The Tomb in Turkey

FOURTEEN

By the time Carole got back to the Fiat Bravo she had forgotten all about being hungry. She had been unsure whether she should immediately report her discovery to the man who had sold her the ticket, but that decision was made for her. The shed from which he’d operated was closed up, and the motor scooter beside it had disappeared.

The purple bus had gone from the car park too. Apart from the Fiat only two cars remained. Their owners were presumably somewhere on the site, but Carole could see no sign of them. Maybe they were among the brave and fit ones who had climbed all the way to the Upper Acropolis.

Carole was in a dilemma. Her training in the Home Office and every other instinct within her said that any murder should be reported to the police as soon as possible. And had the ticket man been there in his shed she would have gone straight to him and set the necessary process in motion. But he wasn’t there and that had given her time to think.

So what should she do? Contacting the police should not be too difficult. She had her mobile with her and though she didn’t think 999 was going to work, she felt sure there was some equivalent number to ring which she could find out when she got to some less remote part of the country.

But did she actually want to get involved in the laborious business of waiting around for the police, of leading them back to Nita’s body, and then no doubt undergoing long questioning, probably made even longer by the necessity of an interpreter? It all seemed too much.

And then she didn’t really feel sure about the authorities that she’d be up against. Although she had never actually seen the film Midnight Express, Carole had gathered that it wasn’t the most enthusiastic commercial ever for the Turkish police force. (And she didn’t know of the subsequent international row about the portrayal of Turks in the movie which even led to an apology from the screenwriter.) But such ignorant prejudices go deep with people like Carole Seddon, and the dominant question that arose in her mind was: did she really want to get involved?

She would have felt very differently if Jude had been with her when she discovered the body. Then they could have discussed the situation and worked out their next step together. But, on her own in the car park at Pinara, she felt desperately isolated.

Yes, she definitely needed Jude’s input.

Had she thought about it, Carole would have been impressed with the way she drove back to Kayaköy, like someone who’d been on Turkish roads all her life. The fact was, she was so preoccupied by what she’d found in the tomb at Pinara that she couldn’t think about anything else. Her driving was purely instinctive.

She found Jude more or less exactly as she had left her, spread over a lounger in a bikini with a trashy novel at her side. The book had already taken on those qualities of heat-crinkled paper and suncream stains which distinguish a holiday read.

It took a minute or two for the seriousness of Carole’s news to permeate Jude’s torpor. But once she’d taken it on board, she had no hesitation in agreeing to her friend’s proposal that they should return immediately to the scene of the crime. And, as Carole had anticipated, Jude didn’t go for any of that nonsense about informing the police first.

The morning expedition from Kayaköy to Pinara had taken nearly an hour and a half, as Carole had driven with extreme caution, rarely aspiring beyond second gear, but on the second journey she couldn’t help being rather proud of her proficiency, almost showing it off. As a result, they reached their destination in little more than an hour.

It was after five when they arrived, and the car park was empty. The intrepid souls who had possibly climbed to the Higher Acropolis had returned to their hotels or villas to shower off the day’s dust.

No one arriving at Pinara for the first time could fail to be struck by the beauty of the site, but Jude made no comment on the vista before her. Their mission was too serious for such pleasantries.

Carole had no hesitation about the path they had to take. The sun was still bright, but it had lost some of its midday intensity. The shade of the trees by the little stream was nonetheless welcome.

Carole led the way along the tree-trunk bridge. This time there was no tortoise to distract her. She pointed out to Jude the tombs above them and scrambled over the time-polished stones to reach them.

She gestured to the doorway of the relevant tomb, indicating that Jude should enter first.

Which she did. But she was taken aback by what she saw in there.

The stone slab was empty. Nita’s body had disappeared.