Ken McClure - Tangled Web

Gordon stopped in his tracks. ‘Where did you hear that?’ he asked.

‘One of the secretaries heard a rumour,’ said the girl.

Gordon turned and looked at Davies who shrugged and said, ‘Bush telegraph, faster than satellite technology.’

A man wearing thick black-rimmed glasses and a black polo shirt under his white lab coat came into the room and the girls stiffened. They got up from the table and queued to wash out their coffee mugs at the sink.

‘I’m Michael Deans, the chief technician. Can I help you?’

Again, Davies let Gordon do the talking, hoping to keep an air of informality about their presence for the moment. Gordon explained who they were and that they had hoped to have a word with Dawes. ‘I understand he’s not been in today?’

‘Not yet anyway. I’m afraid everything’s in a state of flux at the moment. We’re all in shock, you could say.’

‘Quite understandable,’ sympathised Gordon, hoping the man might be useful to them. ‘Perhaps you can help us,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a series of reference numbers here that Professor Thomas gave me; would it be possible for you to find out for us which patients they relate to and who carried out the actual IVF lab work on them?’

‘Possible yes...’ Deans hesitated. ‘But I’d need authorisation.’

Davies held out his warrant card. ‘This is all the authority you need.’

The technician took a deep breath as if giving himself time to decide whether it was worth digging in his heels or not. In the end he took the numbers from Gordon and said, ‘Follow me.’

They trooped in single file, through to the unit office where the technician asked one of two secretaries for, ‘The blue book’.

The woman looked up from her desk at the three men waiting there but did not say anything. She just opened up her desk drawer and took out a blue covered notebook that she handed over without question.

‘Police,’ said the technician by way of explanation before leading the others out into the main lab area. There was a small, glass-panelled office at the far end where he put the book down on a desk and flipped it open to start tracing the numbers Gordon had given him. He found the page he was looking for and ran his index finger down the left-hand side before stopping about a third of the way down. ‘275643... Maitland baby, malformed foetus, aborted 14 July, 1998. Parents, Iris and Glyn Maitland, 14, Ryder Close, Caernarfon.’

The man paused while DS Walters finished writing the details down.

‘Next,’ said Davies.

‘275809... Bannister baby, malformed foetus, aborted 23 August, 1998. Parents, Robert and Beatrice Bannister, 7/14, Fford Glyder, Felinheli.

275882... Griffiths-Williams baby, malformed foetus, aborted 3 November, 1998. Parents, Trevor and Ann Griffiths-Williams, Moonstone Cottage, Beddgelert.’

‘One final one,’ said Gordon. He handed over another number and the technician looked it up.

‘275933... Anne-Marie Palmer, born 14 December, 1998 to John and Lucy Palmer, Menai View, Aberton, Felinbach. Severe deformity to lower limbs, survived and went home after corrective surgery.

‘What now?’ Davies asked Gordon.

‘Who did the lab work on these four cases?’

‘All done by Dr Dawes,’ replied Deans, without having to refer to the book again.

‘Would you expect there to be siblings in cold storage for these reference numbers?’

‘It’s normal practice.’

‘Would you check please?’

Gordon and the two policemen stood by while Deans came out of the office and into the main lab where he walked over to the storage freezers. He took down a pair of long gauntlets that hung from a hook on the wall and put them on before undoing the clasp on one of the freezers, releasing as he did so, a cloud of nitrogen vapour into the air. He reached in and brought out a stack of ice-encrusted racks, clearing the front of it with his gloved hand so that he could read the labels. He found the one he was looking for and traced the correct row and number with his gloved forefinger.

‘Missing,’ he said.

Gordon and Davies exchanged a glance before Deans went on to check for vials corresponding to the other numbers. All were missing.

‘No siblings for any of them,’ said Deans.

Gordon steered Davies to a corner of the lab. ‘That’s what Thomas discovered,’ he said. ‘He wrote no siblings on Anne-Marie Palmer’s notes.’

‘But that in itself doesn’t prove anything,’ said Davies. ‘Does it?’

‘No, but it put Thomas on the right track. Normally after IVF, more than one egg would be fertilised so they’d store the ones they weren’t using for possible future use if the couple wanted more children. This wouldn’t be the case in a cloning. That’s what made him suspect that these four pregnancies were attempts at human cloning. And that’s why he got the three foetuses back from pathology. Only one resulted in a live birth — Anne-Marie Palmer. The DNA profile on her tissue will show that she wasn’t really the Palmers’ daughter.’

As they walked back over to join Deans, Gordon remembered that he had been the technician who had accompanied Thomas to the path department on the day that Megan Griffiths’ body went missing. He asked him about it.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ said Deans. ‘As I told your colleagues when they questioned me, Professor Thomas was a bit secretive about why he wanted the foetuses. I thought he and Dr Sepp were going to have a right old set-to about it when he made the request. I think Dr Sepp thought his competence was being questioned but he relented in the end, although I’m sure the argument continued when I left to bring them back up here.’

‘You didn’t come back with Professor Thomas?’

‘No, it seemed like they were going to be at it all afternoon. Professor Thomas was already late for an important meeting when I left. I met Ran Dawes coming down to remind him.’

‘Ran Dawes was on his way to Pathology?’ asked Gordon, surprise showing in his voice. ‘There was no record of him being there.’

‘Like I say, he was just going there to remind Prof Thomas that he was due at a meeting.’

‘Did you know about this meeting or was that something that Ran Dawes told you when you met him?’ asked Gordon.

‘Something he told me.’

‘Did Ran Dawes return to the unit with Professor Thomas?’

Deans thought for a moment before saying, ‘No, he didn’t, come to think of it. I remember seeing Professor Thomas come back a good bit later: I remember because he was in a bad mood, but Ran wasn’t with him.’

‘Maybe you could ask the secretaries about Thomas’s meeting on that day. Get them to check the diary. Find out what time it was at and who it was with.’

‘Okay.’

‘I think maybe we should go talk to Dr Dawes at home,’ said Davies. He turned to Deans. ‘Do you have an address for him?’

‘The office will. I’ll get it.’

Deans returned a few minutes later, saying, ‘Here you are. He stays over in Aberlyn: he rents a house there.’ He handed the address to Davies.

Davies looked thoughtful for a moment then he said, ‘It might be an idea if you were to phone him first.’

‘What d’you want me to say?’

‘Ask him if he intends coming in today. Make up your own reasons for asking.’

‘I’ll call from the office,’ said Deans.

Davies nodded to Walters who took this as a directive to accompany Deans.

‘What d’you reckon?’ Davies asked Gordon when they were alone.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s done a runner,’ said Gordon. ‘If he heard the rumour about you treating Thomas’s death as murder.’

‘Maybe that’s for the best,’ said Davies thoughtfully.