‘I don’t underst—’
‘He’s an alcoholic, Tilly. Has been for years.’
Bradshaw made a note on her laptop.
‘So why choose him as his media contact then?’ Flynn said.
‘Two options.’ Poe held up a finger. ‘One: he wants someone at rock bottom, someone desperate to get back in the game. A person like that might be easier to manipulate. Willing to do things that more established investigative journalists wouldn’t.’
‘And the second option?’
‘Stahl knows him.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘He was a journalist for twenty years,’ Poe said. ‘The amount of stories he’s been involved in will be in the thousands.’
‘Tilly needs to turn his life upside down then,’ Flynn said. ‘See if he’s led on stories featuring anyone with an expertise in botany or chemistry or something like that. That doable, Tilly?’
‘I’ll work on search parameters tonight and run them by you in the morning. But, I must warn you, DI Flynn – Oxford University alone has dozens of undergraduate degrees and PhDs in its prospectus that would qualify as relevant.’
The door opened and Stahl joined them. He was wearing his new clothes but they were mismatched and ill fitting. He still looked like a homeless person, but at least he no longer smelled like he lived in a wheelie bin.
‘Looking sharp, Henning,’ Poe said.
‘Cut it out, Poe,’ Flynn said. ‘And I got him the sizes he asked for.’
Stahl shrugged. ‘I must have lost weight recently,’ he said.
They took their seats at the conference table.
‘My name is Matilda Bradshaw, Henning Stahl,’ Bradshaw said. ‘It is very nice to meet you. Poe says you’re an alcoholic.’
She held out her hand. They shook.
‘Yuk,’ Bradshaw said. ‘You have very sweaty hands, Henning Stahl. Please don’t touch any of my computers.’
Poe sniggered.
This bit was going to be fun.