Tangled Web

Six

Any difficulty Gordon and Julie were having in making conversation was resolved on Tuesday morning when they both arrived at the surgery carrying copies of the local morning paper.

‘Have you seen it?’ asked Julie.

‘I could hardly miss it,’ replied Gordon, opening his paper to reveal the headline, Hospital Loses Baby’s Body! My Agony by Grief-stricken Mother.

‘It was the cot-death baby in Caernarfon,’ said Julie. ‘What a thing to happen to the parents on top of everything else.’

‘Whose patient?’ asked Gordon.

‘Jenkins,’ replied Julie, giving the name of a Caernarfon GP.

‘I got the impression that they still hadn’t managed to find the baby’s body when this went to press,’ said Gordon.

‘I didn’t pick up on that,’ said Julie, ‘but surely they did, I mean you can’t actually lose a body in a hospital.’

‘You’d think not.’

Julie came through to Gordon’s room after morning surgery was over. He could tell by the expression on her face that something was seriously wrong.

‘You were right about them not having found the baby,’ she said. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from James Trool, the medical superintendent at Caernarfon General. They think the missing baby was sent to the hospital incinerator by mistake: they managed to keep that bit out of the papers.’

‘God Almighty,’ said Gordon. ‘How could that happen?’

‘Some screw-up in Pathology. The baby got mixed up with a biological waste bag.’

‘Jesus,’ said Gordon. ‘Someone’ll pick up their jotters for that.’

Julie smiled at Gordon suddenly sounding very Scottish. ‘They still don’t know the full facts yet,’ she said. ‘The discovery was made when an undertaker opened up the coffin for some reason. If it hadn’t been for that, no one would have been any the wiser.’

‘Makes you wonder if that might not have been better, given the circumstances,’ said Gordon.

‘Absolutely,’ said Julie. ‘But it gets worse; the baby’s father was present when the coffin was opened.’

Gordon rolled his eyes and let out his breath in a long low whistle. ‘What a nightmare.’

‘Trool says that an immediate internal inquiry has failed to uncover the reason for the mix-up so he wants to set up an informal ad hoc external inquiry as quickly as possible. He was wondering if one of us would serve on it.’

‘Informal?’ said Gordon. ‘Sounds like a PR move to me. If an internal investigation didn’t come up with anything what reason is there to believe that a bunch of strangers would do any better?’

‘I think they’re desperate to show that they’re doing everything possible to find out what happened,’ said Julie.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Gordon. ‘This is exactly the kind of story that the press are going to make a meal of.’ ‘Another one,’ said Julie meaningfully. Gordon knew she was referring to the Palmer baby but he let it go for the moment. ‘They’ll whip up public opinion against the hospital until the truth of the affair no longer matters to anyone,’ he said, making it clear with a look that the latter part of his comment was meant for her. In turn, Julie let that go. ‘Would you be prepared to sit on the inquiry?’ she asked.

‘If you like,’ said Gordon. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘They’re going to hold a preliminary meeting at the hospital tonight if everyone concerned agrees; it’s to be at 7.30. James Trool will give a background talk and establish terms of reference for the committee.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Gordon.

‘Thanks,’ said Julie. ‘I’d go myself but it’s parents’ night at Owen’s school and I missed the last one.’

‘No problem,’ said Gordon. ‘But I’d like to take tomorrow afternoon off. I’ve got an appointment to see John Palmer’s lawyer in Bangor. I’ll be back for evening surgery.’

‘Of course,’ said Julie without further comment, but the coldness in her voice was evident. She looked at her watch. ‘Time we were out and about or they’ll think we’ve stopped doing house calls altogether.’

‘I wish.’

Gordon went out on his rounds, calling last at Lucy’s sister’s house in Bangor to see how Lucy was bearing up. ‘How is she?’ he asked when Gina opened the door to him.

Gina shrugged her shoulders and said quietly so that she wouldn’t be overheard, ‘I thought she was much better this morning so we went shopping. Some stupid woman made a comment in the check-out queue at the supermarket and that was that. We had to come straight back.’

‘I think there might be quite a lot of that judging by what I saw in Caernarfon yesterday,’ said Gordon.

‘I saw pictures on the news,’ said Gina. ‘Lucy was devastated. She’d been thinking about going back home.’

Gordon screwed up his face and said, ‘It would do her more good to get away from here completely for a little while. Do you have any other relatives that might put her up for the time being?’

‘She wouldn’t go,’ said Gina. ‘She wants to be near John.’

Gordon nodded and asked, ‘What exactly did the woman in the supermarket say?’

‘She said to her friend, “That’s the murdering bastard’s wife.”’

Apart from Gordon, the independent inquiry team was to comprise two staff doctors from Ysbyty Gwynedd in Bangor, Caernarfon’s director of Public Health, Dr Liam Swanson, Lady Arabella Paget, patron of the Anglesey based medical charity, Med-Menai and Christine Williams, a JP from Bangor. They were welcomed individually by James Trool as they arrived and offered coffee.

‘Thank you for coming,’ said Trool, raising his voice to be heard above the general chatter. ‘We appear to be one short but time’s getting on and I feel I should begin...’

He had hardly said the words when the door opened and an attractive woman in her early thirties entered. She smiled and apologised for her lateness before saying, ‘I’m Dr Mary Hallam from A&E at Ysbyty Gwynedd.’

‘Good of you to come, Doctor,’ said Trool. ‘Anyone working in A&E need offer no further explanation.’

Mary gave a half smile and sat down. It struck Gordon as being just the right response. She clearly didn’t see any need milk the sympathy usually on offer to those working in front line medicine and the smile suggested that she didn’t take herself too seriously — a fault common enough in people at the cutting edges in many professions. She sat almost opposite Gordon in the semicircle that had formed round Trool so he was able to look at her from time to time without appearing rude. Her dark hair and olive skin made her an extremely attractive woman but it was her eyes that really caught his attention. They seemed to say so much about her. She was confident, intelligent, and analytical but not, he sensed, without humour. For some reason he couldn’t quite fathom he felt that he wanted to see her smile properly, without inhibition, but their current circumstances made that event seem a little unlikely.

Trool cleared his throat and continued his welcome, assuring them that they would be given every assistance by the hospital staff in their inquiry just as if they were conduction an official investigation. ‘You may go where you like and interview anyone you wish.’ Trool held up a slim blue folder and said, ‘An information file has been prepared for you and individual copies are available. Unfortunately our own internal inquiry has not been successful...’

‘Why not?’ interrupted Liam Swanson, surprising Trool and interrupting the smooth flow of his delivery. ‘I’m sorry?’ he said.

‘Why was it unsuccessful?’

Trool smiled but it was an uneasy, embarrassed little smile. ‘I think we reached an impasse when it was widely rumoured that, once found, the people responsible would be sacked on the spot.’

‘Rumour or fact?’ asked Swanson.

‘Fact,’ admitted Trool.

‘So you were met with a wall of silence?’

‘More a wall of strident denial,’ said Trool.

‘Presumably we’ll meet the same wall?’

‘That is entirely possible,’ agreed Trool.

Gordon suspected that Swanson was thinking along the same lines as he himself. The unofficial independent inquiry was not really expected to get anywhere: it was a PR exercise.

‘Well, we can but try,’ said Swanson, letting Trool off the hook.

Trool recovered his early composure. ‘I’ve asked Dr Peter Sepp, our consultant pathologist and the man in charge of the department from which Megan’s body was taken, to say a few words to you; he’s waiting outside. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me before I invite him in?’

‘Does Dr Sepp accept responsibility for what’s happened?’ asked Lady Arabella. She spoke with an incredibly cut-glass accent that made Gordon put his hand to his mouth to cover a slight smile. He caught Mary Hallam’s eye and saw that she was thinking the same thing. They had to diver their eyes to avoid making matters worse.

‘Dr Sepp offered his resignation as soon as the mix-up was exposed,’ said Trool. ‘The Trust, however, has seen fit to decline it. I’ll ask him to come in.’

Gordon hadn’t met Sepp before. His first impression was that he was like every other middle-aged Pathologist he’d met. It wasn’t so much a matter of appearance, more a case of demeanour. They invariably seemed to be people for whom life had lost interest. Sepp outlined the course of the internal inquiry in his department in a dull monotone, the bottom line being that no one admitted to knowing anything about the mix-up.

‘Would anyone like to ask me anything?’

Mary Hallam asked about the biological waste disposal system.

‘The path lab is the central collection point for all such waste,’ explained Sepp. ‘Waste tissue from the theatres is brought here first by the porters and then taken together with our own waste to the boiler house incinerator in the evening.’

‘Every day?’

‘Usually except of course when there isn’t any.’

‘How often would that be?’

‘Maybe one day a week, depends on the surgical lists and what sort of operations they’re doing.’

‘So for four days out of the working five, biological waste is taken to the incinerator?’

‘Yes,’ replied Sepp, appearing vaguely puzzled at the line of questioning.

Mary said softly but quite clearly, ‘Then surely such a regular requirement merits an organised staff rota so that you’d actually know who was responsible on any given day?’

‘With hindsight, yes,’ agreed Sepp, deflecting her implied criticism with the unspoken suggestion that everyone sees clearly with the benefit of hindsight. ‘It just so happens that my people have always worked well together without the need for such bureaucracy. I don’t believe in unnecessary tiers of administration.’

Gordon and Mary exchanged another glance. He reflected on the fact that nothing was as secure as the stable door the day after the horse had bolted. The impression that Sepp ran a sloppy department was building inside him.

There was a slight lull in the questions before Christine Williams, looking vaguely uneasy and beginning by apologising for her lack of medical or scientific expertise, said, ‘I’m not quite clear about the child’s coffin.’

People waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. Eventually Sepp said, ‘What exactly is it that you don’t understand?’

‘Why was the child’s coffin lying about in your department in the first place?’

Good point thought Gordon. The others seemed interested too.

‘This happens from time to time,’ said Sepp, ‘usually when there has been some sort of delay, as was the case with the PM on Megan Griffiths. In the normal course of events the undertakers liaise with the mortuary attendants about the arrangements for uplift of a body. They then bring the coffin along, load it and take it away.’

‘So the undertakers are the ones responsible for putting the body in the coffin?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not in this instance, apparently?’

‘No, Megan Griffiths’ body was not ready for release when the undertakers arrived. Her PM had had to be re-scheduled at a later time for some administrative reason. I can’t remember what the reason was off-hand.’

‘So they left the coffin in the mortuary?’

‘That’s what normally happens in such cases.’

‘But surely it should still have been the job of the undertakers to put Megan’s body in the coffin when they came back for it?’

‘Apparently that didn’t happen this time,’ said Sepp. ‘The child’s body — or not the child’s body as it turned out — was already in the coffin and the lid had been screwed down when Prosser’s people came for it.’

‘Wouldn’t that have struck the undertakers as being unusual?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Sepp.

‘This kind of thing happens, does it?’

Sepp moved his feet a little uneasily. ‘As I explained earlier, the undertakers liaise with the mortuary attendants over... procedural details.’

‘Procedural details?’ repeated Liam Swanson, sensing a vulnerability about Sepp.

‘There’s nothing sinister about it,’ Sepp assured him. ‘For instance, it’s the undertakers’ responsibility to come and measure a body before supplying a coffin. In practice they often reach an accommodation with the attendants.’

‘You mean the attendants measure the body instead of the undertaker’s men?’

‘And then phone the undertakers with the figures, yes, it saves them sending someone all the way out here with a measuring tape.’

‘Presumably there’s something in it for the attendants?’

‘I think a small fee’s involved,’ agreed Sepp.

‘So are you telling us then that this understanding sometimes extends to putting bodies in coffins?’ asked Swanson.

‘On occasion,’ agreed Sepp.

‘What sort of occasion?’

‘If the undertakers were hard-pressed, say, with several funerals on the same morning for instance, they might seek the assistance of the mortuary attendants in speeding things up.’

‘You don’t think it lacks... dignity?’ asked Christine Williams.

‘I don’t think the corpses care too much about whether they’re put into coffins by men in black suits or men in white, wearing plastic aprons and Wellington boots,’ replied Sepp, betraying a waspish streak. Trool gave him a warning glance.

‘I presume you questioned the mortuary attendants about such an understanding in this instance?’ asked Swanson.

‘Of course. Neither was aware of any and both of them denied loading the coffin.’

‘And I really think that brings us to the starting point of your inquiry, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Trool interceding smoothly. ‘Perhaps Dr Sepp and I should now leave you to discuss details among yourselves. I’ve arranged with Mr Harcourt, our hospital manager, that this room will be kept free for you at all times.’

Trool and Sepp left the room. Swanson looked at his watch and said to the others, ‘I don’t see much point in our discussing things further this evening when we really don’t have anything to discuss as yet. I suggest we each take our files home and acquaint ourselves with the details and then meet again.’

‘When?’ asked Gordon.

People looked at each other.

‘Thursday lunchtime?’ suggested Swanson.

This suited everyone except Lady Arabella and Mary Hallam who would be on duty.

‘I suspected that this might be the case,’ said Swanson. ‘We’re all busy people; it’s going to be difficult to find times that are convenient for all of us.’

‘It’s an informal inquiry,’ Gordon reminded the others. ‘I suggest that we operate with a majority — or even as individuals should the occasion arise where one of us feels like pursuing a line of inquiry. We can then meet to pool our findings when we actually have something to discuss. Let those of us who can make it meet on Thursday and then we can play it be ear?’

This was agreed.

Gordon started to move towards Mary Hallam as she got up to leave, intending to introduce himself, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Liam Swanson. He said, ‘You must be Julie Rees’s partner. I don’t think we’ve met before.’

Gordon found himself shaking hands and making small talk as, over Swanson’s shoulder, he watched Mary smile and head out of the door.

‘Strange business,’ said Swanson.

‘Bizarre,’ agreed Gordon. ‘It strikes me it was a very odd mix-up to happen in the first place.’

‘How so?’

‘For a mix-up to have occurred between Megan Griffiths’ body and the biological waste bag would require that Megan herself was in a plastic bag when she was put into her coffin. How come?’

‘Good point,’ agreed Swanson. ‘Mind you, thinking back to my own days as a medical student, pathology departments were never places where you’d find much respect for the dead.’