“He sounds a right charmer.”
“Mmm, it’s not that uncommon, apparently, but not cheap either. The Met have the boys, some of whom are barely legal, I might add, looking at photographs in the hope someone can identify the man, but it’s not looking hopeful.”
“Well if they never met him−”
Miller looked at her as if she was being naive.
“I just hope none of them are planning on carrying on where Daniel left off,” he told her.
Callie could understand his worry. If the man had been willing to kill twice to protect his secret, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.
“I certainly hope they find out who it is quickly, but why the visit to me?”
Miller cleared his throat.
“We know this client must have a place in London, as that is where Daniel and his mates went for the parties,” he told her. “And we’ve been investigating anyone who has homes both in London and down here.”
“Makes sense. If he was coming down here to confront his client, there must be some connection.”
“Exactly,” he said. “There aren’t that many people who live here, have a place in London as well and who might find it embarrassing if it came out they were having sex and drug parties with young men. We’re trying to find out more about all of them, without ruffling any feathers. I could do without any more complaints to the Superintendent.”
“I’m sure. You think it’s a businessman, or someone like that? A family man, maybe, or a religious leader?”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “Or an MP?”
“Oh!” Callie suddenly realised how well he fitted the description. “Ted Savage.”
“Yes. Our local MP has a house at Pett Level. It’s on the security register, in case it’s attacked by terrorists or nutters.”
Pett Level was where the migrants first came to shore, and was close to where both body number nine, or Daniel as she now knew him to be, and Michelle had been found. It all fitted so well.
“Does he have a boat?” she asked.
“We don’t know. He lives on the beach, though, so it would seem likely. That’s why I’m here, I wondered if you might know, seeing as you are such good buddies.”
“Buddies? I hardly know the man.”
“That’s not what Councillor Claybourne says. He says you and Mr Savage are ‘close friends’.” Miller did the irritating bunny ears gesture as he said the words.
“Judging by what you’ve told me, if he is our man, I’m the wrong sex for that.”
“Maybe Claybourne doesn’t know that.”
“No. I can’t imagine him keeping quiet about it if he did. Have there been any rumours about Savage’s sexuality?”
Callie firmly believed that such matters were entirely personal, but the tabloid press disagreed and if there had been any hint, she would have expected them to pick up on it.
“No. And the MP does of course have a wife, which might put people off the scent.”
Callie gave that some thought and realised that it fitted quite well with her impression of Mrs Savage as more an assistant or manager than a partner.
“Anyway, I have no idea if Ted, Mr Savage, has a boat or not. I’ve not been to his home and I didn’t even know he had a house at Pett Level.”
“That’s a shame.” Miller was disappointed.
“And I’ve no idea about his sexuality, contrary to Claybourne’s insinuations,” she added for good measure. “Can’t you just ask him? About the boat, that is.”
“I may have to, but at the moment I want to keep it low key. I don’t have enough to get a warrant, for anyone on my short list of possible suspects, let alone an MP. I’m just going to have to wait and see if they manage to get anything more definite in London.” He didn’t seem all that hopeful.
After he had left, Callie gave it some more thought. She had no reason to visit Savage at his home, but she could drop into his surgery, after all, he had invited her. She could ask him about a boat, perhaps invent a love of sailing, fishing or some such, so long as he didn’t actually invite her out on it. She couldn’t actually go with him anyway, she told herself, not when he might have used the boat to dispose of two bodies. That would be both dangerous and silly, particularly as she was so prone to seasickness. He’d know immediately that she wasn’t really keen on sailing if she was leaning over the side throwing up the whole trip.
* * *
When Callie got to the MP’s office building, she had half-expected to find no one there. The politician’s routine surgery wasn’t meant to start for another hour and she had hoped to find Mrs Savage alone, preparing for it. The red car was certainly there, but she was surprised to see workmen busy carrying in boxes of carpet tiles from a panel van parked nearby.
She almost bumped into one of the men hurrying out of the door as she went to enter the building.
“Can’t go in there, love,” he told her. “Just laying the new floor and we have to get it finished before they open later this afternoon.”
She stood at the door and looked in. The smell of new paint and other chemicals used in the refurbishment, struck her immediately.
The walls were now an elegant dove grey and darker grey carpet tiles were being laid along the short corridor. She could see the theme continued into the waiting room and she leaned in to get a better look inside. A quick glance to her left suggested that even the little kitchenette hadn’t escaped the
