Tangled Web

Nine

Gordon arrived at the meeting and apologised for being a few minutes late. Swanson volunteered that they were actually just waiting for the two mortuary attendants to come up from Pathology. He had requested that they present themselves for questioning and Mr Harcourt was bringing them upstairs. Gordon was about to tell everyone what he had discovered when a knock came to the door and Harcourt put his head round it to announce that that he had mortuary technician, David Meek with him. Swanson nodded and said, ‘Let’s at least go through the motions.’

Meek was ushered to a seat in front of the committee. He was a slight individual with greasy dark hair and a speech impediment that made understanding what he said difficult at first but it was something that became progressively easier as ears became attuned to his voice.

Gordon was surprised that the man turned out to be more resentful than nervous and displayed a marked sullenness throughout the interview. He was subjected to robust, if not openly aggressive, questioning for almost fifteen minutes but maintained ignorance of anything to do with the Megan Griffiths affair. He seemed openly annoyed that he was being questioned about something he clearly felt he’d been asked about too much already.

Meek was followed by the other attendant, an older man named Henriques, who smelled strongly of pipe tobacco and had a disconcerting habit of wiping his lips with the back of his hand before and after every answer. He said much the same as Meek, his answers often matching Meek’s word for word. He knew nothing at all about any mix-up and had no suggestion to make as to how it could have happened.

Swanson’s disappointment was obvious when the interviews were over.

‘Pretty much as we expected, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘What d’you feel? Were they lying to save their jobs or were they telling the truth?’

‘I believed them,’ said Christine Williams.

There were resigned murmurs of agreement from the others. Once again, Gordon was about to say what he’d found out at Prosser’s when another knock came to the door and Harcourt came back in. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.

‘They continued to deny all knowledge of any mix-up and I think it’s fair to say we believed them,’ said Swanson.

Harcourt looked sceptical. ‘Personally, I think they’ve worked out that, if they both keep mum or tell the same story, they’ll keep their jobs and no one will be able to touch them for the mix-up. Common sense says that it had to be down to them.’

‘It wasn’t a simple mix-up,’ Gordon announced.

‘I’m sorry?’ said Harcourt as the room fell silent.

Gordon told them about his visit to Prosser’s. He concluded by saying, ‘The person who put the biological waste into Megan Griffiths’ coffin knew exactly what they were doing. There was no innocent mix-up involving waste bags. The material was never actually inside a biological waste bag until it was put in one by the men sent over by the hospital to recover it.’

There were gasps from the others and requests for more information. Harcourt seemed to lose colour. ‘I don’t think I understand,’ he said. ‘Are you saying that it was a deliberate, malicious act, designed to shock or discredit the hospital in some way?’

Gordon shook his head. ‘I hardly think so; the person responsible could not have anticipated the coffin being opened again, so, if things had gone to plan, no one would ever have known about it.’

‘I think Dr Trool had better hear this,’ said Harcourt. He left the room, saying he’d be back shortly.

Swanson took Gordon to one side and asked, ‘You’ve obviously had some time to think about this on the way over, have you reached any conclusions?’

Gordon said that he thought some kind of mix-up might still be possible, although now it would have to involve the disposal of Megan Griffiths’ body at some earlier time, followed by an attempted cover-up using the contents of the biological waste bag to make up weight in the coffin.

‘What sort of disposal?’ asked Swanson.

‘Good question.’

Harcourt returned with a grim looking James Trool who came into the room, gasping, ‘This is all I need. The papers will have a field day when they get hold of it: they’ll crucify us. Are you absolutely certain?’

‘The undertaker is adamant that the waste material was not held inside any kind of bag. That being the case, it could not have been put there by mistake,’ said Gordon.

Trool shook his head. ‘I thought a mix-up was bad enough,’ he said, ‘But the suggestion that the act was deliberate just beggars belief. This could do the hospital untold damage and it’s come at the worst possible time, just when we were looking forward to some well-deserved, positive publicity.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Swanson.

‘The IVF symposium next week,’ replied Trool. ‘Some of the world’s leading authorities on in vitro fertilisation are coming to Caernarvon General to pay tribute to the work of Professor Thomas. They are holding a four-day symposium and we were anticipating some favourable press and television coverage. I need hardly point out that this sort of thing means a lot to hospitals these days when we are all competing for funds. We have here a centre of excellence in Professor Thomas’s unit and public awareness of that fact is so important. A successful symposium could put us up there on the stage with some of the best hospitals in the country. Now it looks like all that press attention will go to the Griffiths business.’

‘It is quite a serious business,’ Swanson reminded him.

Trool immediately held up his hands and adopted a pained expression. ‘Please, please, don’t get me wrong,’ he pleaded. ‘It was not my intention to minimise the awfulness of what’s happened. I just care so deeply about this hospital and its reputation that it pains me to see us being pilloried for what, after all, must have been some tragic sort of mistake, however it came to pass.’

‘I think we can all appreciate how you feel, Doctor,’ said Swanson to nods of agreement all round.

‘This is still an unofficial inquiry,’ Gordon pointed out. ‘There’s no requirement for us to give the press a blow-by-blow account of what’s happening during the course of our investigations. In fact, we are under no obligation to tell anyone anything at all at the moment.’

‘Good point,’ said Swanson, seeing what Gordon was getting at. The others nodded their agreement.

‘I suggest we adopt a policy of saying nothing to the press until our inquiries are complete.’

Trool was obviously very relieved. ‘I’m very grateful to you all,’ he said. ‘We’d certainly appreciate a breathing space and I reckon we are about due for a lull in press coverage. They’ve said about as much as they can about Megan without repeating themselves. They may now be content to wait for something new to come along or for enough time to elapse so they can start complaining about tardiness or maybe start seeking out one of the cover-ups they’re so fond of.’

‘There is one thing you should be prepared for however, Dr Trool,’ said Swanson. ‘Unless we come up with some evidence over the next few weeks to confirm the accidental disposal of Megan Griffiths’ body, we may well have to hand things over to the police.’

Trool nodded gravely. ‘I understand,’ he said quietly and left the room accompanied by Harcourt.

‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Christine Williams.

‘I suggest we go away and have another look at the timing of events in the files we were given,’ said Swanson. ‘In the light of what Dr Gordon has come up with, we have to consider that Megan’s body went astray at an earlier time than we first thought. Perhaps we can narrow it down to the period between when it came into the mortuary from the PM room and probably before the biological waste arrived from the theatres. Let’s see if we can correlate that with the names of people who were seen in the Path department around that time?’

The meeting broke up with Swanson saying that he would contact them individually by phone in due course. ‘In the meantime, we say nothing at all to the press except that our inquiries are continuing.’

Gordon was about to get into his car when he saw James Trool hurrying across the car park towards him; he paused, resting his arm on the open door.

‘Glad I caught you,’ said Trool. ‘Are you in an awful hurry or can you spare a few minutes?’

‘No great hurry,’ said Gordon. ‘I was just going to pick up a sandwich for lunch.’

‘Then perhaps you’d care to join us,’ said Trool. ‘By us I mean Professor Thomas and myself. I was telling him of your understanding attitude over our concern with the press; he’s very grateful too. Have you met him?’

Gordon said that he hadn’t. He was concerned that having lunch with senior members of the hospital staff might be construed as being a little too cosy with the establishment he was supposed to be investigating but dismissed the notion as being over-cautious. He hadn’t agreed to cover anything up, just not to make any unnecessary statements to the papers.

‘Brilliant man,’ said Trool.

Gordon locked up the car again and walked back to the hospital with Trool where they met up with Thomas in a small dining room on the same floor as Trool’s office. There were perhaps eight tables, each seating four people and spaced at a discreet distance from each other. Gordon counted ten people in the room; their clothes and confident manner suggested consultant medical staff.

Trool led the way over to a table by the window where a small man with a swept-back mane of white hair rose to meet them.

‘Carwyn, I’d like you to meet Tom Gordon, one of our local GPs. Tom, may I present Professor Carwyn Thomas, director of the IVF unit here at Caernarvon General.’

Gordon shook hands with Thomas, noting that he’d become ‘Tom’ on the way up from the car park. ‘A great pleasure, Professor, he said, ‘I’m familiar with your work of course. In fact, I’ve referred patients to you in the past.’

‘With some success I hope,’ smiled Thomas.

Gordon thought it prudent not to mention the Palmers at that particular moment.

‘Where about are you a GP?’ asked Thomas.

‘Felinbach and surrounding area.’

Thomas nodded. ‘It can’t be easy being a GP at a time when medicine is advancing on all fronts; there must be so much for you to keep up with?’

‘A constant struggle,’ agreed Gordon who joked, ‘I’m never short of bedtime reading.’

Gordon found the food passable and the conversation agreeable, if a little strained. He thought he detected a slight atmosphere between Trool and Thomas but wasn’t sure. Their politeness to each other seemed to suggest a lack of warmth. He got the impression that the conversation was being deliberately steered to topics outside the hospital and medicine in a search for neutral ground. They ended up discussing the relative merits of the home nations rugby teams in the current international season. As Trool was English, they already had three of the nations at the table.

Half way through the main course, Trool’s phone went off and he had to excuse himself from the table. Before he left, he apologised profusely to Gordon about having to go and said again how grateful he was for the understanding he had shown. He would be in touch soon.

‘That man lives on his nerves,’ said Thomas as Trool left.

‘He seems to care a great deal about the hospital. I suppose it must be a pretty stressful job,’ said Gordon.

‘Try “marriage”,’ said Thomas. ‘He should have listened to what Chaucer said about January and June.’ He didn’t volunteer any more and Gordon thought it impolite to ask.

As he finished his coffee, Gordon was pleased when Thomas offered to show him around the IVF unit. ‘I really feel we should interact more with our colleagues outside the hospital,’ said Thomas as they made their way through busy corridors. ‘It can only be in the patients’ interest in the long run, don’t you agree?’

The tour started in Thomas’s own office where Gordon was amused by the walls being covered with photographs of young children.

‘My other family,’ said Thomas proudly. ‘These are all children who resulted from their parents receiving treatment here.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Gordon, full of admiration. ‘Not many doctors can point to such tangible proof of their impact on people’s lives.’

‘I get Christmas cards from nearly all of them,’ said Thomas.

‘Is this where you meet patients for the first time?’ asked Gordon.

Thomas replied that it was. ‘I think it puts them at their ease. Breaks the ice, so to speak. You know I’m still constantly surprised at the strength of feeling involved in wanting to become parents. It’s such a powerful force and they are very vulnerable people. We constantly have to be on our guard about offering false hope.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Gordon, thinking of the Palmers and their long quest to become parents.

There was something about the way he said it that Thomas caught on to. ‘You said you’d referred patients to me in the past?’ he said.

‘John and Lucy Palmer were my patients,’ said Gordon.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Thomas thoughtfully. ‘Felinbach and surrounding area, I should have realised. Such a sad case, an absolute tragedy and at a time when I felt so sure they’d both come to terms with their baby’s problems and were doing so well.’

‘They had and they were,’ said Gordon firmly.

‘How can you say that after what happened?’ asked Thomas, looking puzzled.

‘I think John Palmer admitted to the crime because he mistakenly thought that Lucy might have done it after having some kind of relapse. If you remember, she suffered quite badly from post-natal depression?’

‘I do. Have you mentioned this to the police?’

‘I’ve been telling anyone who will listen,’ said Gordon ruefully. ‘No one wants to know, least of all the police.’

‘But the baby was found in the Palmers’ own garden,’ said Thomas ruefully.

‘I know,’ sighed Gordon. ‘But I’m still convinced he didn’t do it.’

‘I can see that,’ said Thomas, leaning back in his chair, ‘I didn’t realise there was more to this than met the eye. It needs thinking about. In the meantime, if there’s anything I can do to help, you must let me know.’

‘I’m hoping they’ll at least let me visit John; he’s not been speaking to anyone,’ said Gordon.

Thomas nodded and said, ‘It was a blow to all of us here when their baby was born the way it was. They’d been one of our most difficult cases and we were all prepared to celebrate our success when suddenly it all went terribly wrong.’

‘Have you had many cases of babies being born with deformities?’ asked Gordon.

‘It never used to be the case,’ said Thomas. ‘Our problem in the past, apart from complete failure of course, was usually concerned with multiple births but, since we started using ICSI for the more difficult cases, we’ve had quite a few serious problems. Mercifully, most of them haven’t gone to term; they’ve spontaneously aborted. The Palmers’ baby was an exception, a badly deformed foetus that did go to term and survived post-natal surgery.’

‘ICSI is where you inject the sperm directly into the ovum, isn’t it?’ asked Gordon.

Thomas nodded. ‘That’s right. Intra-Cytoplasmic Sperm Injection, more usually called, “icksee” for obvious reasons. Our chief embryologist is quite expert at it but the technique still seems to carry quite a high risk of foetal abnormality. It’ll be interesting to hear the experience of others at next week’s symposium. Why don’t you come along?’

‘To the symposium?’ exclaimed Gordon, taken by surprise, ‘I’m a simple GP. Most of it will go over my head.’

‘There’s no such thing as a simple GP,’ said Thomas. ‘Think about it; you’d be most welcome.’

‘You know, I’d like that,’ said Gordon after a moment’s thought. ‘Maybe I will come along to a couple of talks if I can find the time. Thanks for asking.’

‘Come on, I’ll show you around the rest of the unit.