Keppelberg Read Free Page B

your questions,’ he riposted harshly.
    There was silence for a few moments until I continued with my offer. ‘Well that’s the deal. Let me stay for twenty-four hours and I’ll go quietly... no fuss... no trouble.’ I held my breath waiting for his answer. The alternative was for me to spend the rest of my days in this awful smelly cell or to be disposed of entirely.
    He surprised me by conceding immediately. ‘Twenty-four hours,’ he uttered softly. ‘And then you go although I think you might have some difficulty doing so.’
    â€˜How do you come by that?’ I asked with my heart in my mouth.
    â€˜You’ll find out soon enough,’ he muttered with a slight smile touching his face. ‘It’ll be touch and go.’
    He wasted no time in removing a chain of keys from his thick belt and opened the cell door to release me. At first I thought of striking him down and escaping from the police station but then my senses got the better of me. What use would it be if I was on the run? If they caught me, they would lock me up and throw away the key... no one would ever know of my incarceration. So I left the police station and went over to my car to receive an awful shock. Suddenly I began to understand what the Desk Sergeant meant with his comment. The car was a wreck. Someone had totally dismantled it. The wheels had been removed, the bonnet was open, the distributor had been destroyed, and the radiator had been caved in. It appeared that I would be staying a lot longer in the village than twenty-four hours. I wondered what the police were going to do about that. It was a sheer case of vandalism that ought not to go unpunished. However, as it had been committed by one or more of the villagers, I doubted that the police would mount an investigation into the matter. I looked around for a telephone box. There were so many people I wanted to contact but not one telephone was to be found. I went into a cafeteria and ordered a cup of coffee, sitting ruefully at a table wondering what to do next. The woman behind the counter glared at me with suspicion as she served the beverage.
    â€˜Is there a telephone box in the village?’ I asked pleasantly.
    She stared at me gloomily. ‘What for? Who would we want to contact?’ she returned testily.
    â€˜The people in this village aren’t very friendly, are they? I advanced as she passed me a cup of coffee.
    â€˜We keep ourselves to ourselves,’ came the curt response.
    â€˜Where does everyone hang out? I’ve only seen a few people.’
    She weighed up whether or not to reply and then eventually decided to do so. ‘There’s a community centre down the street,’ she uttered almost reluctantly.
    I stared out of the window watching a few of the village folk passing by. There was something odd that buzzed about in my brain but I couldn’t hold it down. And then it came! There were no old people around. Only relatively young men and women, mostly in their twenties or early thirties, and their young children. No old or elderly people to be seen anywhere!
    â€˜Where’s the Help the Aged place here?’ I asked bluntly.
    The woman behind the counter paused again for a while. ‘We don’t have one here. We’re just a small village.’
    â€˜I haven’t seen anyone over the age of forty,’ I persisted.
    She looked very uncomfortable before replying. ‘We don’t like strangers here,’ she told me directly. ‘Don’t ask me any more questions!’
    I drank my coffee and went to the door. ‘Just one more thing,’ I requested gently. ‘Are there any garages around here?’
    â€˜If you go to the right at the end of the lane and walk on for a mile you’ll come to one,’ she replied disappearing through the door at the back of the cafeteria.
    I left the cafeteria eventually and walked to the garage to face a mechanic working on a