Palindrome Page 2

  Why was it that happened in some people? Why did cancers arise in some but not others? We would all die but it would be better if we were not to die a horrible death from cancer. That was how his own father had died and he knew there was a risk — a statistically significant one — he was likely to go the same way.

  Entering his office, Gabriel looked with dismay at a long table by the window on which stood a microscope and next to it a tall stack of trays filled with glass slides; these contained the tumour cases which he had to diagnose. It was always the same when he left the department even for a short time: the work just piled up. He glanced at his desk, large, modern — too modern for his taste — and the rows of long shelves above that were filled with textbooks, one of which was his own.

  His secretary Jane had already gone home but, as was her custom, she had left a number of messages on his desk. Like festival flags the messages were written on different colour paper, signalling their relative importance. On yellow paper — most urgent — were those from surgeons wanting to know the diagnosis of tumours that had been sent to him; there was one requesting the result on the case he had just looked at with Melanie. On pink paper — these could wait if he wished — was one from Poole who requested a meeting later this week to discuss Pathology Department staffing and the Agenda for Change, the latest buzz term for financial cuts in the National Health Service. Poole was a physician who in Gabriel’s opinion had gone over to the dark side and become a full-time manager. It no doubt comforted his NHS masters that Poole was a man who could lie brazenly and make simple matters appear complex and complex ones simple. As far as Gabriel could determine, Poole’s principal role was to get more work out of his medical colleagues whilst providing them with fewer resources to do it and at the same time getting them to fill in endless forms. Gabriel was not on easy terms with him. Not that he was on easy terms with anyone except those few who knew him well enough to realise that the mask of confidence he wore hid a mass of resignation and self-doubt.

  In the midst of all the pink and yellow was a message on white paper — indeterminate importance — from Anna Taylor, one of his old doctoral students. In her own way she too had gone over to the dark side, abandoning a promising career in academic pathology to join her husband who worked for a medical biotechnology company in Oxford. The message was dated Friday afternoon last week and requested Gabriel to contact her when he returned to Oxford.

  Gabriel had not heard from Anna since she had left his department over a year ago and he wondered what had prompted her to contact him. He had no time to dwell on this question for at that moment Melanie Stokes appeared, carrying a large envelope filled with radiographs.

  “These are the films of the case we discussed, Prof.”

  “Let’s have a look at them.”

  Gabriel fished out a plain X-ray of the shoulder from amongst the many other films in the envelope; it was what he felt would be most useful to look at in this case and he placed it on the viewing screen.

  “I thought so,” he said. “You see where the tumour is — it’s at the end of the bone. Look how sharp the boundary is between the tumour and the rest of the bone. You don’t see that in a malignant tumour. It’s expanded the bone but not spread outside it. That would be unusual for an osteosarcoma of that size. It’s most likely a chondroblastoma. That explains the small bits of cartilage and those plump cells with large nuclei. You’d better let the surgeon know the diagnosis. He’ll be tickled pink to know it’s not malignant.”

  Melanie Stokes looked astonished that Gabriel had settled on a diagnosis after such a brief glance at one X-Ray. “Don’t you want to see the other films?” she asked.

  “I don’t think they’ll tell me much more than this one. These tumours almost always arise in this location — heaven knows why — and it’s unlikely to be anything else. It’s benign.”

  The registrar continued to stare at him. It was not that she did not believe his diagnosis; it was just that she could not see how he had arrived at it so quickly and so definitely.

  “As I said, it’s just like recognising good guys and bad guys in a western. Pattern recognition: that’s how you make a diagnosis most of the time down the microscope. I can tell what this tumour is because I’ve seen lots of them. It will be the same for you when you get a bit more experience. Of course, it’s not always straightforward. The pattern may not be obvious and then you really have to examine the cells critically to see if they provide a clue to the diagnosis. It’s not always easy and there are times you can’t be sure whether a tumour is benign or malignant — or even whether it’s a tumour at all. The important thing is to make sure that you only report what you see.” Gabriel scratched his temple. “You should go and read up about chondroblastoma and have another look at this case before writing your diagnostic report. That’ll help you to recognise it next time. I’ll go over it with you tomorrow.”

  Not long after Melanie Stokes left him, Liz Reynolds, the Reader in Gabriel’s department, appeared at his door.

  “You’re back, I see,” Liz said.

  “Yes, but for what reason I’m not sure. Look at that.” Gabriel pointed to the pile of slides he had to report.

  “That will teach you to go off to Europe on conference jollies. Did you have a good time?”

  “I hardly saw anything of Madrid. I had too much work to do, chairing sessions and attending committee meetings. I spent most of my time at the conference hall and the hotel. I barely had time to see the Goyas in the Prado. How about you?”

  “The same as ever,” she said. “I was here all day yesterday and the day before. I didn’t finish my work until late when I had a tutorial at the college. We really need some more help to deal with the diagnostic workload.”

  A tall thin woman of about forty with grey-streaked black hair, prominent white teeth, russet cheeks and tear drop eyes, Liz Reynolds looked more like a hard-working farmer’s wife than the clever pathologist she was. For all her fresh air appearance though, she had a business-like side, getting straight to the point after their few pleasantries were exchanged.

  “I’m supposed to have drawn up a short list for the Clinical Tutor post in Pathology. Human Resources wanted it yesterday. But I thought I should discuss it with you first.”

  “Is there a problem? Isn’t there anyone suitable?” Gabriel suspected that as usual Liz Reynolds had already made up her mind there was a problem and was going to present him with the solution to it.

  “It’s not a great field of applicants. Most of them haven’t done much research and I do feel we need someone fairly experienced in this position. There’s Tom Duncan, of course, and he would certainly do, but it would be good if he had some competition. That’s why I wanted to sound you out over the possibility of Anna Taylor coming back. She rang me last week and said that she’d seen the ad but wasn’t sure whether to apply or not. She wasn’t sure what you’d think about it.”

  “So that’s why I’ve got a message to ring her.”

  Liz looked a little surprised. “I suppose so. The thing is she feels that she let you down when she left. After all, you just about created a job for her to stay here a couple of years ago—”

  “And at the last minute she let me down and took another job,” Gabriel broke in to say. “It took me a lot of effort to sort out that post with management. So what does she do? She goes and marries an entrepreneurial Oxford type — always talking about patents and “opportunities” — who persuades her to join him at Nebotec, the outfit to which Ken Palmer, our beloved colleague, has sold his soul. It caused a big stink in her Indian family because he was English. Her father was hopping mad. Rang me to complain. He thought I was responsible! I suppose she wanted to have babies with him. She must have had them by now.”

  Liz gazed at him blankly. There was a moment’s silence before she said, “Nice to see that you’re as politically correct as ever.”

  Gabriel leaned his chair back, nudging the microscope eyepieces. “Don’t get me wrong,
Liz. I’m tired and just talking off the top of my head. I don’t hold anything against Anna. The past doesn’t enter into it. She should apply if she wants — for whatever reason. We’ll appoint her if she’s the best candidate.”

  “She looks very competitive, given the CVs I’ve read.”

  “Then I’d encourage her to apply.”

  A muted smile was frozen on Adam Gabriel’s face. Looking at him, Liz wondered what impression he made on those who did not know him well. He looked younger than his sixty years because he was still relatively thin and had managed to keep most of his hair; only the fact that it was grey around the temples betrayed his age; the other signs — a sagging chin, the lines around his mouth when he smiled and the furrows on his brow — had to be looked for before he could be safely categorised in terms of age. He dressed casually when he was at work, not wearing a tie most of the time. “I don’t see why I need to dress up every day,” he had told her once. “I don’t see patients, only doctors, and they couldn’t give a stuff whether I’m wearing a bag of fruit or a blue singlet.” But there Liz thought he was wrong. She was sure they did mind and that Gabriel would be taken more seriously if more often — not just when he had formal meetings — he made a greater effort to look professorial. Really, his wife ought to look after him better.

  “I’m glad to hear that you’ve got no hard feelings. And, by the way, she doesn’t have any children.”

  “Not sure whether I’m glad or sad to hear that,” Gabriel answered ironically. “So has she applied?”

  “Not yet. She said that she wanted to talk to you about it first.”

  “She doesn’t need to do that.”

  “I just about promised her that I’d get you to call her. I’d be grateful if you would.”

  “What for?” Gabriel’s embarrassment took the form of aggression. “She either wants the job or she doesn’t.”

  “I’m sure she does. I got the impression that she wasn’t enjoying her job at Nebotec.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “She said something about it being necessary to make a fresh start. Look, do me a favour and give her a call now. I need to get the short list in by tomorrow. She sent me her application by email but I said I wouldn’t let it go forward before she spoke to you. Please, Adam.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  Gabriel dialled the number on the note left him by his secretary.

  A man’s voice, which Gabriel initially struggled to identify as that of Anna’s husband, answered by reciting the last four digits of the number that he had dialled. Gabriel realised immediately that Anna had given him her private rather than work number. He could not conceal his surprise to be talking to someone he had not expected to answer the phone.

  “Oh hullo, is that Matt Taylor?” He paused slightly as if not certain what to say next but then added quickly, almost in the same breath, “How are you? This is Adam Gabriel. I worked with Anna at Oxford... Yes, that’s right. I supervised her doctorate. We’ve met— at a college dinner, more than a few years ago now, and at an IACR conference in Denver, if I remember correctly. I wonder if I could speak to Anna, please...”

  His body suddenly stiffened. His eyes, which were focused on the X-Ray placed on the viewing box, opened wide as if they had suddenly spotted another abnormality in one of the bones. He clutched the phone tightly.

  “Something’s happened... something terrible,” he heard. “Anna’s dead.” There was a pause. “She’s been murdered.” Another pause. “I can’t say much more about it but it happened when she was at work...”

  Chapter 2

  Able was I ere I saw Elba

  Later that evening, in his cottage near the village of Boarstall, Adam Gabriel read the newspaper reports on the death of Anna Taylor. She had been killed in the research laboratories at Nebotec last night. It was reported that a staff member had discovered her body but there were very few details as to the manner of her death. There had been several reported burglaries in the last few months from other offices on the business park where the Nebotec laboratory was sited. The police were keeping an open mind over whether the murder was related. Dr Grant, the Home Office Pathologist — Gabriel had trained with him and knew him well — had carried out a post mortem examination.

  The way the newspapers described it, Gabriel reflected, it was more a puzzle than a tragedy. He looked up and met his wife’s eyes which were grey under arched pale eyebrows.

  Pat guessed his thoughts. “It’s terrible. They reported last night on the news that there’d been a murder in Oxford but only released Anna’s name this evening.”

  Her husband did not answer. His eyes were fixed on her but looked as if they barely recognised her.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Pat asked, her thoughts moving a little uneasily from the dead to the living.

  Adam Gabriel’s did not follow immediately — they were still on the reports in the newspapers — and he did not answer her question. She took that as her cue to do what she thought was necessary and got up to make the coffee. She moved easily about the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, opening and closing cupboard doors, rattling the mugs as she put them down on the large kitchen table at which he was seated.

  Adam knew it was good of Pat to run around for him — she worked as much a full day at her Oxford college as he did at the hospital. Still, he would have preferred his silence to be buttressed rather than disturbed by her activity.

  The two of them had met rather late in life and married a couple of years after Adam had come to Oxford. From the first there had been a bond between them; nothing overtly romantic, just a kind of real affection. Adam liked Pat’s frankness. She was straightforward and had a good sense of humour. She clearly saw it as her task to civilise him: smooth off his rough colonial edges and dilute his pathological pessimism. Adam ritually opposed her efforts, was sometimes fed up with them, but in his own way appreciated them as he knew they provided what he most lacked — an innate understanding and real compassion for all human beings struggling to weave their tremulous webs from one corner of life to another.

  He got up and moved to the sitting room which was silent apart from the occasional licking sound of a low flame in the inglenook. He stoked the fire then sat down in one of a pair of easy chairs facing the inglenook. He unfolded the broadsheets of the newspaper to read a couple of articles; it was only when he finished them that he realised he could not recall anything of what he had just read.

  Pat brought in the coffee and offered Adam a slice of tea cake. “It isn’t home-made, I’m afraid.”

  Gabriel devoured a slice with unseemly haste and then, aware that Pat was studying his response, said, “Not as good as yours, of course, but it’ll do.” He folded up the newspaper and transferred his hands to the arms of the easy chair.

  “What was Anna working on at this Nebotec?” Pat asked.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t keep in contact with her after she left the department. Anyway, you never know with biotech companies. They don’t publish what they’re up to. The one Anna worked for was a drug discovery firm. Its main focus was research into cancer.”

  “And is their research any good?”

  Gabriel shrugged his shoulders. “I really couldn’t tell you.

  Their speciality is identifying cancer genes. It’s not really my field. These companies are more interested in business than research. They work with a few scientists. Ken Palmer, who’s at the same college as Liz Reynolds, is one of them. Liz used to be his doctoral student, though you wouldn’t know that from the way she lays into him at faculty meetings.”

  “I would imagine she can be somewhat uncompromising.”

  “You would imagine right. Anyway, Nebotec supports a lot of Palmer’s research. Some of it is done in our department at the hospital. A few of the registrars have been sucked into his projects. Most of the work is done at the Nebotec labs outside of Oxford where they’ve got a big animal facility. Palmer has wangled some sort of position
there as chief scientific consultant. The aim is to translate research ideas into profitable biological therapies for Nebotec. Matt Taylor is a Cambridge graduate who’s worked with Palmer for years. He was recruited by the company to run Palmer’s research in their labs. Anna married Matt and that’s why she ended up working at Nebotec.”

  Pat’s eyes were fixed on him. She was used to seeing and hearing him when his mind was at ease with the facts it had to deal with. She could tell that something was disturbing him and was not surprised when he spoke again.

  “I liked Anna. She worked hard and was smart. Really smart. She assimilated information quickly. It didn’t matter whether it was something she saw down a microscope or results in a graph or table. She didn’t just accept the obvious; she questioned it. I’d marked her out as the sort of person who would do well in academic medicine. I’d even made plans to create a position for her. That’s why I was more than a little browned off when she suddenly decided to join Nebotec and left me in the lurch. I tried not to show it, but Anna must have known I felt betrayed at her leaving like that.”

  “You’ve nothing to reproach yourself with. It doesn’t sound as if this had anything to do with you.”

  “No. I suppose not,” he answered, hastily dealing with her point before continuing. “Of course, it was understandable that she should want to join her husband at Nebotec. Peoples’ lives are their own business. If someone wants to move on you don’t stand in their way. You give them a good reference and wish them luck. That’s what I did with Anna.” Gabriel sighed. “In a way I was glad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not really sure myself. She was very focused, very ambitious. It was as if she’d mapped out her life from an early age, decided what career she’d follow, where she was going to live, what sort of man she was going to marry, how many children she was going to have.”