Deadlock Read Online Free Page B
Author: Colin Forbes
reverse, released the brake and backed the vehicle slowly towards the struggling figures. He saw Grimes pause, stare towards him as the car moved closer. Eric seized his chance, broke free and ran, disappearing behind the pub into the dark wall of the forest. Grimes jumped to one side, then grabbed the handle of the rear door, pulling at it furiously.
Tweed changed gear, drove off, pressing his foot down. The acceleration was impressive. He caught a last glimpse of Grimes, thrown off balance, sprawling in the road. Tweed drove on through the gateway and pressed his foot down further, speeding along the straight road. He kept glancing in his rear view mirror, waiting for the headlights of the Porsche. Nothing appeared.
He turned right along the highway and sped along its smooth surface. Within minutes he passed a signpost oa his left. Pointing to Cockley Cley. He kept on, heading for Swaffham, leaving behind the forest where feral cats roamed, where a strange doctor seemed to have a village in the palm of his hand. He left behind Breckland.
It was late evening when he reached the Norfolk coast, taking the turn-off for Blakeney Quay, Paula Grey's new home.
3
'Tweed, what a weird experience. Now finish up your bacon and eggs while I natter. You could have had a pork chop . . .'
'This is fine, Paula - no good for my weight but marvellous for my stomach.'
Her tiny house overlooked the harbour at Blakeney just across the road. Which was little more than a wharf at the edge of a creek. Paula Grey was a slim thirty-year-old with a good figure, raven-black hair shaped to her neck, a longish face and strong bone structure. She wore a blue blouse with a mandarin collar and a cream pleated skirt. Sitting in a bentwood chair close to him, she crossed her long legs.
'Shouldn't you tell the police - or something?'
'Nothing to go on. Nobody attacked me. I just felt they wanted to. Queer village, that. We'd best forget it. Just don't go near the place again.'
'But someone has been checking up on me here - going round showing a photo of me and asking where I live . . .'
'What?' Tweed paused, his napkin half way to his mouth. 'You didn't mention this on the phone.'
'I didn't want to go into everything,' she explained. 'After you said you'd come and see me.'
'Go into everything now. Start from the beginning - and I need the complete picture, please.'
'Have some more coffee. Now, from the beginning. I was in my car outside this house a few days ago - ready to drive off into the wild blue yonder. No particular destination. Day off from my pottery business - which I'm seriously thinking of selling. Behind me were the docks where a coaster was unloading soya bean meal. They store it in that tall warehouse down the street. I saw this white-haired man - very tall and tough-looking - striding down the gangplank, carrying a case. I began to get curious . . .'
'Why?'
'The coasters normally carry only cargo. And he looked familiar.' She leaned forward, slim hands clasped over shapely knees. 'And a funny little man brought him a red Porsche. Didn't add up - travelling cargo and then the expensive car. I decided to follow him, see where he went. For something to do.'
'Surely he'd spot you quickly?'
'I didn't think so - not in this part of the world. The roads are so narrow. Often it's happened to me. Driving to the factory at Wisbech - another car catches up with you, perches on your tail for miles until it can overtake. See what I mean?'
'Go on.' Tweed drank more coffee and started on the bowl of fruit salad she'd put before him.
'We drove to Fakenham, then he took the A 1065 to Swaffham. Beyond Swaffham he kept on the 1065 for Mundford. We were in Breckland by now. He pulled up suddenly - the bastard timed it perfectly.'
'What happened?'
'I had to stop close behind him - a big truck was coming in the opposite direction. So, when I passed him I was moving slowly. I glanced at him and damned nearly swerved. He was pointing something
Tweed changed gear, drove off, pressing his foot down. The acceleration was impressive. He caught a last glimpse of Grimes, thrown off balance, sprawling in the road. Tweed drove on through the gateway and pressed his foot down further, speeding along the straight road. He kept glancing in his rear view mirror, waiting for the headlights of the Porsche. Nothing appeared.
He turned right along the highway and sped along its smooth surface. Within minutes he passed a signpost oa his left. Pointing to Cockley Cley. He kept on, heading for Swaffham, leaving behind the forest where feral cats roamed, where a strange doctor seemed to have a village in the palm of his hand. He left behind Breckland.
It was late evening when he reached the Norfolk coast, taking the turn-off for Blakeney Quay, Paula Grey's new home.
3
'Tweed, what a weird experience. Now finish up your bacon and eggs while I natter. You could have had a pork chop . . .'
'This is fine, Paula - no good for my weight but marvellous for my stomach.'
Her tiny house overlooked the harbour at Blakeney just across the road. Which was little more than a wharf at the edge of a creek. Paula Grey was a slim thirty-year-old with a good figure, raven-black hair shaped to her neck, a longish face and strong bone structure. She wore a blue blouse with a mandarin collar and a cream pleated skirt. Sitting in a bentwood chair close to him, she crossed her long legs.
'Shouldn't you tell the police - or something?'
'Nothing to go on. Nobody attacked me. I just felt they wanted to. Queer village, that. We'd best forget it. Just don't go near the place again.'
'But someone has been checking up on me here - going round showing a photo of me and asking where I live . . .'
'What?' Tweed paused, his napkin half way to his mouth. 'You didn't mention this on the phone.'
'I didn't want to go into everything,' she explained. 'After you said you'd come and see me.'
'Go into everything now. Start from the beginning - and I need the complete picture, please.'
'Have some more coffee. Now, from the beginning. I was in my car outside this house a few days ago - ready to drive off into the wild blue yonder. No particular destination. Day off from my pottery business - which I'm seriously thinking of selling. Behind me were the docks where a coaster was unloading soya bean meal. They store it in that tall warehouse down the street. I saw this white-haired man - very tall and tough-looking - striding down the gangplank, carrying a case. I began to get curious . . .'
'Why?'
'The coasters normally carry only cargo. And he looked familiar.' She leaned forward, slim hands clasped over shapely knees. 'And a funny little man brought him a red Porsche. Didn't add up - travelling cargo and then the expensive car. I decided to follow him, see where he went. For something to do.'
'Surely he'd spot you quickly?'
'I didn't think so - not in this part of the world. The roads are so narrow. Often it's happened to me. Driving to the factory at Wisbech - another car catches up with you, perches on your tail for miles until it can overtake. See what I mean?'
'Go on.' Tweed drank more coffee and started on the bowl of fruit salad she'd put before him.
'We drove to Fakenham, then he took the A 1065 to Swaffham. Beyond Swaffham he kept on the 1065 for Mundford. We were in Breckland by now. He pulled up suddenly - the bastard timed it perfectly.'
'What happened?'
'I had to stop close behind him - a big truck was coming in the opposite direction. So, when I passed him I was moving slowly. I glanced at him and damned nearly swerved. He was pointing something
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