‘The verbal or literal bicycle?’
‘Verbal. If she applied anywhere else, doors would be locked. This unnamed man wasn’t the only one cheating the system, and men of influence, newspaper owners, television station proprietors and others are all into one thing or another. The minister’s vice was women, still is.’
‘The Spanish mistress?’
‘Still dancing the Flamenco with the minister, another love nest, a different address, but the expenses scandal continues.’
‘And if she continues to pursue Jaden?’
‘Jaden’s not got the political clout, hardly likely to stop her pursuing a cause.’
‘She’s meant to be bringing light and frivolity to the newspaper, not investigative journalism,’ Larry said.
‘What she’s doing is not important,’ Isaac said. ‘What she knows, or suspects, is. Talk to her, find out if she’ll talk, or if she’s determined to keep it to herself.’
‘She’ll want a scoop from us if she agrees,’ Larry said.
‘Give her first bite of the cherry, assuming it’s not prejudicial to the investigation. Run anything she writes past me first, let Chief Superintendent Goddard know, let our legal department peruse it.’
‘Seems a lot to check.’
‘If Otway’s willing to take on a government minister, she’s no pushover. Kid gloves with her until we’re comfortable.’
‘It would be best if you meet with her,’ Wendy said. ‘She’s educated, more than DI Hill and me.’
‘Wendy’s right,’ Larry said. ‘She’s all yours. Practise your dance steps.’
In Homicide, occasional humour never went amiss, always an excellent way to defuse the tension, the morbidness of dealing with death. Isaac took it in his stride, felt no offence, no need to tell his inspector off for his impertinence.
‘I can barely put one foot in front of the other,’ Isaac said. ‘It might be best if you and Wendy meet with Breslaw as soon as possible. Now that Otway’s mentioned him, she’s sure to meet with him, and Jaden’s not going to be far behind.’
***
‘If you’re here to ask stupid questions, to look for an angle, you’re wasting your time. I’m beyond all that, enjoying my retirement.’
Neither Larry nor Wendy was prepared for Jim Breslaw’s outburst. After all, he had been cordial when he opened the door of his modest semi-detached house in North London and had welcomed them in, ensuring that Wendy had the best seat in the room and that Larry was comfortable.
Jim Breslaw was slim, with drooping shoulders, a weather-beaten look, a full head of hair. Wendy could tell that he had used a hair dye, although she couldn’t see the point. Her husband had gone through the getting old stage, the need to exercise daily, comb his hair forward and let it grow longer. She had told him off for the folly, that with age comes wisdom, and a distinguished older man is more attractive than someone who can’t accept the inevitable.
Wendy’s husband had had her; Jim Breslaw had no one, his wife having passed away at forty-six, a brain embolism.
‘Retirement suit you?’ Larry asked.
‘I thought I was good for another five years, but Jerome had other ideas. Something to do with a new team, dynamic, fresh ideas, innovative this and that, whatever twaddle he could come up with.’
‘Your opinion of Jerome Jaden?’
‘After what he did to me?’
‘Before would be more appropriate,’ Larry said, shifting on his seat to let a cat find its place alongside him.
‘Jerome’s a bastard, in the nicest possible way.’
‘I’ve never met a nice bastard,’ Wendy said.
‘You’ve led a sheltered life. Jerome Jaden would sell his mother if there were an advantage,’ Breslaw said.
‘Selling your mother?’
‘Figuratively, that’s what I mean. He was a shoot from the hip man, made decisions on the fly, thought about them afterwards, rescinded them later if there was a better option.’
‘He wasn’t a details man?’
‘Instinctive, a good judge of what the people wanted, who was best suited to work for him, their job description.’
‘You admired him?’
‘Greatly, still do, even after he showed me the way out.’
‘Instinctive or stupid?’
‘Jerome knew what was going to happen after Angus pulled that stunt.’
‘You mean after someone shot him.’
Larry got up from his seat, the cat exercising its right to more room on the chair, sticking its claws into his leg.
‘Sorry about that,’ Breslaw said. ‘They think they own the place.’
‘Are you fond of cats, Mr Breslaw?’ Wendy asked. She was comfortable, and no cat was going to oust her from where she was seated.
‘I can’t stand the damn things, but they were the wife’s. The last thing she said to me before she died was for me to promise to look after her pets. She knew I would have found homes for them. Seven years this November since she passed on, and to be honest, the cats have been company.’
‘You and your wife, close?’
‘As close as any married couple could be after twenty-five years together. I was upset for a while, but she hadn’t been a well woman, even before the embolism, too much weight, a dicky heart.’
‘Did work become your obsession afterwards?’
‘Not so you’d notice. What did Jaden say?’
‘That you went back to the halcyon days when advertising revenue and viewers were easy to attract. That it was a lot easier back then, words to that effect.’
‘He’s right. I’ll not dispute that, although he might not have told you that television isn’t going to last, not indefinitely. Oh, sure, they can streamline the company, get rid of the old warhorses, the dinosaurs as Tom Taylor would say, smart-arsed little brat, but there’s only so far you can go.’
‘You’re not a fan of Tom Taylor?’
Breslaw moved from
