Tangled Web

Twenty four

French wasn’t in the police lab when Gordon arrived to pick up the promised sample of Anne-Marie’s tissue. A colleague said that he had been called away suddenly after, ‘some shit had really hit the fan’, but had left a package for him. Gordon opened up the small Jiffy bag to check that it contained the right thing. He pulled out a small, clear plastic container with a one cubic centimetre sample of tissue in it. An adhesive label on one side of it had Anne-Marie’s name inscribed on it in black marker pen.

Gordon drove over to the university and handed it in with the other samples to Fairbrother who took down details and labelled them meticulously, using his own system. He said he’d get them done as quickly as possible. Gordon was back in Feli by ten thirty where he found a dark grey saloon car waiting outside his flat: the three aerials on the roof suggested that it was a police car. As he got out of the Land Rover, DCI Davies and his sergeant got out of the other car to stand in front of the door, blocking his way. Both wore blank expressions.

‘Problems?’ said Gordon, feeling decidedly apprehensive.

‘Thomas Gordon, I’m arresting you for the murder of Professor Carwyn Arthur Thomas...’

The words dissolved into a hollow echo inside Gordon’s head. His jaw dropped in disbelief.

‘You are not obliged to say anything but...’

Gordon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The desire to pour scorn on Davies and the shock of being arrested was offset by the realisation that Thomas actually had been murdered. He ended up by simply saying, ‘That makes much more sense.’

Davies looked at him as if he were mad. Sergeant Walters wrote it down in his notebook.

‘You’re admitting it?’ asked Davies.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ replied Gordon.

‘Get in the car.’

The drive up to Caernarfon was completed in absolute silence, with Gordon feeling as if he were sandwiched between two silent robots. He declined the opportunity to call a solicitor, opting instead to phone Mary to tell her what had happened.

She too asked if she should contact a lawyer on his behalf.

‘I haven’t done anything,’ he replied.

Davies switched on the recorder in the interview room, related who was present and permitted himself a small smirk as he faced Gordon across the table.

‘I would strongly suggest, Dr Gordon that you make a clean breast of it all and tell us everything.’

‘What’s to tell? I’m completely in the dark. I was under the impression that the professor had died of natural causes — at least that’s what Dr French told me last night.’

‘You spoke to French?’

Gordon didn’t think a confirmation was necessary.

Davies smirked and said, ‘All doctors together is it? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours? Well, let me tell you this, my son, you might have been clever enough to fool your fellow medics but you didn’t fool the forensic toxicology boys for one moment. ‘Amyl nitrate ring a bell?’

‘’Should it?’

‘That’s what they found in the professor’s samples. He’d been given a large amount of the stuff. It makes the heart race, but then you’d know that, being a doctor wouldn’t you?’ Davies leaned over the table till his face was very close to Gordon’s. ‘And because you administered it!’

‘So that’s how he did it,’ said Gordon calmly.

‘Who?’ asked Davies, sounding more annoyed than inquisitive.

‘The man who killed Professor Thomas and probably Maurice Cleef too, maybe even Anne-Marie Palmer.

Davies did not break into fits of sarcastic laughter. Instead he sat back in his chair again, looking at Gordon as if he were an exhibit in a zoo. He turned his pen, end over end on the surface of the table several times, and then he said, ‘What is this shit?’

‘I was wrong about Thomas experimenting with human cloning,’ said Gordon. ‘It wasn’t him — it was a member of his staff, an embryologist named, Ranulph Dawes. Thomas must have latched on to what he was up to and started to investigate on his own.’

‘And what brought you to that conclusion?’

Gordon calmly told Davies all that he’d worked out and was relieved to see that Davies was — or appeared to be, taking what he said seriously.

‘That’s quite a story,’ said Davies when he’d finished. ‘But is that all it is or can you prove any of it?’

Gordon was honest. ‘It’s going to be difficult,’ he admitted. ‘I stupidly tried to enlist Dawes’s help when I thought Thomas was the guilty party so he’s had time to get rid of all the evidence. I did, however, take down some reference numbers from the frozen foetuses I found in Thomas’s freezer and there’s the all important tissue sample taken from Anne-Marie Palmer’s body that French came up with. I took it up to the university labs this morning; they’re going to DNA fingerprint it. I’m sure it’s going to show that she wasn’t the natural child of the Palmers.’

‘The university labs?’ asked Davies, latching on to the last bit.

‘I asked the same scientist that Professor Thomas used when he started to become suspicious. An entirely independent expert on the technique.’

Davies looked at Gordon like an owl contemplating its supper but decided against any more confrontation at this juncture. ‘And if this should confirm what you claim, what then? How does it help?’

‘The IVF unit must have records of who actually carried out the actual lab work for each patient. If it was Dawes who carried out the IVF procedure in the case of Lucy Palmer and it should turn out that her baby was not her biological child, then he obviously has some explaining to do. With a bit of luck he’ll see that the game’s up and fill in the missing details himself.’

‘And maybe Bangor will win the European Cup next year,’ said Davies but that was as far as the sarcasm went. He turned and said to Walters, ‘We’d better check this out.’ Turning back to Gordon, he asked, ‘Will this Dawes character be at the hospital right now?’

‘I should think so,’ said Gordon. ‘He’s still under the impression that I think Thomas was the guilty man. He also still thinks that Thomas’s death has been put down to natural causes unless you’ve told anyone it was murder?’

‘It’s not common knowledge but I did inform Dr Trool that Thomas had been murdered,’ said Davies. ‘He’s been phoning up every five minutes, worried about possible scandal and the bloody hospital’s reputation. He just about had a heart attack himself when I told him what the toxicology report on Thomas said.’

‘Did you ask him to keep it to himself?’

‘He was hardly likely to go blurting it out to all and sundry was he?’ retorted Davies.

‘If Dawes hears about that report, chances are he’ll be off like a scalded cat. If not, he probably believes he’s in the clear and possibly even in a good position to take over the unit if the hospital decides to continue with it.’

‘We’d better get over there and you’d better come with us.’

‘Does that mean I’m no longer under arrest?’

‘For the moment. Do you have these reference numbers you spoke of?’

‘They’re in my wallet.’

Gordon and Davies sat together in the back of the unmarked police car that took them up to the hospital. DS Walters sat in the front with the uniformed driver. They didn’t talk much on the way: the uneasy truce between Davies and Gordon did not as yet extend to small talk.

The IVF unit seemed deserted when Gordon, leading the way, entered and started looking into rooms as they came to them. They found a group of four female technicians sitting in the staff room, drinking coffee and talking in hushed tones. They stopped when they saw Gordon.

‘Is Dr Dawes around?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t seen him today,’ said a fair-haired girl.

‘Are you expecting him?’

‘The girl shrugged. ‘He didn’t say he wasn’t coming in,’ she said. ‘But no one seems to know who’s doing what or what’s going on.’

Gordon nodded. ‘He glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘These gentlemen are policemen. We’d like to take a look round if that’s okay with you?’

‘Of course. Let us know if you need help with anything. Is it true that Professor Thomas was murdered?’

Gordon stopped in his tracks. ‘Where did you hear that?’ he asked.

‘One of the secretaries heard a rumour,’ said the girl.

Gordon turned and looked at Davies who shrugged and said, ‘Bush telegraph, faster than satellite technology.’

A man wearing thick black-rimmed glasses and a black polo shirt under his white lab coat came into the room and the girls stiffened. They got up from the table and queued to wash out their coffee mugs at the sink.

‘I’m Michael Deans, the chief technician. Can I help you?’

Again, Davies let Gordon do the talking, hoping to keep an air of informality about their presence for the moment. Gordon explained who they were and that they had hoped to have a word with Dawes. ‘I understand he’s not been in today?’

‘Not yet anyway. I’m afraid everything’s in a state of flux at the moment. We’re all in shock, you could say.’

‘Quite understandable,’ sympathised Gordon, hoping the man might be useful to them. ‘Perhaps you can help us,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a series of reference numbers here that Professor Thomas gave me; would it be possible for you to find out for us which patients they relate to and who carried out the actual IVF lab work on them?’

‘Possible yes...’ Deans hesitated. ‘But I’d need authorisation.’

Davies held out his warrant card. ‘This is all the authority you need.’

The technician took a deep breath as if giving himself time to decide whether it was worth digging in his heels or not. In the end he took the numbers from Gordon and said, ‘Follow me.’

They trooped in single file, through to the unit office where the technician asked one of two secretaries for, ‘The blue book’.

The woman looked up from her desk at the three men waiting there but did not say anything. She just opened up her desk drawer and took out a blue covered notebook that she handed over without question.

‘Police,’ said the technician by way of explanation before leading the others out into the main lab area. There was a small, glass-panelled office at the far end where he put the book down on a desk and flipped it open to start tracing the numbers Gordon had given him. He found the page he was looking for and ran his index finger down the left-hand side before stopping about a third of the way down. ‘275643... Maitland baby, malformed foetus, aborted 14 July, 1998. Parents, Iris and Glyn Maitland, 14, Ryder Close, Caernarfon.’

The man paused while DS Walters finished writing the details down.

‘Next,’ said Davies.

‘275809... Bannister baby, malformed foetus, aborted 23 August, 1998. Parents, Robert and Beatrice Bannister, 7/14, Fford Glyder, Felinheli.

275882... Griffiths-Williams baby, malformed foetus, aborted 3 November, 1998. Parents, Trevor and Ann Griffiths-Williams, Moonstone Cottage, Beddgelert.’

‘One final one,’ said Gordon. He handed over another number and the technician looked it up.

‘275933... Anne-Marie Palmer, born 14 December, 1998 to John and Lucy Palmer, Menai View, Aberton, Felinbach. Severe deformity to lower limbs, survived and went home after corrective surgery.

‘What now?’ Davies asked Gordon.

‘Who did the lab work on these four cases?’

‘All done by Dr Dawes,’ replied Deans, without having to refer to the book again.

‘Would you expect there to be siblings in cold storage for these reference numbers?’

‘It’s normal practice.’

‘Would you check please?’

Gordon and the two policemen stood by while Deans came out of the office and into the main lab where he walked over to the storage freezers. He took down a pair of long gauntlets that hung from a hook on the wall and put them on before undoing the clasp on one of the freezers, releasing as he did so, a cloud of nitrogen vapour into the air. He reached in and brought out a stack of ice-encrusted racks, clearing the front of it with his gloved hand so that he could read the labels. He found the one he was looking for and traced the correct row and number with his gloved forefinger.

‘Missing,’ he said.

Gordon and Davies exchanged a glance before Deans went on to check for vials corresponding to the other numbers. All were missing.

‘No siblings for any of them,’ said Deans.

Gordon steered Davies to a corner of the lab. ‘That’s what Thomas discovered,’ he said. ‘He wrote no siblings on Anne-Marie Palmer’s notes.’

‘But that in itself doesn’t prove anything,’ said Davies. ‘Does it?’

‘No, but it put Thomas on the right track. Normally after IVF, more than one egg would be fertilised so they’d store the ones they weren’t using for possible future use if the couple wanted more children. This wouldn’t be the case in a cloning. That’s what made him suspect that these four pregnancies were attempts at human cloning. And that’s why he got the three foetuses back from pathology. Only one resulted in a live birth — Anne-Marie Palmer. The DNA profile on her tissue will show that she wasn’t really the Palmers’ daughter.’

As they walked back over to join Deans, Gordon remembered that he had been the technician who had accompanied Thomas to the path department on the day that Megan Griffiths’ body went missing. He asked him about it.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Deans. ‘As I told your colleagues when they questioned me, Professor Thomas was a bit secretive about why he wanted the foetuses. I thought he and Dr Sepp were going to have a right old set-to about it when he made the request. I think Dr Sepp thought his competence was being questioned but he relented in the end, although I’m sure the argument continued when I left to bring them back up here.’

‘You didn’t come back with Professor Thomas?’

‘No, it seemed like they were going to be at it all afternoon. Professor Thomas was already late for an important meeting when I left. I met Ran Dawes coming down to remind him.’

‘Ran Dawes was on his way to Pathology?’ asked Gordon, surprise showing in his voice. ‘There was no record of him being there.’

‘Like I say, he was just going there to remind Prof Thomas that he was due at a meeting.’

‘Did you know about this meeting or was that something that Ran Dawes told you when you met him?’ asked Gordon.

‘Something he told me.’

‘Did Ran Dawes return to the unit with Professor Thomas?’

Deans thought for a moment before saying, ‘No, he didn’t, come to think of it. I remember seeing Professor Thomas come back a good bit later: I remember because he was in a bad mood, but Ran wasn’t with him.’

‘Maybe you could ask the secretaries about Thomas’s meeting on that day. Get them to check the diary. Find out what time it was at and who it was with.’

‘Okay.’

‘I think maybe we should go talk to Dr Dawes at home,’ said Davies. He turned to Deans. ‘Do you have an address for him?’

‘The office will. I’ll get it.’

Deans returned a few minutes later, saying, ‘Here you are. He stays over in Aberlyn: he rents a house there.’ He handed the address to Davies.

Davies looked thoughtful for a moment then he said, ‘It might be an idea if you were to phone him first.’

‘What d’you want me to say?’

‘Ask him if he intends coming in today. Make up your own reasons for asking.’

‘I’ll call from the office,’ said Deans.

Davies nodded to Walters who took this as a directive to accompany Deans.

‘What d’you reckon?’ Davies asked Gordon when they were alone.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s done a runner,’ said Gordon. ‘If he heard the rumour about you treating Thomas’s death as murder.’

‘Maybe that’s for the best,’ said Davies thoughtfully.

Gordon looked at him.

‘If he runs, it’s as good as an admission of guilt and it means he’s scared. He’ll be more inclined to come clean when we catch him — and we will. If he stays cool and brasses it out then we could be hard pushed to pin anything at all on him.’

‘But if the DNA test on Anne-Marie proves she wasn’t the Palmers’ child?’

‘He could simply plead a mix-up in the lab. He’d claim that Lucy Palmer was implanted with the wrong egg.’

Gordon saw Davies’s point. ‘And you could hardly DNA test everybody in the country to find out just exactly who it was he cloned,’ he added.

‘Precisely.’

‘God, you don’t think he could still get away with it, do you?’

‘A few suspicious reference numbers and a dodgy DNA fingerprint from a dead baby — what d’you think?’

‘Damn,’ said Gordon. ‘Let’s hope he talks.’

‘Amen to that.’

Deans returned and said, ‘No answer.’

‘And the secretaries say that Professor Thomas didn’t have a meeting at all on the afternoon in question,’ added Walters. ‘Dawes must have made it up.’

‘Let’s hope he’s shitting himself in some service station motel on the M6,’ grunted Davies. ‘The more scared he is, the better.’ Then Davies said they should be going and Deans made to show them out.

As they left the main lab, one of the female technicians they’d seen earlier was entering. Deans stopped her and said, ‘Top up storage tank three with liquid nitrogen, will you, Karen. I had to open it: it’s lost a bit.’

‘Will do,’ replied the girl.

Davies turned to Deans as they reached the front door and said, ‘I’d rather you didn’t spread any of this around.’

‘Understood,’ said Deans. ‘What if Dr Dawes should turn up?’

‘Let us know immed—’

Davies was interrupted by the sound of a scream coming from the main lab. All three men turned to see the girl called Karen standing in the doorway. She was wearing long gloves and a plastic full-face visor. Her hands were by her sides and she seemed unsteady on her feet.

‘Karen! What is it?’ exclaimed Deans. ‘What’s the matter?’

The girl looked at him, her face white inside the mask. Suddenly her body heaved and she vomited over the inside of her visor. Deans rushed forward to offer her support while Davies and Gordon hurried past into the main lab. At first they couldn’t see anything amiss but wisps of white vapour alerted Gordon to the fact that the heavy door to the liquid nitrogen store was ajar. He pointed this out to Davies and they both approached cautiously. Gordon pulled the clasp and a cloud of vapour enveloped them like sea mist for a moment. When it cleared they could see the frozen body of a man lying there. Despite the crusting of ice on his face and in his hair, Gordon could see that it was Ran Dawes. ‘It’s him.’

‘Christ,’ said Davies. ‘Where does this leave us?’

Gordon was lost for words.