Tangled Web

Eighteen

Gordon considered what the implications of a successful human cloning might be. Until now, he’d been assuming that all such experiments would end in abortion or stillbirth. Now he found himself forced to consider the problems and repercussions of success. In the event of that happening, what would the cloner tell the mother? That the child she’d just given birth to wasn’t really hers? That the little bundle she was cradling in her arms was the result of a secret experiment and had absolutely nothing to do with her and her husband at all? That he had conned her and her husband into believing that they were having the child they’d always longed for, when in reality they weren’t?

He supposed not, but also felt uncomfortable with the alternative of the perpetrator staying quiet and saying nothing about what he’d done. Would he really allow his ‘experiment’ to grow up as the son or daughter of a family that was totally alien to them in terms of blood relationship, a bizarre situation where the parents didn’t know that their offspring was adopted. He wondered if simply knowing that the experiment had succeeded would be satisfaction enough for a researcher. Again, he thought not. Surely the point of carrying out such an experiment in the first place would be to add to his scientific achievements? There could be no peer acclaim if the outcome remained a secret, no international awards, medals or prizes to be modestly accepted. On the other hand, the whole thing would be so grossly illegal that none of that would be possible anyway. So the puzzle remained. Why do it? Curiosity? Vanity? The desire for scientific knowledge? Or some other reason altogether?

Supposing it wasn’t just an experiment. Suppose there had been a reason for the cloning and that the cloned child was not just any child but the result of a DNA cloning of a specific individual. Thomas was involved in cloning somebody! A deliberate choice suddenly seemed to be a more realistic option, but who had the donor been? Could Thomas be cloning himself? Surely the ultimate ego trip for any scientist. But if the cloned child were to be left with its ‘adoptive’ family and neither he nor they were to know anything about his true origins... would that make any sense?

Gordon wrestled unsuccessfully with this notion. Common sense dictated that if anyone were to risk their reputation and career in a bid to clone a specific individual, then surely there had to be more to it than simply wanting to know if it could be done. The cloner would want access to the child, however difficult it might be to achieve and it certainly would. It might even be the highest hurdle of them all. Just how would he manage it, he wondered?

The child would be the most treasured possession of a couple who believed that IVF treatment had finally paid off for them: they would be the least likely parents on Earth to give up their child under any circumstances, so it would be necessary to take it from them. That would mean kidnapping it, not exactly a minor crime in any society and not one that either the public or the police were going to take lightly. Kidnapping was something that very few people ever got away with so it was out of the question... or was it?

Gordon felt his skin tingle with excitement as he realised that that was exactly what had happened to one of the IVF babies from Thomas’s unit. Anne-Marie Palmer had been kidnapped! He and her parents might be the only people on Earth who believed that, but it was true nevertheless. Gordon’s excitement foundered almost immediately on the fact that Anne-Marie had subsequently been murdered within days of her abduction. This didn’t fit in with what he was considering... unless of course, she had been regarded as a failed cloning because of the severity of her disability. Was it possible that she had been disposed of as an untidy loose end, maybe to prevent anyone ever finding out the true facts of her origin?

Gordon moved his head restlessly on the pillow as he saw that there would have been no need to murder Anne-Marie to keep her origins secret because it was just so unlikely that the truth would ever have come to light anyway. DNA fingerprinting of both Anne-Marie and her parents would have been required to reveal the secret and the possibility of that ever happening for any reason seemed very remote. On the other hand, Gordon suddenly saw that... it could still be done!

He felt a surge of excitement as he remembered that Anne-Marie’s remains were still being kept in refrigerated limbo by the police forensic service. She was lying in the mortuary of this very hospital at this very moment. Anne-Marie could be DNA tested and her profile compared with that of her parents! If it didn’t match, it would be conclusive proof that she had not been the natural child of the Palmers and go a long way towards suggesting that she had been the outcome of a human cloning experiment. It would certainly provide justifiable grounds for a police investigation into the IVF unit!

‘Yes!’ he murmured as, at last, he realised that he had come up with a way of obtaining hard evidence.

His slight exclamation had not been loud but loud enough to attract the attention of a nurse passing the door to his room.

‘Everything all right, Dr Gordon?’ she asked.

‘Yes, fine,’ he replied feeling slightly embarrassed. ‘Bit of a bad dream.’

The nurse gave the bedclothes a cosmetic tuck in and turned his pillow. ‘There now, you get some rest.’

Gordon made appropriate sleepy noises but he was already thinking about how he would go about getting material from Anne-Marie Palmer’s body for DNA fingerprinting. There was nothing to it, he mused wryly, all he had to do was break into the mortuary at Ysbyty Gwynedd and take a sample of Anne-Marie’s tissue — after having been expressly forbidden to go near the body by the forensic pathologist in charge of the case. Gordon felt a chill run down his spine at the thought but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He felt a wave of tiredness sweep over him. Events were catching up with him and the tide of consciousness was turning. Sleep was almost upon him with its sweet promise of forgetfulness. Under the bandages, he closed his eyes and wished Lucy well before drifting off into merciful oblivion.

Lucy was the first thing Gordon thought about when he awoke at eight, suddenly aware of the hustle and bustle of morning in the wards of a large hospital.

‘We knew you’d ask,’ said the nurse, ‘So I phoned the ward less than fifteen minutes ago. She’s had a comfortable night and Mr Paxton will be coming in to see her later this morning: he’s the consultant plastic surgeon.’

‘Can I see her?’ Gordon started to ask but didn’t finish. ‘Can I see anything?’ he corrected himself, touching his bandages and the nurse smiled. ‘Dr Hallam will be in to see you around ten. She’ll be able to tell you more. In the meantime, how about some breakfast?’

Gordon accepted the offer of tea and toast and fidgeted away the time until Mary Hallam arrived to examine him. The nurse accompanying her removed the bandages from his eyes gently; he could smell antiseptic soap on her skin as her hands moved skilfully and intermittently across his face as she unwound the long ribbon. He felt strangely naked and vulnerable when they’d all gone.

‘Just keep you lids closed for a moment,’ said Mary before the last of the dressings — two gauze pads — were about to be taken away. ‘Now open your left eye slowly.’

Gordon did as he was told and was unprepared for the immediate flood of brightness and colour. He had to blink several times until he could see clearly and then he was looking at Mary Hallam. ‘You’re absolutely beautiful,’ he said. It had come out spontaneously.

‘All my blind patients say that,’ said Hallam. ‘Now, your right.’

Gordon opened his right eye and found he could see out of that one too although there was a fair amount of pain associated with it and he closed it again to get relief.

‘Just take your time.’

Gordon let his fingers rest lightly on the right lid for a moment before trying again with more success. ‘It’s okay,’ he said.

‘Want to give the card a go?’ asked Mary.

Gordon agreed with a grunt and Mary propped up a vision test card on the other side of the room. ‘Now then, when you’re ready.’

Gordon found he was a lot more interested in looking at Mary than the test card; she was extremely attractive. He knew within himself that his sight was basically okay so reading the card was really just a case of going through the motions.

‘When you’re ready, Doctor,’ repeated Mary, acutely aware that Gordon was looking at her rather than the card. ‘I’ll give you a clue, the big one at the top is “Z”.’

Gordon started reading.

‘Second line,’ commanded Mary.

Gordon passed the test. His sight was passed as being perfectly all right. ‘Any chance of seeing Lucy this morning?’ he asked.

‘Don’t see why not; I’ll check with the ward if you like. Her husband confessed to killing their daughter, didn’t he?’

‘He didn’t, do it,’ said Gordon.

Mary saw that she had touched on a raw nerve and was slightly taken aback at the strength of his reaction. ‘Give me a minute,’ she said. ‘I’ll go ring the ward.’ She left the room but returned shortly to say, ‘It’s all right with them. She’s upstairs in the side room attached to Princess Anne Ward. Turn left at the top of the stairs and go straight along. You can’t miss it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Gordon. ‘Sorry I snapped your head off.’

Lucy was lying on her back staring up at the ceiling when Gordon entered the room. At first he wasn’t sure whether or not she was awake because the room was shaded but she moved her head slightly when she heard the door click shut behind him. ‘Can I come in?’ he whispered.

‘Tom, you’re all right,’ said Lucy, turning her head. She sounded weak. ‘I’m so glad.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Gordon quietly. ‘You’ve been through a bit of a rough time though.’

‘Fate seems to have it in for John and me,’ Lucy said, ‘I’m beginning to think that the odds are just too heavily stacked against us.’

‘You mustn’t give up,’ urged Gordon. ‘It’s got to bottom out somewhere; I’ve a feeling this is it.’

Lucy smiled weakly and put her hand on his.

‘Are you in much pain?’

‘The doctors gave me something; my head’s full of cotton wool.’

‘People pay good money for that,’ said Gordon. It brought the suggestion of a smile to Lucy’s lips.

‘Was there much damage to the house?’

‘Don’t worry about that just now: I’ll check it out later, make it secure and do what needs doing. It’ll be okay by the time you get home.’

Lucy suddenly gripped Gordon’s hand tightly, her fingers like talons. ‘And I am coming back,’ she said firmly. ‘Make no mistake about it. They are not going to take my home away from me.’

‘That’s it,’ said Gordon. ‘Hang in there.’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ asked Lucy. It wasn’t a casual inquiry. She looked Gordon directly in the eye and he knew that she expected the whole truth.

‘You’ll be transferred to another hospital for skin grafts. I think probably Manchester.’

‘Will I be scarred?’

‘Your face wasn’t injured,’ said Gordon.

‘But the rest of me?’

‘There will be some marking.’

‘Thanks Tom.’

Gordon left Lucy and came back downstairs to get his own things together. He was on the point of leaving, having thanked and said good-bye to the nurses, when Julie Rees arrived. She seemed surprised to see him up and about.

‘I thought things were more serious,’ she said.

‘They are for Lucy Palmer,’ said Gordon. ‘She’s going to need plastic surgery.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. What’s your damage?’

Gordon held out his arms and said, ‘Some minor burns to the forearms and a sore eye; that’s about the strength of it. I was lucky — as people in my position feel compelled to say whatever’s happened to them short of death.’

‘Stops someone else saying it,’ smiled Julie.

Gordon sensed her unease. ‘It was nice of you to come,’ he said. It sounded awkward and made him realise that he and Julie had never had anything more than a strictly working relationship. They had never become close friends. They were colleagues who never invaded each other’s personal space without feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t know why and it had never mattered until now when he suddenly felt as if he were talking to a stranger.

‘I thought maybe we could have a word and then I’ll give you a lift home if you like.’

Gordon thought Julie’s tone sounded ominous, a view reinforced when she made a point of closing the room door. As they sat down and faced each other, Julie said, ‘Tom, I know how strongly you feel about the Palmers and the raw deal you think they’ve been getting...’

‘But?’

‘But frankly it’s beginning to damage the practice. People are starting to transfer to GPs in Bangor and Caernarfon as a mark of protest.’

‘I saw one of their protests come in through the window last night,’ said Gordon bitterly.

‘People do stupid things when they get emotionally upset,’ said Julie and the death of a child is something that does cause a great deal of strong feeling around the village.’

‘It’s second hand emotion, Julie,’ said Gordon. ‘They’re using Anne-Marie’s death to parade their self-righteousness before each other. The truth is they didn’t give a damn about Anne-Marie when she was alive and they don’t really give a damn about her now that she’d dead. She’s just a convenient vehicle for self- promotion.’

‘That may well be true,’ conceded Julie. ‘But these are the people in our practice you are talking about. We have to get along with them.’

‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ said Gordon. ‘But if that means turning my back on my friends when I know they’re innocent, the answer is no.’

There was a long silence before Julie said, ‘We really can’t go on like this.’

‘No,’ agreed Gordon. ‘What is it that you want me to do?’

Julie hesitated before saying, ‘I think it might be best if I brought in a locum for the time being, at least until the Palmer business blows over.’

‘Blows over?’ questioned Gordon.

‘Well, until the trial is over and things settle down again.’

Gordon let out his breath in a long sigh. ‘You mean until John is convicted and gets sent down. Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘But I have to tell you, I’ve no intention of leaving Felinbach.’

‘Understood,’ said Julie. ‘I’m not sure what our financial state is exactly but we’ll work something out when I’ve done the figures.’

‘Sure,’ said Gordon.

‘Want that lift?’

‘Maybe not,’ said Gordon. ‘I’ve got one or two things to do in Bangor before I go back.’

‘Okay... well, see you around.’

‘See you.’

Julie left and Gordon remained seated on the bed for a few moments. He felt numb. Mary Hallam looked in and saw him sitting there. ‘I thought you’d left without saying good-bye,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I think I just got the sack,’ said Gordon.

Mary looked at him for a few moments in silence before saying, ‘In that case, the least I can do is offer to buy an unemployed colleague some brunch. You can tell me all about it and while you’re at it, you can tell me why you think John Palmer is innocent. I’m off duty in five minutes. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ said Gordon.

They drove down into the town in Mary’s car, a Honda Civic with more than ninety thousand miles on the clock. ‘Never let me down yet,’ replied Mary when Gordon commented on it.

‘How long have you had it?’

‘Three weeks.’

Gordon found himself forced to laugh when he thought that that might be the very last thing in the world he felt like doing. Mary was not only attractive; she was extremely easy to like.

They stopped at a pub near the pier in Bangor that Mary said she liked and ordered bacon and eggs at a table by a bay window overlooking the Menai.

‘I’m all ears,’ said Mary as they waited for their food.

At first, Gordon tried to be guarded about what he said, a bit unsure of Mary’s motives in bringing him there but he had taken such an intuitive liking to her that he found it difficult. Apart from that, he desperately needed to confide in someone. He found himself encouraged to say more and more until he had told her just about all his suspicions. He found it positively therapeutic: it made him realise that he’d had no one to confide in for such a long time.

‘Well,’ he said when he’d ended by telling her about taking a surreptitious look round Thomas’s private lab. ‘What d’you think?’

‘I think you’re mad,’ said Mary.