland were missing, a blessing that rendered everything more accessible.
At the age of thirty-two, he supposed he should be thinking more about the future than he actually did but there was a certain comfort to be had from just living each day as it came. Realistically, it would be very difficult for him to return to hospital medicine after having been away for such a long time: the competition for jobs was so fierce. He had more or less resigned himself to a career in general practice but this was no great problem; he enjoyed it a lot.
There was no serious love interest in his life at the moment but mainly because he didn’t want there to be. He had enjoyed an occasional dalliance with discrete young ladies in the area and hoped that he might do so again but the scars left by his divorce made him steer well clear of anything resembling commitment. Besides, thirty-two wasn’t old; there was no need for him to rush into anything. He was six feet tall, athletic and blessed with looks and a quiet charm that women found attractive. They tended to seek him out rather than the other way around. This of course, in a small community, held certain dangers in that many of them were liable to be his patients. It was something he was acutely aware of and constantly on guard against.
