and gentlemen, it’s good of you to come, to join with us in this celebration, to wish Tricia all the best, knowing that she has our full support,’ Jaden said. He wasn’t about to let a petty-minded, mealy-mouthed reporter destroy the press conference.

Jaden left the room abruptly, the others following soon after.

In the next room, away from the dispersing crowd, Jaden grabbed hold of Babbage by the collar. ‘You bastard. You’re our lawyer. I told you to make sure there were no dumb questions.’

‘I did, paid her off not to act dumb. No one else asked.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Her newspaper. It’s not only the television stations that are struggling; it’s the newspapers as well. She’s protecting her job, taking a backhander from us.’

‘Deal with her,’ Jaden said. ‘Offer her a job, bribe her more, but make sure she doesn’t write it up.’

‘Jim Breslaw?’

‘Make sure he doesn’t talk, not about Simmons or us.’

‘He’ll want money,’ Babbage said.

‘Don’t tell me, just make sure Breslaw keeps his mouth shut. Simple enough, even for you, or do we have to get rid of you, give the job to Taylor?’

Babbage, not sure what to say, nervously replied, ‘He hasn’t got the time or the legal qualifications, what with programming and keeping Alison entertained.’

Jerome Jaden, his anger vented, said, ‘You’re right, Bob. The man’s busy. Just deal with that damn Ashley whatshername, make sure Breslaw doesn’t talk.’

Chapter 12

A bizarre press conference, Isaac had thought, initially full of positivity, not forsaking that one of their media stars had died recently. Degenerating into verbal fisticuffs with a determined reporter and concluding with Jerome Jaden walking off stage and out of the door, Homicide met at six the next morning, prompt.

‘It didn’t go according to plan,’ Larry said.

‘They must have paid Tricia Warburton plenty,’ Wendy’s comment.

‘Bridget, what do you reckon?’ Isaac asked, the woman holding three folders in her hand.

‘Selling herself, not that I minded either way.’

‘Cheapened herself?’

‘If she’s smart, it might be a good move, but I wouldn’t be sure. You’ve met Jaden; a decent man?’

‘An entrepreneur, been in the business a long time,’ Isaac said. ‘Any dirt on him?’

‘He’s not made himself popular, put a few competitors out of business.’

‘Is there any more?’

‘Heads of sales tend not to last long. He keeps his lawyers close, takes action easily, protects his base.’

‘All in the file?’ Wendy asked.

‘It is,’ Bridget said. ‘I’ve added more details on Jim Breslaw, included Ashley Otway. Jim Breslaw, you know about. The whiz-kid, Tom Taylor, was given the position soon after.’

‘Whiz-kid?’ Larry said.

‘You know what I mean. Young, smart-arse, thinks he knows it all.’

‘Research or a personal opinion?’

‘A bit of both,’ Bridget said. ‘Taylor left school, good results, a degree in media management; did well again, won a prize one year for best student. He’s no dummy, but no real-world experience. More than likely Jaden’s stooge, not like Breslaw, who had been around forever, almost back to black and white television, the epilogue at the end of programming for the day, the national anthem as the television channel turned to black.’

‘Prehistoric,’ Isaac said.

‘It seems that way, although it was only 1967 when colour kicked off. Breslaw became involved in the eighties, did well, but then the world moved on. Breslaw, fifty-nine, not so good with computers and the youth today, started to lose market share.’

‘Market share, or was it across the board?’

‘Across the board; fifty minutes less viewing per day on average across the population since 2010. Significant if you’re generating revenue. Jerome Jaden’s haemorrhaging money, not got enough to pay for Tricia Warburton to fly around the world, bringing you the stories you want, not if it’s unsuccessful. The man’s taking a gamble, and Breslaw, if he’d still been there, would have told him so.’

‘Ashley Otway?’

‘Entertainments reporter. Interviews celebrities, endures their piffle, makes out she’s interested,’ Bridget said.

‘What else?’ Larry asked. ‘She seemed to be on to something last night.’

‘Thirty-seven years of age, single, a political reporter, up and coming, spoilt her copybook, asked questions where she shouldn’t have.’

‘Such as?’ Isaac said.

‘Do you remember a couple of years back, Members of Parliament cheating on their expenses, claiming their primary residence in London as a second home, only used when parliament is sitting?’

‘I do; a couple of ministers forced to resign.’

‘There was another one, more senior, a house in Richmond, close enough to be a daily commute to the Houses of Parliament, a small two-storey terrace. He claimed it as a second residence.’

‘Was it?’

‘He failed to mention that he had a mistress in there, Spanish, from Madrid, taught dancing in the area, whirled him around the bedroom of a night. Otway found out about his monkeying around, a bit on the side, asked him the question one night over a glass of wine.’

‘Why wine? Why at night?’

‘The man’s sharp, aware that Otway was on to him, thought that wine and a late-night seduction were one way out. He was a powerful man, still is, and Otway’s ambitious. The man had the ear of the prime minister, could ensure that she got the first question when he was willing to answer questions, not that he is that often.’

‘How do you know all this?’ Larry asked.

‘Don’t ask,’ Bridget replied.

Bridget’s accomplishments with computers and hacking were legendary, not only in Homicide but also throughout the Challis Street Police Station, even in Scotland Yard. Careful how she went about it, only revealing what was needed for an investigation, Isaac knew that one thing she wouldn’t do was reveal names or addresses unless relevant.

‘As you were saying,’ Isaac said.

‘This minister thought Otway would be a fine addition to his stable, unable to believe that she wasn’t having any of it. He couldn’t deny that he had

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