Tangled Web (6 page)

‘I must be missing something,’ said Gordon. ‘She couldn’t have decomposed this much in three days.’

‘He doused her in acid,’ said French, hydrochloric acid if I’m not mistaken. You can still smell it.’

Gordon moved closer to the blackened little body on the table and could smell the acid. ‘Right,’ he said wrinkling his nose at the burning sensation in his nostrils. Is this going to make it difficult to establish exact cause of death?’

‘Well nigh impossible in the circumstances,’ said French. ‘Just as well he confessed. Look at her. What a bloody mess.’

‘He must have tried to dispose of her using acid and then changed his mind and decided to bury her after all,’ said Davies, his voice suffused with distaste. ‘His own kid for Christ’s sake.’

‘John Palmer didn’t do this,’ said Gordon, still staring at the body. ‘I know the man. He just couldn’t do anything like this.’

‘If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard that, I’d be a very rich man,’ said Davies.

‘But hydrochloric acid …’

‘He’s a science teacher. It wouldn’t exactly be difficult for him to get hold of it,’ said Davies. ‘The old marble chips experiment if I remember rightly.’

French stood back from the table and said, ‘Frankly, I don’t think I’m going to be able to do too much more with this one, Alan. She’s been too badly damaged by the acid.’

‘Jesus,’ said Davies in a low whisper. ‘Not to worry. Maybe the bastard’ll be kind enough to tell us how he topped her in the first place.’

‘If he did …’ added French.

Gordon thought for a fleeting moment that French might have had some reason for doubting Palmer’s guilt but then he realised with horror that he meant something else entirely.

‘Davies picked up on it. ‘You’re not suggesting that the acid was the
cause
of death, are you, Doctor?’

French held up his palms. ‘I was just being pedantic as befits my profession,’ he said. ‘But as we don’t actually
know
the cause of death then, as it stands …’

‘For Christ’s sake, there is no way on Earth that John Palmer would immerse his own child in acid under any circumstances and certainly not while she was alive!’ said Gordon angrily. Davies and Lawrence didn’t respond but their silence was distressingly eloquent.

FOUR

Gordon left the PM room, drawing in deep breaths of fresh air to rid himself of the smell of death and formalin fixative: he felt totally confused. Although there was still no way he could bring himself to believe that John Palmer had murdered Anne-Marie - despite his confession - he did face the enormous stumbling block of trying to imagine just who had. If he ruled out Lucy Palmer - and he did - he was left with a scenario where the baby had been kidnapped by a stranger, murdered by that stranger and then returned to the Palmers’ own back garden for burial, and this was after an abortive attempt to dissolve her remains in acid. It just didn’t make any sense but he could at least understand why the police had difficulty in considering it as a realistic possibility. He got into the Land Rover and drove over to see Lucy.

Lucy Palmer’s sister lived in a small terraced house in Sackville Street, a narrow street, tucked away behind the University of North Wales’s main science library in Bangor. Parking was difficult round there so he decided to take a chance and use the university car park, despite dire warnings to non-permit-holders displayed at the entrance. It was after all, Saturday evening and he couldn’t imagine there being too many academics around.

His firm knock on the bottle green door was answered by an attractive woman in her mid thirties with a tea towel thrown casually over one shoulder.

‘If it’s double glazing, we’re not interested,’ she said.

‘I’m Tom Gordon, Lucy’s GP. I thought I might be able to help,’ said Gordon.

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said the woman, apologising with a smile, ‘it’s good of you to come. I’m Gina Melford, Lucy’s sister.’

Gordon was ushered in to a room facing the back of the house where he found Lucy sitting on a couch with her shoulders hunched and her arms folded tightly. A box of Kleenex tissues sat at her side and an untouched cup of tea lay on the table in front of her. She was staring at it distantly rather than drinking it. She looked up when she heard him come in and he saw the pain in her red-rimmed eyes.

‘Lucy, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,’ said Gordon. ‘This is an absolute nightmare.’

‘The whole world’s gone mad, Tom,’ said Lucy in a low voice. ‘I just don’t know what’s happening any more. One moment we were building a snowman in the garden and the next our life is in ruins.’

Gordon was alarmed at how frail Lucy appeared. Her normal air of self-confidence had disappeared and her body language of crossed arms and bowed head suggested defeat. Her blonde hair hung limply about her face and her cheeks seemed pale and drawn. He sat down beside her, placing his bag at his feet and putting his arm round her shoulders. ‘Quite unbelievable,’ he said.

‘John didn’t kill Anne-Marie, you must know that,’ said Lucy.

‘Of course,’ said Gordon, ‘but for whatever reason, he’s made a confession and that’s going to make things difficult. I just don’t understand. Have you any idea what made him do it?’

‘Lucy leaned forward and looked resolutely at the floor, still cradling her head with both hands. She had difficulty getting the words out, but in the end she said, ‘He must think I did it.’

Gordon let a few moments go by before asking softly, ‘Why should he think that, Lucy?’

Lucy considered for a moment in silence before saying. ‘Sometimes I get low; I get depressed. I try to be positive like John but it’s not always easy: I’m not as strong as he is. He’s a natural optimist and I’m not. I see the black side of things all too clearly. I hadn’t been feeling too well the day before it happened; I was very low. John must think I killed Anne-Marie while he was out in the garden working on the snowman.’

‘But you didn’t?’

‘No, of course not!’ said Lucy decisively. ‘As I said, I
do
get depressed and I
did
have moments of despair when I couldn’t see a future for her and thought - maybe even said, that she’d be better off dead - but I never really meant it. I loved her; I loved her very much. You have to believe that! Oh Tom, what kind of a person would do something like this?’

Gordon shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know, Lucy. That’s what we, or rather the police, have to find out.’

‘Have you seen John?’

‘They wouldn’t let me. They’re holding him at Caernarfon: he’ll appear in court on Monday morning.’

‘I want to be there,’ said Lucy, becoming animated. ‘I have to tell them that he’s lying; that he’s just trying to protect me. John couldn’t kill anyone. He even opens the windows to let out flies.’

‘I don’t think going up to court’s a very good idea,’ said Gordon. ‘That would be the wrong way to go about things. It’s really the police we have to convince in the first instance and then, when John realises that you had nothing to do with Anne-Marie’s death, he can retract his confession and the police can begin a proper investigation. Just as a matter of interest, what
were
you doing while John was outside building the snowman?’

‘I put Anne-Marie down for a sleep and than I went upstairs to look through the wardrobes for clothes for Captain Mainwaring.’

‘Cap …?’

‘Captain Mainwaring - the snowman John built.’

‘How long did that take you?’

‘Twenty minutes or so.’

‘Twenty minutes?’ repeated Gordon, unable to disguise the element of surprise in his voice and making it sound like a question.

‘I got side-tracked,’ said Lucy. ‘I’d been having a good rake and found things in the wardrobe that I hadn’t seen for years. I tried some of them on just to see if I could still get into them. John was happy in the garden – I could hear him whistling and Anne-Marie was sleeping so … it was fun. A trip down Memory Lane if you like.’

Lucy construed Gordon’s ensuing silence as an accusation. He was in fact wondering how the police would view the twenty-minute period while she was in the house alone with the baby while John was out in the garden.

‘I didn’t do it,’ insisted Lucy. ‘Oh God, this is all just too awful to bear.’ She broke down in tears and Gina did her best to soothe her.

‘I believe you, Lucy’ said Gordon. ‘But we have to be honest with each other; I have to know everything if I’m to be able to help. That’s why I have to ask you if you were still having one of your low spells on the day Anne-Marie disappeared. Were you depressed on that day, Lucy?’

‘No,’ insisted Lucy. ‘Like I told you, I ‘d been a bit down the day before but I was definitely coming out of it and John was cheering me up with talk of the fun we were going to have when the weather got better. We were going to take Anne-Marie to the beach, the zoo … all sorts of things …’

Gordon nodded then opened up his bag. ‘I’m going to give you something to help you sleep,’ he said. ‘You must get some rest. You’ll be no good to John or anyone if you’re completely exhausted.’

He gave Lucy a sedative and watched her take it before Gina escorted her off to bed.

‘Tea?’ asked Gina when she came back.

‘Please.’

‘What’s going to happen?’ Gina asked as she returned from the kitchen with a tea tray and laid it down on the coffee-table.

Gordon looked at her and saw that her expression had become troubled. She’d been masking it well in Lucy’s presence but now the worry was all too evident.

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied honestly. ‘The real problem is the confession. It’s stopping the police from even looking for anyone else and frankly I think they’ll be quite happy about that because if John and Lucy didn’t do it, it’s not easy to imagine who did. And what was their motive in taking the body back to bury it in the garden?’

‘That’s more or less what my husband was saying,’ confided Gina uneasily. ‘I think he thinks …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘What does he think?’ prompted Gordon quietly.

‘That Lucy did it,’ said Gina. She got the words out quickly as if they were unpleasant medicine she didn’t want to have in her mouth.

‘What makes him think that?’

‘Like you say, the fact that he simply couldn’t imagine who else would have done it and also because he remembers what Lucy was like just after Anne-Marie was born, when she didn’t want to know about the baby’s problems and insisted the nurses take her away. Men don’t understand post-natal depression: I had it myself after Luke was born. It’s an illness but you can’t explain that to outsiders. They think that’s the way you really are but you’re not, it’s the illness talking. Lucy got over it just like I did. True, she got a bit down from time to time – who wouldn’t in the circumstances, but she loved Anne-Marie. We all did.’

‘Good, you obviously don’t believe she’s capable of having killed her either,’ said Gordon.

‘No,’ agreed Gina. ‘Nothing would make her do something like that.’

‘But that still leaves the problem of who did and why?’ said Gordon.

Gordon managed to get a meeting with Chief Inspector Davies at ten the following morning: he told him his thoughts about the Palmers. To his surprise and annoyance, Davies seemed singularly unimpressed. He listened throughout with a cynical smile playing round the corners of his mouth. It was almost as if he’d heard it all before. When Gordon had finished he asked, ‘In the great scheme of things Doctor, does it really matter?’

‘Matter?’ exclaimed Gordon, not sure of Davies’ meaning.

‘Which one of them did it,’ explained Davies.

‘But neither of them did it!’ exclaimed Gordon.

Davies shrugged in polite incredulity. ‘Now that,’ he said, ‘I find impossible to believe.’

‘The Palmers loved their child,’ insisted Gordon. ‘They couldn’t have murdered her.’

‘Murder is such an emotive word,’ said Davies, leaning back in his chair like a don about to lecture a student. ‘Maybe it’s the wrong one to use in this instance. Mercy killing? Euthanasia? Cruel to be kind? Take your pick. I can even accept that their motives were honourable if misguided but in my book they still killed that child and it will be up to the lawyers to decide what they want to call it. After that, it will be a matter for the courts as to how much sympathy and understanding they care to dispense.’

‘They didn’t do it,’ insisted Gordon.

Davies began to lose patience. ‘Might I just remind you that one of them has already confessed to the damned crime!’ he rasped. ‘And if he didn’t really do it then it’s only because he believes his wife did! You must be the only person in the world who thinks that neither of them had anything to do with it! If you can come up with one single reason why anyone should break into the Palmers’ house, steal their deformed child, kill it and then come back and bury it in their back garden, let me know. In the meantime I’ve got work to do.’

‘Can I see John Palmer?’

‘No.’

Gordon left the police station feeling frustrated and angry, all the more so because he could understand the police point of view. It was the common sense one. It was the one most people were going to go for.

John Palmer was due to appear in court, first thing on Monday morning. Gordon was naïve enough to believe that he could drive up to Caernarfon and attend the preliminary hearing, thinking that he might get the chance to have a word with John and assure him that Lucy had not killed Anne-Marie. He told Julie Rees of his plan and found her less than enthusiastic. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking concern for John Palmer a little far?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure the police and the lawyers are the best people to sort everything out. We really shouldn’t be seen to be taking sides.’

‘They’re friends of mine but it’s not a question of taking sides,’ insisted Gordon. ‘I just want to see justice done and I have the feeling that the police are more interested in securing a quick conviction than in investigating any alternative possibility.’

‘John Palmer confessed to the crime of his own volition,’ exclaimed Julie. ‘You can hardly accuse the police of fitting him up or even of exerting undue pressure on him.’