Ken McClure - Tangled Web

Gordon smiled at Mary’s determination to introduce order and logic to a situation he had been seeing as chaotic. There was a pause in the conversation while they crossed a small wooden bridge over a tumbling waterfall. When the noise of the water had died away Mary continued, ‘Dawes makes several attempts at human cloning at the IVF clinic. They all fail apart from one; that was Anne-Marie Palmer but she wasn’t a complete success; she was born deformed. Somewhere along the line, Professor Thomas begins to suspect what’s going on and carries out his own investigation. He gets killed for his trouble. Dawes, d’you think?’

‘Probably but we can’t rule out the person who killed Dawes himself.’

‘Is there anything to connect Dawes to Megan Griffiths?’ asked Mary.

‘There is,’ said Gordon. ‘Dawes was seen going down to pathology by the chief technician in the IVF unit, on the day in question. He made something up about going there to warn Thomas about being late for a meeting but it turns out that there was no such meeting. Dawes also fits Maurice Cleef’s description of the man he’d spoken to about Megan’s body.

‘So it seems to me that Dawes was up to his neck in everything that was going on,’ said Mary. ‘What we don’t know is who he was trying to clone or why .’

‘And where Megan Griffiths fits in to all this.’

‘Still no thoughts?’

Gordon shook his head.

‘A cloned baby and a normal baby. Could somebody have wanted to compare something about them?’ asked Mary.

Gordon shrugged. ‘I just don’t know.’

They had completed a circle of the garden and were sitting on a bench seat in the upper rose terrace, looking out to the hills of Snowdonia. Mary snuggled up close to Gordon as a cold wind sprang up and let them know that winter hadn’t quite finished yet. ‘I wish the spring would come properly,’ she said. ‘I hate this time when we’re between seasons. One day it’s spring then it’s back to winter with a frost, then it’s back to spring again. You never know where you are.’

‘Know the feeling,’ said Gordon.

‘Let’s go get some coffee.’

At Mary’s suggestion, they drove on down to Betws-y-coed where they had coffee and scones in the conservatory of the George Hotel while rain pattered gently down on the roof. It didn’t seem to matter: they were oblivious to it. They were just happy in each other’s company.

‘Can I ask what you’re going to do now?’ said Mary.

‘I’m going to wait for the DNA result on Anne-Marie so at least there will be one solid piece of evidence. Davies said he’d let me know about the PM on Ran Dawes so we’ll take it from there.’

‘So you two are on speaking terms then?’

‘At the moment,’ agreed Gordon.

‘You know, logic tells me that the unknown third person was actually running the show,’ said Mary.

‘How so?’

‘I suspect, from what’s happened and what you’ve told me, that Dawes was just someone hired to carry out the cloning.’

‘Hired?’ exclaimed Gordon, sounding surprised.

‘You said yourself that he was in the ideal position to do that sort of work and he did have the expertise. I think someone paid him — probably a great deal of money, to carry out a designer cloning, if you like.’

‘You know, that’s a good thought,’ said Gordon. ‘Maybe I’ll ask Davies to check Dawes’ bank account to see if there were any large payments made into it.’

‘It’s getting dark; we should be going.’

They left the hotel and opted to take the mountain road through the Llanberis Pass back to Bangor, thereby completing a big circle. Mary accepted Gordon’s offer to drive, admitting that she really didn’t like driving on narrow mountain roads at night.

‘Let’s just take our time,’ said Gordon. ‘Unless you have to be back for anything?’

‘Nothing,’ said Mary. ‘You don’t really have a social life when you work in A&E.’ She slipped a cassette into the player on the dash and Gordon was pleased to hear Mozart drift gently out from the speakers. ‘All right?’ asked Mary.

‘Just perfect.’

‘Mary fell asleep after five miles and her head came to rest on Gordon’s shoulder for the remainder of the drive home. She woke with a start as they drew up in the car park outside her home. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she exclaimed, taking a moment to get her bearings. ‘I must have been more tired than I thought.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ said Gordon, taking her hand in his. ‘I’ve enjoyed this afternoon more than anything I can remember in a very long time.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Mary. ‘You must come and see Bodnant with me when the spring is really here.’

‘I’d like nothing better,’ said Gordon. ‘Are you back on duty tomorrow night?’

‘Fraid so but you will let me know if you hear anything?’

‘Of course.’ Gordon leaned over and kissed her gently. Mary smiled when Gordon pulled back. ‘Was that a good night kiss?’ she asked softly.

‘Only if you want it to be,’ he replied.

‘Maybe... you’d like to come up for coffee?’

‘Very much.’

The fact that his flat was cold for the usual reason did not detract from Gordon’s feelings of euphoria one iota when he got home just after nine thirty in the morning. He hummed Mozart as he fiddled with the timer and gave the pump its customary kick. He turned on the electric fire and the kettle before checking the answer machine — there were no messages. He might have lost his job and made a fool of himself over Thomas’s involvement, but not everything in this world was going badly.

Davies phoned at eleven to say that Dawes had undoubtedly been murdered. He’d been hit on the back of the head before being locked in the liquid nitrogen store. Gordon said that he appreciated being told but sensed that Davies wanted to say more.

Davies cleared his throat a couple of times before beginning, ‘I know we got off on the wrong foot, but frankly I’d appreciate your input in this case, Doctor. It’s not exactly your run-of-the-mill murder.’

Gordon too was in the mood for reconciliation. He said, ‘I know I’ve been making a bit of a nuisance of myself to the police in the last few weeks. I apologise for that. I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.’

‘Good, we’ve been trying to establish who the last person to see Ranulph Dawes alive was. Apparently Dawes was still in the IVF unit at eight o’clock last night. One of the secretaries was there — she was using her word processor to type up her son’s degree thesis. Dawes told her he was hoping to see the hospital’s medical superintendent to discuss what implications Thomas’s death might have for the unit. He was still trying to track him down when the secretary left. We haven’t yet managed to ask Dr Trool if he made contact.’

‘I’m just waiting for the DNA result on Anne-Marie,’ said Gordon. ‘It’ll probably be another day at least. I’ll call you when I have it.’

Gordon decided to walk up to the village and get a few things from the local shops. It had been a while since he’d run the gauntlet and he wondered if anything had changed. He was aware of groups of women whispering behind his back in Main Street but no one he came across was overtly rude. He said good morning to a few of them and got a civil reply. That, he decided, was probably as good as it got. He bought a morning paper at the newsagent and some bread rolls from the bakers before walking back along the street to the steps leading down to the harbour. He’d almost reached them when a double-decker bus pulled up at the stop next to them and Blodwyn Marsh, the woman he’d treated for fume inhalation, got off. She seemed a bit anxious and upset.