Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

to see her navel, thought Agatha.
    Worse happened outside the hotel. James went off with Olivia, George and Harry in one car, leaving Agatha to follow with Rose, Trevor and Angus.
    They stopped at a disco attached to a hotel outside Karaoğlanoğlu, a place which looked like a frontier town, just along the coast from Kyrenia. More noise, more thudding music. Agatha’s head ached.
    James took the floor with Olivia and started throwing himself energetically about in movements which seemed to have nothing to do with the beat of the music.
    Angus asked Agatha for a dance, put a beefy hand at her waist and tried to propel her in a foxtrot to the disco beat. ‘I think we should sit down,’ shouted Agatha in his ear after he had trodden on her feet, painfully, for about the third time.
    ‘Aye, I’m no’ verra good at this,’ said Angus. ‘You should see me do an eightsome reel.’
    ‘Really?’ said Agatha politely.
    They sat down at a table at the edge of the floor. Gradually the others joined them. Rose sat down, gave a hiccup and a giggle and slipped slowly under the table, a suddenly puzzled look on her face.
    Laughing, the men all reached for her. ‘She’s had too much,’ said Trevor. ‘I’d better take her back.’
    ‘Which hotel are you in?’ asked James.
    ‘The Celebrity, along at Lapta.’
    Above their heads, a spinning ball of light put their table alternately in pitch-black darkness and then glaring light. Trevor got hold of Rose and slung her over his shoulder. ‘Better take baby home,’ he said with a grin.
    He turned to go, one large pink hand firmly on Rose’s narrow bony back.
    And then he stopped.
    He slowly took his hand away and looked at it.
    Darkness. Then the ball swung again and they all saw it in the glaring light – the red stain of blood on his hand and the red stain of blood on Rose’s back.

Chapter Three

    The police did not allow anyone to leave the disco until the following morning. The duty officer from the British High Commission was there to look after his compatriots. They were questioned over and over again. Agatha could only shake her head each time and say she did not know what could have possibly happened. Rose, she said, appeared to have become the worse for drink and had sunk under the table. The men had crowded around, laughing, to reach down to get her, but there were a lot of men other than those in their own party there when Rose was pulled out from under the table.
    The police force in north Cyprus is still run on British lines. They keep a considerably lower profile than the army, who have their own police force, the ASIZ. The civil police work is in close conjunction with the tourist department, and visitors are usually treated with a special tolerance and helpfulness. The crime rate is exceptionally low, and the civil police are used to dealing mostly with traffic accidents.
    But here was the murder of a British tourist. And the authorities were determined to solve it. Detective Inspector Nyall Pamir, who spoke good English, during one of his many interrogations of Agatha seemed to think it was a crime of passion. Agatha asked why. Pamir said that Rose was knickerless and that seemed to him to be as good a clue as any. He was a short, tubby man with skin as dark as an Indian’s and small black eyes which gave nothing away. Agatha had an odd feeling he was trying to be funny but then decided she must be wrong.
    Rose had been stabbed with a thin, sharp instrument, probably some sort of knife, was the preliminary finding.
    They were all told not to leave the island, and to hold themselves ready for further questioning. Then they all shuffled out into the blazing sunlight of early morning.
    Angus stood there, old and trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘Rose, gone,’ he kept saying. ‘I cannae believe it.’ Trevor was grim and silent.
    To Agatha’s relief, because she wanted time to rest and think, James had ordered a taxi for both of them. He dropped her at her hotel, saying, ‘I’ll see you at the villa in an hour. We’ll talk then.’
    Agatha packed slowly and carefully. She found she was reluctant to check out. There was something safe about the Dome with its balconied rooms and large ornate lounges. And she hadn’t even had a swim yet at that pool. She was too tired to think much about who had murdered Rose or why.
    She was finally finished. She took a last look round and then went down to the reception and paid her bill. This time