Read Jazz and Die for Free Online Page B

sitting area and her father’s bedroom next door. Her room was also incredibly untidy. Clothes, towels, magazines, cosmetics tossed around, on the bed, on the armchair, on the floor. She’d brought enough clothes for a month’s stay. She went into the bathroom and came out with two glasses.
    ‘Will these do?’
    ‘Perfect.’
    The diluted white wine loosened Maddy’s tongue. She chatted about hating school, needing new clothes and a lot about the amazing Ross Knighton. He was wonderful. He was a great drummer. The greatest new star on the jazz scene. He was so good-looking. All I had to do was nod and agree.
    ‘He’s terrific. Wait till you hear him play,’ she went on, her eyes glowing.
    Eventually I tore myself away from the eulogy of praise and left with the empty bottle and bucket. I needed some real food. A few carrot sticks were not exactly sustaining. It was going to be a long evening.
    As I closed the door behind me, a piece of A4 paper fluttered to the floor. It had been stuck to the door with a lump of Blu-Tack. I picked it up. The writing was in a thick black felt tip. It read:
    Only three days to Zero and baby Maddy will be shredded meat.

FIVE
    I t was a sheet of lined paper torn from a school notebook, with a ragged serrated side edge. The writing was well formed, not illiterate. It seemed to be the same writing as on those earlier threats which Chuck had given me to read – but I would need to check.
    I scrabbled in my shoulder bag for a specimen bag. The kind of thing a modern girl always carries about. Using a tissue, I picked up the tiniest corner and eased the sheet of paper into the plastic bag and sealed the top. DCI James might be interested. He might find some prints or DNA. DNA was so quick these days. No more waiting for six weeks for a result. They could do it in hours.
    There was no point in telling Chuck. He was concerned enough. And he had his first big concert tonight. It would be jazz to blow your mind. What worried me was access to this top floor. It was too easy for anyone to get up here. There was a medley of musicians wandering about into each other’s rooms, staff of the hotel delivering room service, other guests finding themselves on the wrong floor, accidentally or on purpose, autograph books in hand.
    I sent DCI James a text, saying I had some evidence he might want to see. I was not adept at texting but my style was improving. I didn’t do little sideways faces at the end or LOL. He’d know that a
JL
signature was not Jennifer Lopez.
    The stalker could be in any of those hotel categories. I didn’t think there was a noun for a threatener. But there it was. I lookedit up on my laptop. Threatener did exist but no one ever uses the word these days. It was classified as archaic.
    One of the signs of a jazz enthusiast was to wear a beard or a hat. I couldn’t manage a beard so I wore a real cowboy hat borrowed from my Latching shop. I could have sold it several times to Latching cowboys. If you were in a jazz parade then most women carried a highly decorated umbrella. You wouldn’t catch me spending time decorating an umbrella.
    A crowd were already queuing to go into Marquee One for that night’s gig. Another steward spotted my badge and grabbed me. He looked frazzled, nice round face, brown haired, a bit on the heavy side. It looked like too many quick burger and chips lunches, washed down with a lager.
    ‘Thank goodness you’re here. Can you man this front entrance, please? Check everyone. Red wristband for tonight’s stroller or a single ticket purchased at the box office. Don’t let anyone in on any excuse. They will say anything.’
    ‘OK,’ I said dubiously. I was keeping an eye on Maddy. She was already in the tent, helping to set up the stage, manfully carrying in some of the percussion gear. Ross was playing with her dad’s band tonight. He must be good. The sound engineers were testing everything on site. Rows of uncomfortable grey plastic chairs sat in a