Callie was surprised and knew that her face had betrayed that fact. She knew that MPs had often employed members of their own family as a way of increasing the joint income from the taxpayer for work a spouse might well have done anyway, until the practice was banned. She dimly remembered that it was only banned for new MPs, suggesting that Ted Savage had already employed his wife and was allowed to continue. Callie’s initial impression of Teresa Savage was of devoted secretary, not wife. Perhaps that’s what she had been, before gaining promotion to the role of spouse, Callie thought. She certainly looked well-prepared to fight off the rude and belligerent constituents that no doubt made up a fair-sized proportion of those who attended advice surgeries.
Mrs Savage sat Callie in a bland, utilitarian waiting room, with uncomfortable chairs and a coffee table covered in advice leaflets, mainly about personal finance or how to claim various allowances and benefits. A picture of the smiling MP shaking hands with the last prime minister hung on the wall, alongside a portrait of the Queen.
Having refused the offer of tea or coffee, Callie settled down to wait and was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t have to wait long. Too often, in Callie’s experience, people with power liked to keep others waiting, just because they could.
“Dr Hughes?” Savage asked as he crossed the room, hand held out in readiness. He had a firm grip, but the shake was quick – not one to overdo the touching bit, she was relieved to find. Dressed more casually than he had been when being interviewed on the television, the MP was wearing a blue dress shirt, open at the neck, and cream chinos. His hair was greying at the sides and there were deep lines either side of his mouth but he still managed to look younger than the fifty-seven years his biography on Wikipedia had said he was.
He led her through to his office, a slightly better furnished room, with shelves full of files covering one wall. There was a table for him to sit behind rather than a desk, but a comfortable chair, unlike the two wooden dining chairs put out for those who came to see him. Callie was sure his offices in Westminster and at his home would be far more comfortable than this. His wife, she who was in charge of his diary, followed them in and at last it appeared that she could smile, if only for her husband.
“How can I help?” Savage asked once they were all seated and his wife had a notebook out and a pencil poised. To write down, what exactly? Every word they spoke? Perhaps she was there to note down any action points from the meeting. Or maybe she was just there for show, to impress Callie with how important a man Ted Savage was and how grateful she should be to be given some of his precious time. On the whole, she inclined to the latter view.
“I’m one of the forensic physicians for the area,” she started. “We work with the police, and so have been closely involved with the recent deaths of refugees.”
“Terrible, terrible.” He shook his head. “Those poor young men. I can’t tell you how bad I feel about it. Just dreadful. All they wanted was a better life, a place of safety, and look what happened. Such a tragedy,” he said and Callie was impressed that he actually sounded so sincere.
“Yes, a tragedy indeed.”
“In what way have you been involved with these poor young men, Dr Hughes?”
“I, and my colleagues, have been to each scene, where the bodies have been found, to formally pronounce death and try to form a view as to the nature of the death in order to direct the police investigation and the coroner in the right direction.”
“Fascinating,” he said and Callie was once again struck by the sincerity in his voice. “I assume it was fairly clear what had happened in all these cases, but it must be much harder at other times.”
“That’s true. Sometimes it’s really not easy to decide whether a person died of natural causes or not, and we always err on the side of caution, suggest that the police investigate in case it is suspicious, but then the post-mortem may clarify things.”
“Or not.”
“Yes, sometimes even then we are not completely sure, but it’s always easier to stop an unnecessary investigation than start one days or even weeks after the fact.”
He nodded his understanding and leant forward.
“So how can I help you today, Dr Hughes?”
He looked at her expectantly, the formalities were over and he was all business.
“It was actually about the interview you gave last Saturday.”
She was sure it wasn’t just in her imagination that there was suddenly a slight tension in the air. Savage was sitting very still, smile fixed on his face, whilst Mrs Savage’s back had stiffened and the knuckles holding her pencil were white. Callie worried that it might snap. Savage cleared his throat.
“Oh yes?”
“In the interview, the journalist asked about damage to the boat. I wondered if you knew where he had got the idea that anything like that had happened?”
“Goodness only knows.” Savage waved a hand dismissively. He had recovered quickly, much faster than his wife. “Reporters seem to have sources everywhere and he’s hardly going to tell me where he got hold of something like that, is he? Why do you ask?”
“Because of the timing of that interview and as a result, the question. You see, it’s the first time that the possibility of sabotage seems to have been mentioned and it was the day of the FNM rally. It led directly to a counter-demonstration being set up by the anti-fascist and anti-racist groups.”
Savage was unable to hide the look of contempt on his face
