Gordon kept watching Thomas out of the corner of his eye as Dawes did an encore, again threading the needle in one smooth movement. This time, aware of the scrutiny of others, Thomas did applaud, but his eyes remained hard.
People started making their way to the lecture hall for the start of the afternoon session. As they did so, they passed by a series of trade posters, showing good-looking people in white coats, wreathed in smiles as they used the advertisers’ equipment to great effect in their quest for knowledge and success.
Gordon sat at the back of the hall in deference to the fact that he deemed himself an observer rather than a participant and was surprised to find himself sitting next to Ran Dawes.
‘I don’t think I’m going to stay for all of this,’ confided Dawes. ‘I’ve heard this talk given at just about every meeting in the last five years.’
Gordon checked his programme and read that the first talk was to be given by, Dr Shirley Spencer-Freeman, an American from Colorado: it was to be about her ongoing comparison of IVF children with a peer group of conventionally conceived children.
‘The bottom line is that there is no difference,’ whispered Dawes, ‘but she can’t see it. She prefers to concentrate on supposed discrepancies in IQ and academic achievement when all she’s looking at are statistical blips, well within the normal range of experimental error.’
‘Hasn’t anyone pointed this out to her?’ asked Gordon.
‘Many people on many occasions,’ smiled Dawes, ‘But there’s no thicker skin than that of a scientist with a bee in his or her bonnet.’
After fifteen minutes, Gordon began to appreciate what Dawes had said. The woman’s talk was an exercise in what statistics could do with nothing of substance.
‘Fancy some coffee?’ whispered Dawes.
Gordon nodded and the pair of them slipped out at an appropriate moment when Spencer-Freeman turned her back to look up at the screen and highlight some value with her pointer.
‘They can’t all be gems,’ said Dawes with a smile as they started off along the corridor to the hospital coffee shop.
‘I suppose scientific presentation is a sort of an art form in its own way,’ said Gordon.
‘But it helps if you have something to say in the first place,’ said Dawes. ‘Sometimes I think there’s an awfully strong correlation between having nothing to say and wanting to say it at great length. I think the bottom line is that some people just like to hear the sound of their own voice.’
‘It’s much the same in all walks of life,’ said Gordon as they entered the coffee shop where Dawes opted for cappuccino and Gordon an espresso.
‘Carwyn told me you’d been to visit John Palmer in prison,’ said Dawes.
‘At the weekend,’ agreed Gordon.
‘How’s he bearing up?’
‘Not that well,’ replied Gordon. ‘He looked dreadful, like he hadn’t slept for a month and he’s lost a lot of weight. Worst of all, he’s still determined to plead guilty to something he didn’t do.’
‘You’ll have to forgive me if I still harbour some doubts about that,’ said Dawes. ‘Stress can push people into doing some pretty awful things.’
‘We’ll agree to differ,’ said Gordon.
Dawes nodded thoughtfully and sipped his coffee. He changed the subject. ‘I understand that you’re one of the people investigating the Megan Griffiths business?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Have you figured out what happened yet?’
‘We know it wasn’t an accidental switch, if that’s what you mean,’ said Gordon. ‘Someone knew exactly what they were putting in the coffin in place of her body.’
‘You’re kidding,’ said Dawes.
‘Unfortunately not.’
‘But why would anyone do a thing like that?’
‘That’s something we’ll know if and when we find out what happened to Megan’s body,’ said Gordon.
‘I understood it had gone to the incinerator by mistake?’ said Dawes.
‘That’s still a possibility,’ said Gordon, finishing off his coffee.
Dawes made a face. ‘Only a possibility?’ he said. ‘You mean there’s some doubt about it?’
‘Until we know for sure that’s what happened, there has to be,’ said Gordon.
‘You’re making it all sound very sinister. I thought body snatching went out at the turn of the century with Burke and Hare, damned if I can remember why they did it though.’
‘They stole bodies to supply the needs of the medical profession,’ said Gordon with a wry smile. ‘The medical school needed them for their anatomy work.’
‘Of course,’ exclaimed Dawes. ‘I remember now. Still, digging up the odd body wasn’t such a bad thing in the great scheme of things. They came from your neck of the woods, didn’t they? Edinburgh wasn’t it?’
Gordon nodded. ‘The trouble was, demand started to exceed supply so they started a second production line, based on murder.’
‘Well thankfully it was all a very long time ago,’ said Dawes.
‘There were a couple of convictions last year for the theft of the bodies of stillborn children,’ said Gordon. ‘They were used to supply a pharmaceutical company’s need for foetal tissue,’ said Gordon.
‘So it still goes on,’ said Dawes thoughtfully. ‘But surely you’re not suggesting that Megan’s body was used for something like that?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ countered Gordon. ‘I’m just trying to cover all possibilities. How well do you know Carwyn Thomas?’
Dawes seemed surprised at the sudden swerve of the question. He made a vague hand gesture. ‘Pretty well I suppose, I mean we’re not bosom buddies but we get on. I suppose I’m a bit in awe of him really; he’s achieved so much in his career.’
‘Thinking about what you said earlier, about him keeping his hand in, do you think he still sees himself as a front line researcher?’
Dawes thought for a moment before saying, ‘I suppose he does. Research isn’t something you ever really retire from, if you know what I mean. If you happen to get an idea then I suppose, whatever age you are, you’d want to follow it through to its conclusion.’
‘To get the glory,’ said Gordon.
‘We’re all human.’
Sixteen
Dawes left Gordon alone in the coffee shop, saying that he wanted to catch the second talk; it was going to be on the option of sex determination in IVF cases, an increasingly likely possibility in the near future. Carwyn was chairing the session and he thought he might be asked for his views at some point. Gordon decided not to join him, saying that he’d heard most of the moral arguments, both for and against the choice of sex in pregnancy and didn’t wish to add to his technical knowledge of the techniques involved. He opted instead for more coffee and a doughnut.
The fact that both Thomas and Dawes were going to be away from the IVF unit for the next hour was uppermost in his mind as he sipped his coffee. He was intrigued by the notion of Thomas having his own private lab and there was no doubt that the easiest way to find out what he might be up to in it would be to take a look while he wasn’t there. He wasn’t sure if he had the courage to do such a thing or if he should even be contemplating it... but it was a tempting thought. While he was debating the pros and cons, he noticed that his second cup of coffee tasted different from the first and glanced back at the counter. It had come from the same flask. It wasn’t the coffee that had changed but his taste buds: they were reacting to the mixture of fear and excitement building up inside him as he made his decision.
He left the coffee shop and walked back along the main corridor, feeling that everyone he passed knew exactly what he was planning. A casual glance from a porter seemed rife with accusation; the laughter of two nurses suggested they knew more than they should. He felt his pulse rate rise as he mounted the stairs leading up to the IVF unit and rehearsed his excuse should he be challenged. He would say that he needed some more leaflets about the IVF service for the surgery; he had underestimated the demand for them.