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down on his haunches. Davies warned his officers off with a glance. When he judged the time to be right he asked the policewoman if Lucy Palmer was going to be fit to caution in the near future.
    John Palmer interrupted her reply. ‘No,’ he said, turning to look at Davies directly. ‘Leave Lucy out of this, she had nothing to do with it. It was me, I did it. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t cope any longer.’
    As two police officers took hold of his arms John Palmer looked down into the grave and said sadly, ‘I’m so sorry, my darling.’
    Lucy Palmer was still unconscious as he was led away.
     
    ‘Well, what d’you make of that?’ Davies asked his sergeant as they drove back to the station.
    ‘Bloody unsatisfying,’ Walters replied.
    ‘You’re kidding - we’ve just cleared up a murder.’
    ‘But it’s just a mess, isn’t it sir. I mean it’s not like catching a real murderer, is it?’
    ‘Isn’t it? That’s how the law will see it.’
    ‘I suppose. Maybe that’s why it feels, like I said, unsatisfying. I feel for them, don’t you? All their prayers were answered; they were so happy and then it all went wrong The baby is born like that and it all ends in tragedy for everybody.’
    ‘Mark my words, we’re in for an emotional sports day over this one,’ said Davies. ‘The Bible-thumpers, the disabled lobby, the euthanasia mob, they’re all going to start shouting the odds but let’s look on the bright side, boyo, we’ve just cleared up a kidnapping and solved a murder. Not bad for a day’s work, wouldn’t you say?’

THREE
     
     
    Gordon was called out on Saturday afternoon to a local shop where a middle-aged woman had collapsed on the floor. She had already come round by the time he got there, although it had taken him less than five minutes to sprint up from his own flat near the harbour. He was out of breath from the climb up the steep flight of steps to Main Street – something that caused even the woman herself to smile. She was still sitting on the floor but had been propped up with her back against the counter. One of the shop assistants knelt beside her holding a glass of water in readiness while a small group of onlookers stood in a huddle at a discrete distance.
    ‘I just came over all faint, Doctor,’ said the woman whom Gordon recognised as Ida Marsh, who did cleaning work in the village. The Palmers were one of the families she cleaned for.
    ‘Now then, Mrs Marsh, tell me what happened exactly.’
    ‘I think it must have been the fumes, Doctor. They were making me feel light-headed while I was working.’
    ‘What fumes?’
    ‘I was cleaning out the spare bedroom in the place I do on Saturday mornings along in Aberlyn when I came over all queer, like. Maybe it’s because the windows are never open in that house - it’s empty most of the time, but there was a funny smell in the room; made me feel quite sick it did while I was working there. I told the gentleman about it, like, and he apologised - said it was the paint stripper he’d been using on an old chest of drawers.’
    ‘What man was this?’
    ‘Peggy Grant’s tenant. She’s rented out her house down on Beach Road while she’s away in Australia visiting her son and his family. Nice man, English but a gentleman, like. Works up in Caernarfon.’
    ‘Paint stripper can be nasty stuff,’ said Gordon. ‘Especially in enclosed spaces.’
    ‘I popped in here when I got off the bus to buy a bottle of lemonade to take away the taste in my mouth and suddenly all the lights went out. I’ve made a right fool of myself.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ said Gordon reassuringly. ‘It could happen to anyone. Are you sure that’s all it is? You’ve not been overdoing it lately? Taking on too much in the way of cleaning jobs, I mean.’
    ‘No, Doctor, far from it. I’ve just given up one of them, Dai didn’t want me going to the Palmers’ house any more, he said.’
    There was a murmur of assent from the huddle of women and