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Dead journalists won't speak anymore

Jean lowered the newspaper onto the wooden table in his office and ran his fingers over his wrinkled, strained forehead. The large headline on the first page read in bold letters 'Suspected body of journalist Richard Davies found' and the first sentence in the text already began with the words “Not the first journalist's body found this year.”
He couldn't help but let out a deep sigh and instinctively reach for the old-fashioned globe bar.

“I got rid of all the alcohol like you told me to.”

Jean looked up as his secretary, who had been standing at the other end of the desk the whole time, finally broke her silence. “Right.” He replied quietly, speaking more to himself than to her. Why did he even ordered such a stupid thing? Alcohol always had been the last straw he had, whenever he felt that inner stress.
“Do you think maybe you should leave it alone as well? I would hate to... read about your death in a newspaper article." Yes, Jean was aware that investigative journalism sometimes had its pitfalls, but he couldn't take away his secretary's fears. And the case he had been working on for months was definitely one that would sooner or later lead him to his grave.
“Johnson has already said he is considering letting you the job for the time being.” The blonde only mentioned this meekly, whatever Jean's and her boss' thoughts on the incident were. Nothing what Jean wanted to hear, after all whenever he started to investigate on something, he wanted to end this job.
"He can fuck himself." Jean pressed out between his teeth.
“Bu-...”
"Por el amor de Dios, haz lo que te digo!"
Whatever his secretary wanted to say, he didn't wanted to hear it. Irritated, less by her than by the whole situation, he interrupted whatever she was about to say. She knew very well that she would rather not talk back to him and slowly closed her lips into silence again.