Tangled Web (5 page)

‘What man was this?’

‘Peggy Grant’s tenant. She’s rented out her house down on Beach Road while she’s away in Australia visiting her son and his family. Nice man, English but a gentleman, like. Works up in Caernarfon.’

‘Paint stripper can be nasty stuff,’ said Gordon. ‘Especially in enclosed spaces.’

‘I popped in here when I got off the bus to buy a bottle of lemonade to take away the taste in my mouth and suddenly all the lights went out. I’ve made a right fool of myself.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Gordon reassuringly. ‘It could happen to anyone. Are you sure that’s all it is? You’ve not been overdoing it lately? Taking on too much in the way of cleaning jobs, I mean.’

‘No, Doctor, far from it. I’ve just given up one of them, Dai didn’t want me going to the Palmers’ house any more, he said.’

There was a murmur of assent from the huddle of women and knowing looks were passed.

Gordon felt annoyed but he knew that rumours had been spreading like wildfire in the village over the past couple of days. Julie had said that she’d heard people talking in the bank on Friday morning.

‘That baby was never kidnapped,’ said one of the women. ‘Mark my words.’

‘Perhaps you should share your knowledge with the police, Mrs Jones,’ snapped Gordon who’d recognised the voice as belonging to the wife of the local butcher.

‘Don’t think I need to, Doctor,’ came the reply. ‘They were up there this afternoon – in force, I hear.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Let’s just wait and see shall we?’ said Freda Jones with a self-satisfied nod of the head as she did up the top button of her coat and sought the support of her companions with sideways glances in both directions.

‘Who’d want to kidnap a child … well, like that,’ said one of the others.

‘Doesn’t make any sense if you want my opinion.’

‘It’s just a matter of time before they find her body. You’ll see; there was never any kidnapping.’

‘Mind you, when you think about it, it must have been a terrible strain on the pair of them; I mean you’ve got to have some sympathy.’

‘Nonsense,’ insisted Freda Jones. ‘The good Lord put that little mite here for a purpose. It’s not up to anyone else to question what that purpose might be.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Maybe you should all just hold your malicious tongues!’ exploded Gordon who could remain quiet no longer.

‘Well, really,’ said Freda Jones angrily. ‘I don’t think there’s any call for that kind of talk. We’re just saying what is perfectly obvious to all of us with the apparent exception of yourself, Doctor.’

Gordon bit his tongue this time and turned his attention back to Ida Marsh to finish his examination. He helped her to her feet. ‘No real harm done,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble but if you do, give me a call at the surgery.’

‘Thank you Doctor, I’m very grateful to you but I’m sure it was just the fumes in that room,’ said Ida Marsh. She said it without any real feeling as if unwilling to alienate her friends by appearing too effusive in her thanks to Gordon.

Gordon closed up his bag and nodded to the huddle as he left. ‘Good Afternoon Ladies.’

As he walked back down the harbour steps, smarting with anger at the rumour- mongers, he worried in particular about what the woman Jones had said. She’d made the fact that the police were up at the Palmer house sound very sinister. The sight of Sergeant Walters standing outside his building when he turned the corner did nothing to help matters, the expression on his face was serious and he didn’t smile as Gordon approached him.

‘Have you found her? She’s not been harmed has she?’ asked Gordon, willing the answer to be positive.

‘I’m afraid she’s dead, sir. We found her this afternoon.’

‘Oh God, no,’ sighed Gordon. ‘Of all the lousy things to happen. Christ, there are some sick bastards out there. Do you know what happened? Where did you find her?’

‘She was found buried in the Palmers’ own garden sir. I’m afraid John Palmer has confessed to murdering his own daughter.’

Gordon felt a great weight come down on his shoulders. He looked at Walters, as if there must be some mistake in what he was hearing. ‘John confessed to murdering Anne-Marie?’ he repeated. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I simply don’t believe it. He loved that child. They both did. I just can’t believe it. If ever the term, good Christian man, could be applied to anyone, it would be John Palmer.’

Walters said flatly, ‘I’m afraid your good Christian man has admitted to murdering his own daughter and burying her body in the garden. That’s an end to it as far as we’re concerned.’

‘How did he do it?’ asked Gordon quietly.

‘We don’t know yet. The forensic people are doing their stuff and the pathologist will do the PM this evening. She was in a bit of a mess, badly decomposed if you know what I mean.’

Gordon looked at him questioningly, ‘She couldn’t have been in the ground for more than three days,’ he said.

‘Maybe something to do with the weather or the soil conditions,’ ventured Walters.

Gordon thought the very opposite should apply in the cold conditions they’d been having but didn’t pursue the matter; he didn’t have the heart. ‘Where’s Lucy?’ he asked.

‘Mrs Palmer collapsed when they found the baby: she’s staying with her married sister over in Bangor for the time being.’

‘Can I see John?’

‘I’m afraid not, he’s still undergoing interrogation at the moment with Chief Inspector Davies.’

Gordon accepted this with a nod.

‘We would value your opinion on John Palmer’s state of mind over the past few weeks if you feel able to help us,’ said Walters. ‘As his GP you’re probably the best person to judge that – if you’d seen him at all of course.’

‘His state of mind?’ repeated Gordon.

‘Was he under a lot of stress? Did he appear worried, morose, sleeping badly, that sort of thing?’

Gordon shook his head slowly. ‘I have seen him on more than one occasion over the last fortnight, as it happens, but socially not professionally. The answer to your question is no, no he didn’t,’ said Gordon. ‘And I still find it impossible to believe that he did what you’re saying he did.’

‘It’s not me saying it sir. It’s him.’

‘They both doted on that child, if anything John more than Lucy.’

The two men looked at each other for a moment before Walters asked the question that now hung in the air. ‘Do you think he might have confessed to protect his wife?’

‘I don’t think I know anything any more,’ Gordon confided in subdued tones. ‘I’m sorry to keep saying it but I just can’t believe that either of them could have done this.’

‘Maybe their child’s deformity had a greater effect on them than you imagined,’ suggested Walters. ‘I mean it must have been awful for them. That sort of thing could really get to anyone, make you believe the entire world was against you.’

‘Anne-Marie was badly disabled; there’s no getting away from that,’ agreed Gordon, ‘but John and Lucy loved their daughter. They weren’t pretending. You can’t fake something like that.’

‘You’re quite sure about both of them?’

‘Yes,’ said Gordon after a moment’s thought.

Walters noticed the pause. ‘You don’t seem …
absolutely
sure?’ he said.

‘I’m sure.’

‘Do they know why the baby was born the way she was?’ asked Walters.

‘Just one of these things. Nobody’s fault.’

‘Seems like a twist of fate too far if you ask me,’ said Walters.

What d’you mean?’

‘Them trying for a baby so hard then having that happen to them. It just doesn’t seem right; surely they deserved a bit of a break after all they’d been through.’

Gordon swallowed any cliché about life and agreed with a nod. ‘They bloody did.’

‘I don’t suppose it was connected in any way, was it? I mean their difficulties in conceiving and the abnormality in the baby?’

Gordon shook his head. ‘No, not as far as I know.’

‘Would you say the outlook for the child was bleak?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You know, in terms of future prospects, education, job and that, quality of life, I think the term is.’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Gordon firmly. ‘She didn’t have legs so it would have meant life in a wheelchair of course, but many people have happy productive lives despite that.’

‘They’re the ones you hear about,’ said Walters.

Gordon looked at him.

‘A friend of mine from schooldays ended up in a chair after an accident playing rugby; athletic bloke he was, good at all kinds of sport, first class sprinter and all that, ended up topping himself, couldn’t take it. It’s horses for courses really. Some people can handle it, some can’t.’

‘I suppose,’ agreed Gordon.

‘Right then, I’ll be on my way,’ said Walters.

Almost on impulse Gordon asked, ‘Do you think I might be allowed to see the body?’ he asked.

Walters appeared surprised. ‘The body? I think you’ll have to ask the police pathologist about that, Doctor,’ he said.

‘It’s Charles French, isn’t it?’

Walters nodded and said, ‘He’s probably on his way to the mortuary right now.’

Walters left and Gordon changed his mind about going inside. Instead he walked back up the hill to the surgery to get the phone number of the forensic service. He saw by the light under her door that Julie was still there. ‘Only me!’ he called out, knowing that she would have heard the outside door open. ‘Burning the midnight oil?’

‘Paperwork,’ replied Julie. ‘Can’t put it off any longer.’

Gordon entered the room that had been her father’s and found her sifting through a pile of government forms on top of the old mahogany desk. She had decided to keep everything in the room as it had been in her father’s day. There was a preponderance of dark wood and leather and an old brass microscope sat on the windowsill, ornamental rather than practical. ‘Where the hell is G49?’ she complained.

Gordon remained silent and Julie looked up. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked. Her voice trailed off as she saw that it wasn’t. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘The police have found Ann-Marie Palmer. She’s dead and John Palmer has confessed to her murder.’

‘Oh my God, how awful.’

‘Unbelievable,’ said Gordon, shaking his head. ‘I just came in to get the number of the police forensic lab. I want to see the body.’

Julie was surprised. ‘Why?’ she asked.

Gordon had difficulty finding an answer. He felt suddenly desolate. ‘You know, I’m not sure,’ he confessed. ‘I suppose I imagine it might help me come to terms with it. At the moment it all sounds like some … horrible mistake. I won’t be able to believe she’d dead until I see her with my own eyes.’

‘Did they say how he did it?’

‘They don’t know yet. I think if he took her in his arms and gently smothered her while crying his eyes out I might be able to accept it but even then … As for anything else? Not John Palmer, no way.’

Julie looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, ‘I’ve got the number here.’ She opened a desk drawer and took out a well-thumbed indexed notebook before writing the number down on a Post-It note and handing it to Gordon. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’ she asked.

‘You get on with your paper chase and I’ll call this number, see if I can view the body and then I’ll go over and check on Lucy Palmer. She could probably do with some help in the way of sedation and maybe even a shoulder to cry on.’

‘Something tells me there will be a lot of talking and crying in Feli tonight when word gets around,’ said Julie.

‘No more sleepy backwater,’ said Gordon with a resigned shrug. ‘No more the place where nothing ever happens.’

‘Do you think the press will have heard by now?’

‘Gordon nodded. ‘If not, they soon will have. It’ll be on everyone’s breakfast table come Monday morning.’

Julie looked sad. She said, ‘This is the kind of story that causes emotions to run riot. Everyone’s going to have an opinion.’

‘A lot’ll depend on how they treat it. If they take a sympathetic line towards the parents we should be okay. If they go for sensation we could be in for a rough ride.’

‘Close-knit community stunned by baby murder,’ intoned Julie. ‘Baby’s death rocks sleepy village. Father slays crippled child.’

‘Well, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it,’ muttered Gordon. They parted company and he walked through to his room to call the police forensic service. After saying who he was, he inquired about the whereabouts of Anne-Marie Palmer’s body.

‘She’s lying in Ysbyty Gwynedd in Bangor, Doctor. Dr French is carrying out the post mortem this evening.’

‘D’you know when exactly?’

‘About now I should think.’

Gordon set the phone to re-route calls to his mobile number and left the surgery to drive the five miles or so to the Ysbyty Gwynedd hospital in Bangor. The hospital sat high on a hill overlooking the main east-west carriageway across North Wales. There were two police vehicles sitting in the car park so he wasn’t surprised when he found several police officers in conversation outside the Pathology department.

‘Has Dr French started?’ he asked.

‘About five minutes ago.’

Gordon went on through to the post mortem suite, knocked and entered without waiting. French looked up from the table, knife in hand. The two plain-clothes officers standing nearby did likewise. ‘I’m Tom Gordon, the Palmer’s GP in Felinbach. I hoped you wouldn’t mind?’

‘I suppose not,’ said French, although he didn’t sound too enthusiastic.

‘I think we’ve met a couple of times before at regional seminars?’ said Gordon.

‘Really,’ replied French, sounding indifferent.

Gordon nodded to the other two men in the room. One was Chief Inspector Davies; the other was introduced to him as DI Lawrence.’

Gordon nodded and said, ‘A sad business.’

The policemen grunted without committing themselves. French remained intent on what he was doing. Gordon moved closer to the table and couldn’t prevent himself from uttering a slight sound of disgust. He immediately felt embarrassed at being so unprofessional.

‘She
is
a bit of a mess,’ said French coldly.

‘What a bastard,’ murmured Davies. ‘What the hell did he have to do that to her for?’