‘This is where it all happens,’ said Thomas. ‘Ran is our chief embryologist: maybe we shouldn’t disturb him,’ he added in a stage whisper.
‘Not at all,’ said the man at the microscope, taking his cue without averting his eyes. ‘I’m just about finished here... there, all done.’
Thomas introduced Gordon to the tall man who smiled and got up from the swivel stool he’d been perched on to shake hands. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Ranulph Dawes, perhaps you’d care to take a look?’ he asked.
Gordon accepted enthusiastically and sat down to begin adjusting the width of the binocular eyepieces on the ‘scope to suit his eyes before peering down at a green circle of light. He focused on the two darker circles in the middle, using the fine knurled knob on the side and said, ‘I don’t often get the chance to do something like this. What am I looking at?’
‘This culture started out as a single fertilised ovum,’ explained Dawes. ‘You’ll see there are now two cells and they’re already showing early signs of mitosis so they’re almost ready to become four. When they do, they’ll be ready for implantation in the patient’s womb. If all goes well, we’ll have another happy, pregnant lady on our hands.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Gordon, moving the fine focus control again to capture detail on the pulsating surface of the cells. ‘The very cradle of life.’
‘Still gives me a buzz too,’ said the embryologist.
‘Is this the result of icksee?’ asked Gordon.
‘No, this was ordinary, random collision IVF. Ova and sperm were mixed in a test tube and Mother Nature did the rest.’
‘Dr Gordon probably asked about ICSI because he’s Mr and Mrs Palmer’s GP,’ said Thomas.
‘Oh, I see,’ said the embryologist. ‘Such a sad business.’
‘Dr Gordon does not believe that John Palmer was responsible for his baby’s death,’ said Thomas.
‘I don’t think I understand.’
Gordon had little heart at that particular moment for arguing his case again and no doubt having it pointed out to him once more that Palmer had confessed to the crime and that Anne-Marie’s body had been found in the Palmers’ own back garden.
‘He confessed and they found the baby in the garden, didn’t they?’ Dawes said.
‘I just think there’s more to it,’ said Gordon.
‘I’d be most interested to hear what it is,’ said the embryologist. ‘I liked the Palmers a lot.’
Gordon now had no option but to say what he thought about the Palmer case and was rewarded, as he’d feared, with a look of scepticism appearing on Dawes’ face.
‘If you’ll forgive me, Doctor,’ said Dawes, ‘what you’re actually saying is that John Palmer couldn’t have done it because you think he’s far too nice a person.’
The words did a pretty fair impression of sticks and stones on Gordon and he had to reluctantly admit that what Dawes had said was a reasonable summation of his position. ‘I do think he’s incapable of having done it,’ he said.
There was a slightly uncomfortable pause before Thomas changed tack and directed Gordon’s attention to the other microscope, saying, ‘We carry out the ICSI procedure using this instrument. Ran’s quite an expert.’
‘Injecting a single cell sounds horrendously difficult,’ said Gordon.
‘It’s certainly not easy,’ replied Dawes, ‘but equipment is getting better all the time so it’s nowhere near as challenging as it was. It’s a bit like playing a computer game; the more you play, the better you get.’
‘Ran’s too modest,’ said Thomas. ‘It still demands a very high level of skill whichever way you look at it.’
‘Do you do a lot?’ asked Gordon.
‘Maybe a couple a month.’
‘What’s the success rate?’
‘Not as good as we’d like, we’ve had quite a few problems with miscarried foetuses.’
Gordon nodded. ‘Professor Thomas mentioned that it hadn’t all been plain sailing.’
‘It’ll get better with time. The more we do, the more experienced we get, so it’s important we keep trying.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Gordon.
It was time to move on and Gordon thanked the embryologist for the demonstration, saying, ‘I’m grateful, Doctor Dawes.’
‘Ran — everyone calls me, Ran.’
‘Thanks, Ran. It’s not often we GPs get a chance to see what’s going on in the hi-tech world. It’s more a case of lancing boils on bums and treating recurrent bronchitis.’
‘Any time,’ smiled Dawes. ‘You should come along to the symposium next week: you’ll get a much better feel for what’s going on in the field than you get from reading the journals.’
The professor said, ‘I’ve already suggested that.’
‘Maybe I’ll manage to come along at some point,’ said Gordon. ‘I’d certainly like to.’
‘Then make the time,’ smiled the embryologist.
The tour of the department finished with Gordon being shown the long-term storage tanks for embryos — huge, floor-standing, stainless-steel vessels kept cool with liquid nitrogen that swirled around like thick fog when Thomas removed one of the lids. ‘Possible brothers and sisters, should they be required,’ said Thomas.
‘How long do you keep them?’ asked Gordon.
‘We’ve kept them all so far,’ replied Thomas, ‘Partly to avoid the moral dilemma that everyone talks about but we’re going to have to face up to it soon: we’re running out of storage space.’
Gordon thanked Thomas for showing him around and Thomas reiterated that he hoped he might see him at some time during next week’s symposium.
On the drive back from Caernarvon, Gordon returned to thinking about John Palmer and knew that he was beginning to feel the strain of isolation over the affair. He was clearly the only person in the world who believed that both the Palmers were innocent. He could explain away John’s confession, but not the fact that the baby had been found buried in the Palmers’ own garden. This was something he’d avoided thinking too much about, perhaps because it stretched his own faith to the limit. But maybe this was exactly what he should be doing, he considered; he should be facing the problem head on and trying to figure out why the real killer had done something so bizarre.
Ten minutes had gone by before Gordon came up with a possible motive and it was quite simple. If the murderer had gone to all the trouble of returning the baby’s body to the Palmers’ garden, he must actually have wanted the Palmers to get the blame for the crime. But why, for God’s sake? The killer must hold an outrageous grudge against the couple. Could it be that either or both of them had such a monstrous enemy? It was hard to believe. John and Lucy had been generally well liked by people before the event — but it was a thought worth bearing in mind.
‘A new cot-death directive came in today,’ said Julie by way of greeting. ‘I’ve left a copy of it on your desk: it’s over twenty pages long.’
‘Saying what?’
‘Very little, I think the bottom line is that they still don’t know what causes it,’ said Julie, ‘But they take twenty pages to say it.’
‘I suppose it’s only to be expected after the Griffiths baby dying,’ said Gordon. ‘The powers that be have to be seen to be doing something but God, when you think about it, the experts have had the kids lying on their backs, their fronts, their sides, with the window open, the window closed. What is it this time? Upside down from the ceiling?’
Julie grinned at Gordon’s annoyance ‘Our profession has never been noted for its willingness to employ the words, “we don’t know” with any great relish,’ she said. ‘They prefer us to work that out for ourselves... over twenty pages in this case.’