Tangled Web (25 page)

Gordon felt his pulse rate rise as Thomas looked across the tarmac and recognised him. Gordon saw him frown and look puzzled as he locked his car door and came towards him.

‘Well, Doctor,’ said Thomas with what looked like a forced grin, ‘What brings you here at this time of night?

‘I might ask you the same question, Professor,’ replied Gordon. ‘Bit late for a clinic, is it not?’

Thomas seemed to take this as a challenge. He stared at Gordon without blinking for a few moments. Gordon suspected this was a technique the man used for intimidating nurses and junior doctors when something had displeased him. He returned the stare and Thomas blinked first.

‘I had to spend the day in London. Another of these damned research council meetings. I thought I’d pop in to see that everything was all right.’

Gordon was delighted to hear that Thomas had been away all day. It meant that he hadn’t had a chance to do anything about Anne-Marie’s body. ‘I’m here to check up on a few things to do with the Megan Griffiths business,’ he volunteered.

‘At this time of night?’

‘Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today,’ said Gordon. It didn’t get much of a smile. They walked together towards the main door in silence but just before they reached it, Thomas stopped beside a dark green Jaguar car and looked puzzled.

‘Something the matter?’ Gordon asked.

Thomas appeared not to hear him at first and then realised he had been spoken to. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I asked if something was wrong,’ said Gordon.

‘No, nothing.’

‘Good. Perhaps you can help me? I need to gain access to the Pathology Department.’

‘Pathology?’ exclaimed Thomas.

‘One or two procedural things I need to check on.’

‘Surely that sort of thing is best done when the staff are actually there?’ said Thomas.

‘Maybe, but I’d just like to have a look around on my own and get a feel for a few things that have been bothering me,’ said Gordon.

‘I don’t think I understand,’ said Thomas.

‘I have the same sort of feeling,’ said Gordon. ‘I don’t think I understand why you requested that Anne-Marie Palmer’s body be brought here to Caernarfon.’

Thomas was taken aback. ‘What has that got to do with … Who told you that?’

‘No matter,’ replied Gordon. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

‘I wanted to carry out a few tests. Dr French was kind enough to give me permission.’

‘As to whether it’s in Dr French’s power to grant you such permission is another matter,’ said Gordon. ‘Personally, I find it odd; he seemed quite a stickler for the rules when I asked if I could do much the same thing.’

‘Of course,’ nodded Thomas, suddenly remembering Gordon’s interest in the case. ‘Your belief in John Palmer’s innocence. You are meddling in something you don’t understand here, Doctor. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll leave things as they are.’

This for Gordon was a seminal moment. It confirmed that there was something to ‘meddle’ in. ‘Thanks for the advice, Professor, but what I really need to know right now is how I get into Pathology?’

For a few seconds it seemed that Thomas might lose his temper; his mouth twitched and his eyes flashed but he kept control. Finally, he simply said, ‘I’ll accompany you to the office and they’ll give you a key.’

Things had worked out better than Gordon could have hoped for. The fact that he was being given a key meant that he
would
be alone in Pathology. Getting a tissue sample from Anne-Marie was going to be a much simpler business all round.

The elderly man on the desk rose from his chair as Thomas entered. He was short, tubby and wore red braces over a green striped shirt; they held the waistband of his trousers somewhere between his navel and his nipples. He had been watching a small portable television and his eyes still seemed reluctant to leave it for more than a few seconds. He kept glancing back at the screen as Thomas made his request, taking sideways looks at it as he collected a key from a row of keys hanging up along the back wall of the office. He slapped it down on the desk and brought out a grubby hardcover notebook from under the desk. He opened it where a pen had been inserted as a marker. ‘Sign here,’ he said, sliding the book around through 180 degrees and pushing it across to them. Thomas indicated that Gordon do the signing and he did. He took possession of the key and the man returned to his television programme, never really having ever been away.

‘Remember to take the key back when you’re finished,’ said Thomas when it came to the parting of the ways. Gordon assured him that he would and wished him goodnight. Thomas grunted in reply and walked off leaving Gordon to go downstairs to Pathology.

The bottom corridor was badly lit but totally deserted. Gordon unlocked the door to Pathology and stood for a moment in the darkness before switching on the lights and listening to the stutter of the fluorescent tubes as they struggled up to full brightness. It was about time he had a bit of luck, he thought and this was proving a dawdle so far. He would have what he’d come for and be on his way within minutes.

He walked through the labs and into the post mortem suite where he looked for and found a couple of sterile specimen containers and some surgical gloves. It was important that he did not contaminate the sample with any other source of DNA. For this reason he planned to take a cell sample from Anne-Marie’s internal tissue rather than surface material that could conceivable have been tainted with foreign material during earlier examinations. He selected a scalpel and fitted it with a new sterile blade before replacing it temporarily in its foil sheath while he opened up the clasp bolts on the fridge door.

There were four bodies inside; Anne-Marie’s remains were on the lower left shelf. He engaged the hooks on the transporter trolley and slid out the body, deciding that there would be no need to transfer it to an examination table. He’d simply open up the body bag and carry out the procedure while it lay on the trolley. He recoiled slightly at the smell when he unzipped the bag then steeled himself to continue.

He cleaned up an area on the outer aspect of Anne-Marie’s upper arm and made an incision with the scalpel before inserting a pipette and withdrawing some material, being careful to avoid touching the edges of the cut. Almost as an afterthought, he decided to take a second sample from a different site just to make sure. Two matching DNA fingerprints from different sites should rule out any suggestion of cross-contamination at a later stage.

He was just about to expel the contents of the second pipette into a specimen container when he sensed that he was no longer alone. He hadn’t heard anything; he just felt a presence. His mouth went dry and he imagined that it had suddenly turned colder. He was just about to turn round when the inside of his head exploded in white stars of pain and he was sent hurtling into oblivion.

TWENTY

Gordon could not believe the pain inside his head when he finally came round. The pressure behind his eyes was such that it seemed his skull must explode. He was suffering so much that he almost wished it would. The pain took up so much of his attention that it was some time before he got round to considering other factors like what had happened to him and just where the hell was he now?

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that someone had come up behind him in the mortuary – someone who had taken great exception to him being there – and hit him over the head very hard. He was currently in complete darkness and there was something over his mouth … God, there was something
in
his mouth too, he realised, a piece of cloth - rough cloth. Someone who didn’t believe in half measures had gagged him securely. He couldn’t make the tiniest sound.

This thought was replaced by one that suggested he might actually choke on the cloth should it move too far back. He flung his head to the side, knowing that he would have to avoid lying on his back at all costs. His next discovery was that his arms and legs were tightly bound, something that did little to improve morale and much to encourage a growing feeling of despair. He lay absolutely still for a few moments, sweat trickling down his face, fear causing his stomach muscles to cramp as he tried to work out what was likely to happen next. Whatever it was it seemed that there was very little he could do about it. Not a happy thought.

It must have been Thomas, he decided. Thomas knew that he’d been in the hospital and had known exactly where he was going to be. He’d probably also figured out what he was about to do. He must have followed him down to the mortuary and waited his chance. If Thomas had gone this far, he concluded with a hollow stab of fear, he couldn’t afford to stop now. He would have to go all the way and kill him.

Gordon had put the fact that he was sweating profusely down to the effects of fear but he suddenly realised that it
was
unbearably hot. There was something else bothering him too, something about the quality of the air … it was bad. He was in a confined space and the air was thin. It was the sort of air you’d expect to find in submarines trapped on the seabed, coal mines after a roof collapse … escape tunnels dug without ventilation shafts. Such thoughts added claustrophobia to the equation and put even more pressure on the panic button inside his aching head. On top of everything else there was an unpleasant smell too, a sickly sweet smell that seemed to swirl in counterpoint to the pain. It made a hellish cocktail, one that threatened ever-increasing waves of nausea. God, no! He mustn’t be sick! If he did that he would surely die. Being securely gagged, his lungs would fill and he would drown in his own vomit like some hapless drunk in a dark alley.

He fought against the urge to panic as best he could, disciplining himself to stay calm against all the odds and think rationally. He needed to know as much as he could about his situation and surroundings. Knowledge was power and right now he was without any; he knew absolutely nothing. He started by moving his hands behind his back, feeling the surface he was lying on. It was metallic, he concluded. That was worth knowing; it meant that it was unlikely to be a floor. He tried stretching out his legs and found something soft, maybe a cushion or a pillow, and beyond that, an obstruction only a matter of inches from his feet. He pushed against it and discovered that it wasn’t solid. The amount of give in it suggested that it was almost certainly metal too. A metal base and a metal wall?

He tried moving the other way, wriggling his hips slowly and pushing himself up with his shoulder. His head came into contact with something solid and the pain soared again to nausea-inducing levels. He lay very still, scarcely daring to breathe until it had subsided a little and he could think again. Now he was sure his surroundings were metal because of the noise it made when his head had hit it.

The pain swirled in waves of red mist but it was lessening. A box? Was he in some kind of metal box? He moved cautiously from side to side and made much the same discovery, metal walls on all four sides of him. The word ‘coffin’ made a bid to replace ‘box’ in his mind and conjured up images of iron mort-safes in old churchyards where relatives had protected the bodies of their loved ones from the grave robbers of long ago. The image thankfully faded when he tried to move into a more comfortable position and felt the whole structure move. He shimmied his hips once more and got the same sensation. The box was mobile! He was lying on a trolley! The metal base must be the shelf of a hospital trolley, possibly the one he’d used to support Anne-Marie’s body? But what about the metal ends and the fact that the air was bad? This trolley was enclosed; it had some kind of cover over it. There were no covers on the mortuary body transporters. The only trolley he knew to have a cover …

Gordon’s eyes opened wide inside his black prison as the truth came to him on wings of terror. He was lying on the biological waste transporter; that’s why it smelled so bad. God Almighty! The soft object near his feet must be the source of the smell. He tried a hesitant examination with his bound feet before suddenly realising what the bundle must be. It was Anne Marie Palmer’s body. His attacker had taken the chance to kill two birds with one stone, do away with him and destroy the only remaining evidence at the same time. And the heat? Christ! He was already in the incinerator room. He was waiting to be cremated along with Anne-Marie!

The circumstances of his situation were pushing him to the very edge of insanity. He had never been so afraid in all his life. His lungs wanted to explode in screams of terror but the gag kept him agonisingly mute. He lay, wide eyed in the darkness, wondering if suffocation might not be a better option than being burned alive. Maybe he should actually encourage the gag inside his mouth to move back and block his airway. Wouldn’t it be better to be already dead when the transporter tipped his body into the flames?

Whatever the answer to that particular question was, Gordon decided it was academic and put out of his head. Suicide was not for him. Even on the verge of blind panic and undreamed-of terror, he refused to give in completely. He wanted to fight, if only he knew how but he was bound hand and foot and in complete darkness, only one wrong turn away from choking to death and about to be consigned to the flames of the incinerator.

He remembered from an earlier inspection visit to the incinerator room at the outset of the Megan Griffiths inquiry that the disposal process was entirely automatic. Once the transporter was locked in position and the timer set, no human hand was required. His killer could be sitting at home having a quiet drink when the electric motor whirred into action, the fire door opened, the trolley was lifted and angled and its load slid down the entry chute into the flames.

No one really knows how he or she will behave in a life-threatening crisis until it actually happens. In times of peace, most people can live their entire life without ever having to face such a challenge. Until that moment, Gordon might have decided that he had failed the test of courage because he felt so afraid, but now, to his amazement he actually found anger taking over from fear. It seemed to flow through his veins like extra adrenaline, making him strain at his bindings like a man possessed.