Dead Beat Read Online Free PDF Page B

Currently, it’s a three-week-old lemon geranium that’s already showing signs of unhappiness. I have the opposite of green fingers. Every growing thing I touch turns to brown. If I ever visit the Amazonian rainforests, there’ll be an ecological disaster on a scale that even Sting couldn’t prevent.
    I sat down at my computer and logged on to one of several databases that we subscribe to. I chose the one that keeps extensive newspaper cuttings files on current celebrities, and I downloaded everything they had on Jett into my own computer. I saved the material to disc, then printed it out. Even if we decided not to go ahead with Jett’s assignment, I was determined to be fully briefed when we met. And since Jett himself had deprived me of my best source, I would have to do the best I could without Richard’s help.
    It didn’t take me long to go through the printout, which ironically included a couple of Richard’s own articles. I now knew more than I had ever wanted to about any pop star, including Bjorn from Abba, focus of my own pre-teen crush. I knew all about Jett’s
     
     
     

Chapter   4
     
     
       Jett’s new home couldn’t have been more of a contrast to the area where he’d grown up, I reflected as I pulled up before a pair of tall wrought-iron gates. To get to this part of Cheshire from the center of Manchester, you have to drive through the twitching heart of Moss Side, its pavements piled with the wares of the secondhand furniture dealers. Not the only kind of dealer you spot as you drive through the Moss. I’d been glad to get on to the motorway and even more glad to turn off into the maze of country lanes with their dazzling patches of spring bulbs.
    I wound down the window and pressed the entryphone buzzer that controlled the security system on the gates. At the far end of the drive, I could just make out the honey-colored stone of Colcutt Manor. It looked impressive enough from here. The entryphone quacked an inquiry at me. “Kate Brannigan,” I announced. “Of Mortensen and Brannigan. I have an appointment with Jett.”
    There was a pause. Then a distorted voice squawked, “Sorry. I have no record of that.”
    “Could you check with Jett, please. I do have an appointment.”
    “Sorry. That won’t be possible.”
    I wasn’t exactly surprised. Rock stars are not widely renowned for their efficiency. I sighed and tried again. This time the voice said, “I will have to ask you to leave now.”
    I tried for a third time. This time there was no response at all. I shouted a very rude word at the entryphone. I could always turn round and go home. But that would have hurt my professional pride. “Call yourself a private eye, and you can’t even keep an appointment?” I snarled.
    I reversed away from the gates and slowly drove along the
    I slung my bag across my body and slowly made my way up the tree and along the branch. I dropped on to the top of the wall then let myself down by my arms. I only had about a foot to drop, and I managed it without any major injury. I dusted myself down and headed across the tussocky grass towards the house, avoiding too close an encounter with the browsing cattle. Thank God there wasn’t a bull about. When I got to the drive, I swapped shoes again, wrapping my Reeboks in the plastic bag I always keep in the handbag.
    I marched up to the front door and toyed with the idea of ringing. To hell with that. Whoever had refused me entry previously wouldn’t be any better disposed now. On the off chance, I tried the handle of the massive double doors. To my surprise, it turned under my hand and the door swung open. I didn’t hang about thanking whoever is the patron saint of gumshoes, I just walked straight in. It was an awesome sight. The floor was paved with Italian terrazzo tiles, and ahead of me was an enormous staircase that split halfway up and headed in two different directions. Just like a Fred Astaire movie.
    As I started to cross the hall, an