Tangled Web (16 page)

He found himself conceiving the worst possible scenario. Cleef’s killer was out there, biding his time – maybe even watching the surgery, waiting for a chance to kill him too just to make doubly sure that his secret was safe. Gordon looked out of the window into the darkness and shivered.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Julie behind him.

Gordon nearly jumped out of his skin.

Julie looked at him quizzically, surprised at the strength of his reaction. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you.’

Gordon recovered quickly. ‘Sorry - I was away in a dream. I didn’t hear you come in.’

Julie wasn’t convinced. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

Gordon slumped back down into his chair and said, ‘Let’s call it a reaction to Cleef’s death. I must have been the last person he saw or spoke to. It’s an unnerving thought.’

‘Apart from his killer, of course,’ said Julie.

‘I suppose.’

Julie, who still suspected that Gordon wasn’t telling her everything, suddenly saw what he might be concealing and was alarmed. ‘You don’t think this man’s death had anything to do with the business at the hospital, do you?’ she asked, as if afraid of the answer.

Gordon looked at her and said, ‘Cleef was sure that’s why he was being followed.’

‘Good God, it never even occurred to me that there was a connection. But this is awful. Have you told the police?

Gordon shook his head.

‘Why ever not?’ demanded Julie.

‘Any suggestion of a link between Cleef’s death and the Griffiths baby scandal would explode all over the papers and eclipse any coverage of Caernarfon General’s IVF symposium. It’s important to them. They’ve put a lot of effort into it and they deserve a break.’

‘Oh my God,’ sighed Julie, sinking down into the chair usually occupied by patients in Gordon’s room. ‘It’s just one thing after another.’ She sat there mulling things over in her mind for a few moments before a new thought occurred to her and she exclaimed, ‘But you must be in danger too!’

‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Gordon said with a half-hearted smile.

‘What did this man Cleef tell you exactly?’

Gordon told her.

‘That’s not much, is it?’ said Julie, ‘Unfortunately, I don’t suppose the killer knows that.’

‘That’s precisely the problem.’

They lapsed into a worried silence then Gordon had a more encouraging thought. ‘The Harlech was Cleef’s local,’ he said, as if this were a sudden revelation to him.

‘So?’

‘Cleef told me that he was there most evenings. ‘If I needed to get in touch with him I should go there rather than phone him or go to Prosser’s place.’

‘That’s not going to be much good now,’ said Julie.

‘That’s not the point,’ said Gordon. ‘Maybe the killer doesn’t know about me at all!’

‘Explain.’

‘Cleef knew he was being followed when he left home last night so he took evasive action and gave the man the slip in the docks before coming to the Harlech. If the killer knew that the Harlech was Cleef’s local, he might just have set up camp outside and waited for Cleef to either arrive or emerge. He wouldn’t necessarily know that Cleef had arranged to meet anyone there!’

‘I suppose not,’ agreed Julie.

Gordon warmed to the idea. ‘Even if the killer saw me come out the pub with Cleef, I could just have been someone leaving at the same time. We parted company almost immediately and what’s more, we went off in different directions!’

‘Unless of course, the killer recognised you as a doctor and wondered what the hell you were doing in a place like the Harlech Arms in the first place,’ said Julie.

This took the edge of Gordon’s euphoria. He had to admit that Julie had a point. He left the surgery and stepped apprehensively out into the darkness to walk down the hill to his flat. The night in Felinbach suddenly seemed threatening. The houses on the way to the harbour, which in the past had always assumed the friendly silhouette of a fairy tale village, were now huddled together in cold indifference. Every nook and cranny on Harbour Hill concealed a hidden threat. Even the small boats, riding at anchor in the marina, eyed him suspiciously.

It was a relief to close the door behind him and lean his back on it for a few seconds; the flat might be cold but at least it felt safe. He put the snib up on the lock and went into the kitchen to do battle with the heating controller yet again. He was just delivering a second kick to the pump when he remembered that he
still
hadn’t been to the supermarket so there was still nothing in the freezer.

Cursing, he started opening cupboards in a search for something to eat and so avoid going out again. The one above the sink yielded up a tin of sardines so he made himself sardines on toast and put his feet up to watch some TV before having an early night.

Gordon slept badly as he feared he might. His mind was too full of thoughts that transmuted themselves easily into the stuff of nightmares. Black goblins rose from muddy graves to pursue him across a barren wasteland, herding him, like a stricken animal towards a deep moat in front of a dark forbidding castle. The drawbridge was up and there was nowhere to go. The choice lay between the deep, dark water and the razor-sharp teeth of the goblins. As he fell backwards into the water he woke up with a start to find himself covered in sweat. He attributed this to the terror of the dream until he realised that it really was very warm in the flat. For once, the heating had jammed in the ‘on’ position and when he got up to look, the temperature in the room was well over thirty degrees. It was a little after 5a.m. so he decided to have a long bath before going out for a walk to blow away the cobwebs of the night.

He ended up walking for much longer than he’d anticipated due to the fact that, for once, there was a clear sky and it was good to watch the sun come up while on the beach. It reminded him of happier times in his life, and as he walked towards Bangor, watching the sun’s rays light up the structural details of the old Telford Bridge spanning the Menai, he reflected on the fabled, age-old battle between the forces of light and darkness. The warmth of the sun on his face did much to wipe out the lingering aftermath of the nightmare.

Julie called out to him as soon as he walked into the surgery. ‘There was a call for you; you’ve just missed her. Ellen Edwards at
Plas Coch
Farm says Glyn isn’t getting any better. She said you asked her to phone if there was no improvement by Saturday.’

Gordon felt the blood drain from his face as all the good the walk had done him was wiped out in an instant. He sat down in front of Julie like an automaton.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ she asked, alarmed at the sudden change in Gordon’s appearance.

‘I forgot.’

‘Forgot what?’

‘I forgot to take Glyn’s swab over to the lab in Bangor: it’s still in my bag.’

‘I see,’ said Julie, her manner changing, reproach entering her voice.

‘It went clean out of my head.’

‘So what’s the damage?’

‘I gave him chlor-tetracycline for the infection but I took a swab for the lab so they could identify the infection and do sensitivity tests on the bug just in case it proved necessary. The tet’s clearly not working. If I’d taken the swab to the lab on Thursday as I intended I would have had the sensitivity report this morning and I could have changed him to another drug I knew would work. As it is, I’ll have to guess again. God, this is awful.’

‘As you say, you’ll just have to guess again,’ said Julie.

‘Christ, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s Glyn Edwards you should be apologising to.’

‘I’ll get right over there. I don’t know what came over me.’

‘I do,’ said Julie. ‘You’ve just taken on far too much. Your work is beginning to suffer.’

‘Maybe you’d like my resignation?’ said Gordon. He was serious.

Julie looked at him for a moment before her expression relaxed. ‘No, of course I don’t want your resignation,’ she said. ‘We all make mistakes; it’s just that when
we
make them other people tend to suffer. It’s partly my fault anyway; I passed over the Griffiths baby business to you instead of dealing with it myself. I had no idea what it was going to turn into.’

‘I’m really sorry about this: I feel terrible.’

‘Look,’ said Julie, ‘Get over to
Plas Coch
and prescribe a different broad-spectrum antibiotic for Glyn. You can’t be that unlucky twice in a row. If it works, and I’m sure it will, then no time’s been lost and no real harm’s been done.’

‘On my way,’ said Gordon.

Julie stopped his rush to the door. ‘Look, Tom,’ she said, ‘You haven’t had a holiday in over a year. Why don’t you take a couple of weeks off, starting now - sort out what’s on your mind and then come back refreshed?’

‘What about the surgery?’ he asked.

‘I’ll manage,’ she said. ‘Just like you managed when I went away for a few days last autumn.’

Gordon was hesitant.

‘Go on, off with you.’

John Palmer was being held at HM Prison, Cardiff, which presented Gordon with a problem. Should he drive down through the mountains or should he head over to join the M6 and circle round using the motorway network? As he was a bit late in setting off due to his unscheduled trip out to
Plas Coch
farm, he opted for the motorway: it was a longer journey but it would take less time in the end.

The journey down to Cardiff proved uneventful and Gordon found the prison without any trouble. He parked the Land Rover and approached the gates on foot. He had never actually been inside a prison before but a lifetime’s exposure to films and television made it seem almost familiar, right down to the echoing metallic sounds and the stale smell of boiled cabbage. He reflected that if atmosphere had colour, the prison’s would be grey. It was a place where despair had a clear head start over optimism.

Two hefty prison officers escorted John Palmer into the room and Gordon stood up to meet him. He had to make a conscious effort to hide the shock he felt at his appearance for Palmer seemed to have aged twenty years in the past two weeks. His face was much thinner and the stubble on his cheeks looked grey if not white. His eyes were sunk in dark hollows and he had an air of detachment about him as if he’d been heavily sedated.

‘Hello, John. Good to see you.’

‘Tom,’ said Palmer weakly. ‘Thanks for coming.’

The prison officers stepped back, one leaving the room, the other taking up a stance by the door, not quite out of earshot for ordinary levels of speech.

‘This isn’t just a social visit,’ said Gordon in an urgent whisper. ‘You do know why I’m here?’

‘Roberts said something,’ said Palmer.

Gordon leaned forward on the table that separated them. ‘You didn’t do it!’ he said. ‘I know you didn’t, Lucy knows you didn’t, so why in God’s name are you persisting with this ridiculous confession?’

‘I did do it,’ said Palmer calmly. ‘I appreciate your concern but I’ve made a full confession and that’s an end to it.’

Gordon stared at him and Palmer held his gaze, obviously quite resolute in what he said.

‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed Gordon, attracting a glance from the guard on the door, which made him lower his voice again. ‘It doesn’t make any sense! I know you’re lying. You couldn’t possibly have done anything like that and Lucy certainly didn’t do it either so why on earth are you persisting with this?’

Palmer seemed to relax a little. There was almost a hint of amusement in his eyes at seeing his friend so upset. ‘Tom, what do you imagine would happen if both Lucy and I were to maintain that we were both innocent and knew nothing at all about Anne-Marie’s death?’ he asked.

‘It would simply be the truth.’

‘What would happen?’ Palmer insisted.

Gordon felt suddenly uncomfortable because he knew the answer but didn’t want to say it.

‘Well?’

‘The police would be forced to look for the real killer,’ said Gordon, finally coming up with something positive to say.

‘We would be convicted,’ said Palmer flatly. ‘Now, tell me to my face that I’m wrong.’

‘You can’t just give up like that,’ said Gordon but it sounded weak and in his heart he knew that Palmer was right; they would be convicted by overwhelming circumstantial evidence. It suddenly made him realise the enormity of Palmer’s action: it wasn’t anything to do with him believing that Lucy had done it. He knew full well that she hadn’t! He had actually decided to confess so that he alone would take the blame in a battle against overwhelming odds.

Gordon was forced to look at his friend through new eyes. ‘Do you really love Lucy that much?’ he asked.

Palmer smiled distantly and gave just the hint of a nod.

‘You do realise that you’ll be branded a child-killer for life and that the real killer will get away with it because no one will ever bother to look for him now. No one will ever know that you were completely innocent except you and Lucy … and me.’

Palmer sat up straight and said in a louder voice for the benefit of the prison officer, ‘Like I said, I’m guilty.’

THIRTEEN

As he turned off the M6, heading for the north Wales coast, Gordon felt angry and frustrated. If only he could think of a plausible motive for Anne-Marie’s murder, something other than a pathological desire to frame the Palmers and see their lives ruined. He’d actually asked John at one point about the possibility of any such enemy and had been met with a simple, ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

But if sheer malice had to be ruled out, it didn’t leave much else. There again, Gordon considered as his mind strayed, who would want to steal the body of a cot death baby and fill her coffin with human offal instead? Both crimes defied analysis using either logic or common sense. Both seemed absolutely pointless and … Gordon frowned as a new thought occurred to him. Could it possibly be that these two bizarre happenings were actually connected in some way?

Frustration was replaced by excitement as he seriously considered the possibility of some common factor. If Maurice Cleef had been right and a doctor
had
been involved in the Griffiths baby affair, might not he have stolen the body for some scientific or experimental reason? Maybe he needed tissue or some organ from it? If that were the case, then surely it was just conceivable that the same motive had applied to the Palmer baby, only he had had to kill in order to get it.