Ken McClure - Tangled Web

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.’