Agatha Raisin and the Terrible Tourist

I’m coming with you.’ Agatha did not want to be left with them in case one of them tried to murder her.
    They set off as the sun fell lower in the sky. There were few tourists now. Ali passed them and shouted, ‘Any luck?’ They shook their heads and pressed on until they came to the crossroads.
    ‘It should be easier to search now,’ said Charles. ‘Most people will have left the beach.’
    They almost ran down the narrow road to the beach, Agatha forgetting her fatigue in her desire to find Harry.
    The beach was nearly deserted. A yacht bobbed out on the water. The sea was calm, with only little waves rippling in across the sand.
    And then, along the beach, they saw a lone figure, lying prone. The top half of the body was mostly covered by a newspaper, its pages rising and falling in the slight breeze.
    Charles pointed. ‘Do you think that’s him?’
    ‘May as well go and see.’ Agatha headed along the beach and Charles followed.
    They both stood together at last, looking down.
    ‘Seems to be asleep,’ said Charles. ‘Do you think those are Harry’s feet?’
    ‘I don’t know what Harry’s feet look like,’ said Agatha. ‘Here goes.’
    She bent down and gently drew away the newspaper which was covering the man’s face and the top half of his body, noting that it was Kibris, a Turkish Cypriot paper.
    Agatha knew immediately, before she saw the broad red stain on the front of Harry’s shirt, that he was dead. The face was as lifeless as clay. Someone had closed his eyes.
    All the frights she had endured, the two attempts on her life, the long hot day and now this made Agatha feel sick, and dizzy and faint. She sat down on the sand and put her head between her knees.
    ‘Stay there,’ said Charles urgently. ‘I’ll get help.’
    So Agatha sat where she was, beside the dead body of Harry. A woman passed her, leading a small child by the hand. She stopped and turned back and stared open-mouthed at the dead body, at the gruesome red stain on the shirt. Then she scooped up the child and ran off down the beach, screaming at the top of her voice.
    Agatha stayed, unmoving. Her mind seemed to be a numb blank. In the distance, she heard the wail of police sirens. She felt very tired.
    Then she was dimly aware of being surrounded by people, of Charles saying sharply, ‘Can’t you see she’s in shock? I was with her when we found the body. I’ll answer any questions.’
    He helped Agatha to her feet. She blinked and stared around in a dazed way.
    Pamir was there, his face grim. ‘If you will just step aside for a moment with Sir Charles,’ he said to Agatha. ‘Only a few preliminary questions.’
    With Charles’s arm around her waist, Agatha walked up the beach.
    ‘Now we will sit down here,’ said Pamir. ‘You first, Sir Charles.’
    So Charles painstakingly went through their day, ending up with the finding of Harry.
    In a dreary little voice, Agatha then told the same story.
    ‘You may go,’ said Pamir. ‘I will call on you later.’
    ‘I’ll be with Mrs Raisin at the villa,’ said Charles.
    Agatha wanted to cry out that James might be there, but felt too weak and shaky to protest.
    Charles said he would drive. She fell asleep on the road back to Kyrenia, waking only when they stopped outside the Dome.
    ‘Wait there,’ said Charles. ‘I’ll get my stuff.’
    He’s going to move into the villa, thought Agatha with a stab of panic. She still cherished a hope that James might be there waiting for her.
    Bright images of the day crowded her head – the ruins, the ancient brutality of the tombs, Harry’s still, dead face and closed eyes facing up to the sun. Who had closed his eyes? The killer, no doubt.
    She fumbled in her handbag for a cigarette and lit it. What were they doing in Carsely, sleepy Carsely that she used to despise for its lack of excitement? She thought longingly of the vicarage, where Mrs Bloxby would produce tea and scones and they would sit by the fire and chat about safe and secure village matters. Would she ever see her home again? Or would the killer, who had tried to get rid of her twice and failed, be successful on the third attempt? She shivered, suddenly glad that she was not going to be alone in the villa. Damn James for a heartless, selfish beast. He should be there to protect her. Yes, he hadn’t even thought of that! Two attempts on her life and he had cleared off, leaving her alone. He didn’t care a rap for her or he would not have gone. Forget