Tangled web, p.17
Tangled Web, page 17
Gordon felt a giant pang of disappointment as he concluded that there was nothing to indicate why hers was the only file that Thomas had been keeping in his lab. He felt there had to be a reason; there had to be a clue there somewhere. He flicked through the pages two or three times more until his eye was caught by a series of highlighted text markings. Three groups of numbers had been highlighted in blue. The first was the date of the ICSI procedure carried out on Lucy Palmer’s ova; the second was the date of implantation of a fertilised tetrad into her womb and the third was a reference number. A comment in pencil beside the number said, ‘no siblings!’ Gordon noted the exclamation mark then wrote the numbers down on one of the Post-it notes lying beside the microscope. He folded it and slipped it into his inside pocket while he continued a search of the drawers. He found nothing else.
Gordon glanced at his watch and decided that it was time to leave: he’d been here longer than he’d intended but he thought he’d just take a quick look in the cupboards before he left, just in case he had missed something. He really didn’t have that much to go on in terms of hard evidence. The cupboards contained various pieces of scientific apparatus but little else. Almost as a last gesture, he raised the lid of the chest freezer and froze with horror. The faces of three foetuses stared up at him through clear but misty plastic bags.
‘Jesus Christ,’ muttered Gordon. What were they? Who were they? He lifted up one of the bags and looked for labelling on it. There was a number written on the back in black grease pencil. He noticed that it had the same number of digits in it as the reference number he’d copied down from Anne-Marie’s file. He made a note of the numbers of all three then laid the little bundles back down in their icy lair and closed the lid. He rested his hands on it for a moment to recover his composure for they were shaking slightly: it was definitely time he was out of this place.
He clicked the lab door shut and replaced the key on its holder under Thomas’s desk. His nerves were beginning to settle and anxiety was being replaced by almost a sense of elation. He put his ear to the outside door, listening for any sounds in the corridor. To his dismay he heard the sound of raised voices, both male and they were getting louder. What was worse, he recognised one as belonging to Carwyn Thomas. The talk must have finished early. He was going to be caught red-handed!
Gordon took a deep breath and decided that there was no alternative but to brass it out. Hiding under the desk was not going to be an option this time. Hoping to disguise the fact that the door to the office had been closed, Gordon opened it wide and backed out into the corridor, holding the door handle and hoping to give the impression that he had just looked into the room to see if anyone was there. He turned to face the men coming towards him who had seen him and stopped talking. He could now see that Carwyn Thomas had been arguing with James Trool.
‘Ah, there you are, Professor,’ said Gordon, hoping his smile wasn’t going to fracture like that of an anxious beauty contestant held too long on camera. His heart rate was topping 140.
Trool smiled and said, ‘Hello there’.
‘What can I do for you, Doctor?’ asked Thomas, looking distinctly puzzled.
‘I know you’re very busy, Professor, but I hoped I might catch you here between symposium sessions. I wanted to have a private word with you. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’
‘What about?’
Gordon noted that Thomas appeared to have lost his usual charm. He seemed preoccupied with something, presumably what he and Trool had been arguing about. ‘The Megan Griffiths business,’ said Gordon.
Thomas looked at him blankly for a moment before turning to Trool and saying, ‘I’ll get back to you. We’ll talk further.’
‘As you wish,’ said Trool coldly and walked off.
Gordon decided not to say anything about having come at a ‘bad time’. He followed Thomas into his office and sat down as invited.
‘I’m wearing a different hat this afternoon, Professor; I think you know that I’m one of the unofficial investigation team into what happened to Megan Griffiths’ body,’ said Gordon pleasantly. ‘I’m talking to everyone who was listed as visiting the Pathology Department on the day in question.’
‘So?’
‘You were listed,’ said Gordon.
Thomas looked at him as if his mind were still elsewhere. ‘Was I?’ he murmured.
‘You signed in at two-fifteen along with one of your technician - a Michael Deans.’
‘Oh yes, I remember,’ said Thomas quietly, still sounding heavily preoccupied, ‘I went down to see Sepp.’
‘Was Dr Sepp there?’
Thomas snapped out of his preoccupation. ‘Of course he was. I had an appointment to see him.’
‘And Deans?’
‘I thought he might be needed.’
Gordon let his silence prompt Thomas into saying more.
‘I thought we might have some tissue samples to deal with, that’s why I asked Deans to come along.’
‘Tissue samples?’
‘I hoped Sepp might still have path specimens from some patients I was interested in.’
‘Dead patients?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your patients? Babies?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t think that need concern you,’ said Thomas.
‘As you wish,’ said Gordon evenly.
Thomas suddenly seemed uncomfortable with what he’d said. ‘All right, I’ll tell you,’ he said. ‘I wanted to know if Sepp still had samples of tissue taken from the stillbirth babies at the unit. I wanted to carry out further tests on them to see if I could find some clue as to what had gone wrong.’
‘I see,’ said Gordon, immediately thinking that he’d been right about what had been upsetting Thomas at the American’s seminar. But now, in the light of what he’d seen in Thomas’s lab, he could imagine an alternative reason for Thomas wanting to get his hands on the specimens. It was possible that he had planned to get rid of them to make sure that there was no damning evidence lying around in the Pathology Department. If Thomas really had been experimenting with human cloning and that was the reason for the increase in stillbirths in the clinic, he’d want to make sure his tracks were covered if people started asking questions.
With the symposium coming up, the high failure-rate of ICSI babies in his unit might well come to light when Caernarfon’s figures were compared with those of other labs. This was exactly what had happened during the American physician’s talk. The only thing that didn’t fit was that Thomas himself had seemed the one most keen to investigate the problem. The double bluff of a clever man, Gordon wondered? He smiled politely and said, ‘Thank you for your time, Professor. I’ll get out of your way now and let you get on.’
There were two messages on the answering machine when Gordon got back to Feli, the first from Liam Swanson, asking that he get in touch and the second from Lucy, saying that she was moving back home today. She wondered if he’d care to join her for supper tonight around seven. If he couldn’t manage, he wasn’t to worry. It was very short notice and she’d quite understand.
Gordon smiled and rang Lucy’s number to tell her answering machine that he would be there at seven. He called Swanson next.
‘I thought we might have a meeting when this symposium thing is over,’ said Swanson.
‘If you like.’
‘I think between us, we’ve talked to most of the people recorded in the Path Department’s book apart from Professor Thomas. He’s been tied up with the symposium.
‘I spoke to him today,’ said Gordon. ‘I knew he was on the list and as I’ve been attending the symposium, it seemed too good a chance to miss.’
‘No joy, I suppose?’ said Swanson.
‘Afraid not. I didn’t speak to his technician, Deans though.’
‘I did, yesterday,’ said Swanson. ‘He’d been asked to accompany Thomas to collect some tissue samples from the Path Department.’
‘That’s my understanding too,’ said Gordon.
‘I suspect we’re not going to get anywhere with this,’ said Swanson. ‘We’d be as well handing it over to the police.’
‘The question is, will they?’ said Gordon.
‘Maybe not,’ agreed Swanson. ‘But I’ve been ringing round some of the others and there’s a general feeling that we’re not making progress and won’t, however many times we question the staff. There’s not a lot more we can do really.’
‘I‘d like one more week before doing as you suggest,’ said Gordon.
‘You have an idea then?’
‘Maybe.’
SEVENTEEN
Gordon arrived at Lucy’s house carrying a bottle of wine he’d bought at the supermarket on the Bangor Road and some flowers from the stand outside the filling station: there simply hadn’t been enough time to go back into town. He knew Lucy would understand.
As he walked up the path to the front door, he thought how good it was to see lights on in the windows again; it reminded him of how happy the house had been at Christmas and please God, it was the harbinger of better times to come. Lucy heard his feet on the gravel and looked out the corner of the window to smile and wave before coming to open the door.
‘Good to see you home,’ smiled Gordon.
‘It’s been a while,’ said Lucy.
Gordon had been apprehensive about how Lucy might feel once she was actually back in the house, knowing that this would be a difficult psychological step to take, but there was no outward sign of a problem. ‘How are you?’ he asked, as he was ushered in to the living room where a fire had been lit and table lamps created a cosy atmosphere, although for some reason, maybe the obvious one, it all seemed a little unreal.
‘I’m fine,’ said Lucy, adding, ‘really I am,’ when Gordon looked at her to see if she was telling the truth. ‘I suppose it’s you I have to thank for cleaning the mess off the walls?’
Gordon had hoped that Lucy might not notice the occasional small smudge of spray paint remaining from his clean-up operation – at least, not right away, but he should have known better. Now he didn’t quite know what to say; he hoped she wouldn’t ask about the words. In the event, his obvious discomfort told Lucy all that she needed to know and she smiled affectionately. ‘I’m grateful, Tom,’ she said, adding, ‘again.’
Gordon nodded.
‘Well, there weren’t too many yellow ribbons in evidence when I got back and the good folks of Felinbach haven’t exactly been rushing round to say, “Welcome home, Lucy”, but it’s still good to be back,’ said Lucy. ‘In spite of everything.’
‘I’m glad you feel that way.’
Lucy folded her arms and looked serious for a moment. She said with cold determination in her voice, ‘The way I see it is, the bastard who did this to John and I took away my baby, and my husband too. He’s not taking away my home as well.’
‘Good for you,’ said Gordon.
Lucy went through to the kitchen but kept talking. ‘This is not exactly going to be a culinary extravaganza, I’m afraid, but I did want to see you and thank you for all you’ve been doing. I can’t imagine how I would have coped without you.’
‘That’s what friends are for,’ said Gordon.
‘Seriously,’ said Lucy, returning to stand in the doorway. ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough.’
Gordon who suddenly felt embarrassed said, ‘Shush, I’ll open the wine, shall I?’
The Palmers’ dining room was one of two bay-windowed rooms that looked out on the front garden, one on either side of the door. Lucy had set up the table by the window and Gordon looked out over it down to the lights on the Menai while he waited. He felt he knew the wall beneath that particular window intimately: it was the area that had given him most trouble during the clean up, the spot where the paint had run in rivulets down the rendering. Subconsciously he rubbed the knuckles of his right hand gently. The skin there was still raw in places.
Just before she brought the food in, Lucy came through and lit two candles on the table. They were of odd sizes and stood in different holders, a tall white one in a silver stick and a small coloured one in the middle of a plastercast Beatrix Potter scene.
‘This one is for John,’ said Lucy as she lit the white one. ‘And this one is for Anne-Marie; John bought it on the day we got her home for the first time and we lit it that night. The next time was going to be on her first birthday … but it hasn’t quite worked out that way.’ There was a short silence before Lucy stood back and said, ‘Bless them both.’
‘Bless them both,’ echoed Gordon, raising his glass.
The food was simple but good. Compared to his own efforts in the kitchen, Gordon found that this was the case with most food he came across. Lucy had made pasta with a deliciously spicy sauce and followed it up with lemon cheesecake and strong espresso coffee.
‘Last time we spoke you seemed to think you were on to something?’ said Lucy. The hope in her voice was muted but unmistakable.
‘I’m still working on it,’ replied Gordon, wondering just what to tell her. It was difficult to separate fact from what was imaginary in his own mind. He was pretty sure that Thomas’s unit was involved in something underhand, possibly illegal, but the only thing to tie Anne-Marie Palmer into the scheme of things was the fact that Thomas had her medical file in his lab.
’There’s some kind of experimental work going on up at Caernarfon General,’ he said. ‘At the moment I don’t quite know what it is but I think there’s a chance that Anne Marie’s death is tied up in it in some way.’
‘What kind of research?’ asked Lucy.
‘Genetic manipulation.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Lucy as if it was the last thing in the world she expected to hear.
‘There’s something going on in Professor Thomas’s unit, involving children who were born there.’
‘But what could such experiments possibly have to do with Anne-Marie?’ exclaimed Lucy, sounding far from convinced. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I know, but there’s a link somewhere and that’s what I have to find out,’ said Gordon.
Lucy tried to cover up her obvious disappointment at not having been given more encouraging news by changing tack and offering to top up Gordon’s glass.
Gordon pushed it across the table but just at that moment, something came hurtling in through the window and hit the glass: it burst into fragments. He shut his eyes and flung up his hands as flying glass peppered his face and Lucy’s screams filled his ears.
Almost immediately, he felt blood running down his cheeks and he found that he couldn’t open his eyes properly to see what was going on. As soon as he tried, he felt a burning pain that made him fear that his sight had been damaged. It was a nightmare thought that induced its own panic. He tried to see again, wiping away the blood and managed to make out a blur that he thought might be Lucy’s face. He saw it only briefly before she toppled backwards off her chair.
Gordon felt the table cloth go with her and heard plates and glasses crash all around his feet as he was forced to close his eyes again to get some respite. Suddenly there was a terrible smell of burning in his nostrils. A yellow blur flared up in front of his eyelids and a sudden blast of heat made him recoil. The toppling candles had set light to Lucy’s dress and she was now screaming in pain and fright as she writhed on the floor, fighting to free herself of the toppled chair and the general mess around her.
Gordon was aware of the bright glare of the flames but not much more as he struggled to find the table cloth at his feet and get a grip of it. He needed something to smother the flames with and this was it. He found a corner of it, recognising it by its thickness and tugged at it ferociously until he had it in his hands and could make an attempt to extinguish the flames that were now engulfing Lucy. He fell on top of the brightly glowing bundle, using his own body in addition to the cloth to snuff out the bright blur but paid the price as the fire found his own skin to add to his pain.
Lucy had stopped screaming but she wasn’t unconscious; she was whimpering and gasping, obviously now in shock. Gordon was pretty sure that the flames had been smothered because there was no more heat only the sickening smell of charred flesh and burnt fabric. The smoke and fumes caught in his throat as he staggered to his feet and started to feel his way to the door, knocking over a succession of unseen and now unimportant objects on his journey.
Incredibly, the street outside seemed devoid of people. But they must have heard the glass break, Gordon thought angrily. What the fuck were they all doing? Watching? Hiding behind the curtains? Pretending nothing was amiss? His temper soared out of control as he yelled out, ‘Get a fucking ambulance, you bunch of mindless cretins!’ He continued his half-blind stagger down the path, trying to get a response from someone, anyone, his only vision a mess of blurred colours. Yelling out brought on a paroxysm of coughing that hurt his throat and he sank to his knees, retching and spitting and suddenly filled with a deep loathing of the world or more correctly, its inhabitants.
He recoiled when he felt a hand on his shoulders and snapped out angrily, ‘Who’s that?’
‘I’m from next door, an ambulance is on its way, won’t be long. What the devil happened here?’
‘Some bastard threw a brick through the dining room window. We were sitting there …’
‘I suppose they didn’t realise that,’ said the voice evenly.
Gordon could hardly believe his ears as he knelt on the ground, his hands flat on the path in front of him, blood dripping from his face. ‘And that makes it all right, does it?’ he exploded. ‘What kind of people are you?’
‘No need to be like that,’ retorted the man, obviously aggrieved at Gordon’s language and tone.
If Gordon could have seen him, he might have been sorry later for his actions. His fist positively itched to swing into the face of what he saw – or rather, didn’t see – as the insensitive twerp next to him. Instead, he said nothing for a few moments as he struggled to regain his composure. Finally, he said, ‘See if you can help Lucy, will you, she’s badly burned.’
