Dirty Business (The First Acer Sansom Novel)

by Oliver Tidy

  Neither had. He had lain in the heat of the still, stifling night, pockets of quiet punctuated by the calls of the temporarily-happy and the random barking of the street dogs. After some hours of torturous tossing and turning, he rose, dressed quickly, and almost desperately forged out once again into the Bodrum streets.

  He made no effort to tag his room this time. Leaving by the back door, he made his way to the only place he knew he could hope for solace – the sea.

  There were few about now. Weary revellers making their ways back to their accommodation, arms around each other in shows of practical support as much as out of affection. No one seemed to take any notice of anyone else, subdued and just concerned with finding beds.

  At the water, he found a lounger to perch on and then experienced the overwhelming urge to put his feet in the water. It was there, staring out across the bay, at the lights of the gently bobbing craft spread far and wide, that he witnessed the sun poke its head above the horizon and almost instantly he felt invigorated and refreshed, bathed in its early-morning glory.

  *

  Even at this early hour of the day, Tallis understood that the young receptionist’s parting words in Istanbul had been portentous. The heat pounded him through his unsuitable clothing. Not being one to go to bed during daylight even if he had missed his allowance of sleep from the previous night, he decided that his best initial course of action would be to do something about his wardrobe. It had to be done at some point and if he left it till later in the day, he wasn’t sure he would survive the climate until then.

  He left the air-conditioned breakfast room of his new hotel and headed for the tourist shops in search of inspiration.

  *

  Sansom had succumbed to the lure of the Aegean – stripped off his T-shirt, kicked off his shoes and waded in. The feel of the salt-water immersion was a tonic that he couldn’t have imagined. He swam for a long time, thriving in the physical exertion and reviving properties of the sea. As he swam, he was taken back to the time on his island, where being in the ocean had been a part of his daily routine, and realised that he missed it more than he could have said.

  Leaving the water, he collected his few belongings and trudged barefoot up the stony beach for a while. Still dripping, he joined the footpath that would take him back towards his lodgings. His mood improved, he allowed himself a smile at an older man walking some way ahead of him. Dressed conservatively in jacket and trousers with leather brogues, he had to be British. He would suffer greatly in the heat of southern Turkey if he didn’t do something about his clothing soon, thought Sansom. As if reading Sansom’s mind, the man disappeared into a clothing shop.

  Still wet, Sansom stopped at a little cafe, sitting outside to greedily consume coffee and a pastry. He went back to the hotel, where no one seemed to have stirred, slipped out of his damp clothes and, tired from his exertions, lay down on the bed where sleep finally found him.

  *

  Eda arrived at her family’s villa late in the morning. The secluded congregation of whitewashed buildings of which it was part huddled round an idyllic sandy cove distant from the hustle and bustle of the main town. Because of its remoteness, she had stopped to buy a few essentials and food provisions on her way.

  Finally passing by the security booth at the entrance to the gated community, she felt the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours wash over her. She brought the car to a stop outside the villa and rested her head on the steering wheel, spent.

  A tapping at the window made her start. The face of Mrs Ergokmen came into focus – a seasoned and weathered veteran of the resort, old when Eda first encountered her decades ago and remarkably still going.

  Eda climbed out of the car and they embraced. Eda had been a favourite of the old woman’s among the children of the summer vacationers over the many summers that she had watched her growing up. They spent a few minutes catching up on each other’s lives and then the elderly resident trooped off to her spot on the beach, an invitation to eat and drink together sometime soon offered and gratefully accepted.

  Eda unloaded the car, threw open all the shutters and windows to air and brighten the house and, drawn by memories, nature’s pull and the promise of some much-needed hydrotherapy, changed into swimwear and headed to the sea.

  *

  As Tallis sat at the pavement cafe table sipping his chilled lemonade and enjoying the comfort afforded by his newly-purchased clothes, he pondered his next move.

  From behind his new fake designer sunglasses, he studied the population of this holiday resort as it went about its business and he marvelled at the diversity of humanity on display, so colourful and contented-looking. Not like the greyness and general depression of home. He returned his attention to the map of the area he’d picked up, drumming his fingers on the table as he deliberated.

  His mind made up, he dipped into his new faux-leather bum-bag and sprinkled a few coins across the bill. Folding the map, he stood and took advantage of a nearby window to admire his new look – floppy wide-brimmed hat, loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt, generously-tailored gentleman’s shorts and airy Velcro-secured sandals over well-hoisted white sports socks. He liked what he saw and, although the sensation surprised him, he felt comfortable. He also knew that he no longer stuck out like a sore thumb.

  On the advice of yet another English-speaking, friendly, young and attractive hotel receptionist – where did they all come from, he wondered? – he headed towards where he believed the local minibus park would be. Here, she had told him, he should simply point to where he wanted to go to on his map and the men who worked there would direct him towards the right minibus. Simple.

  Within thirty minutes, he was moving along the Turkish coast, thankfully with a seat next to an open window that allowed a glorious breeze to rake his face as he drank in the scenery. And he began to realise why people would feel happy here.

  *

  Refreshed and invigorated by her swim, Eda stood in the kitchen of her home smoking as coffee brewed. Something had happened to her in the short while since she had arrived. Whether it was the wealth of good memories revived or simply the peaceful environment that she was now in, she couldn’t say. Perhaps it was something of both and more that she hadn’t recognised yet. Whatever was responsible, her perspective on dealing with the events of the past few days had shifted. She felt less murderous herself, less desiring for physical vigilante-style retribution. She experienced a calming down and the inevitable voice of reason emerging to counteract reckless and dangerous intentions.

  She remembered that only four days ago she had met Sansom and made it clear to him that she wanted no part of some wild killing spree – and yet now, here she was, possibly a killer herself and contemplating all sorts of further acts of violence. Reason had to prevail.

  Underlying these feelings were others that she was increasingly struggling to suppress. She felt something for this stranger. She could barely explain it to herself other than to accept that some things and feelings one just couldn’t help or deny. She didn’t even know what it was about the man that attracted her. Admittedly, he was good looking in an underweight sort of way. Was it his heart-breaking story that she was attracted to? Or his ruthless determination for revenge to the exclusion of all else, including his own safety and liberty? She was conscious that she must guard against her feelings.

  She reached for her phone. The voicemail icon flashed at her. Checking her missed calls, she saw only her lawyer’s details. She left it unanswered. She had no wish to confuse herself further. If she was picked up by police, she would plead fear and ignorance. If she responded to messages it might undermine her position.

  *

  Sansom answered Eda’s call on the fourth ring, unable to keep the sleep from his voice.

  ‘Did I wake you?’ she said, surprised.

  ‘No, I was just dozing. It’s been a long night. How are you? Are you here?’

  ‘I’m in Bodrum. Is everything all right?

  ‘Fin
e. Really. You must be exhausted. The drive took it out of me.’

  ‘A swim, some coffee and a smoke – it’s like it never happened.’

  ‘You’ve swum?’ he laughed. ‘Me too.’

  She returned his laughter and tried to ignore the feelings in her stomach.

  ‘You brought the information?’ he said.

  Her eyes flitted to the envelope on the counter, knowing that its contents would take proceedings to a new level, certainly an escalation of the violence, possibly the end, for better or worse, of this madness. How easy it would be to claim that she’d forgotten it, lost it, had it stolen. But what would that achieve? Only delay. He’d expect her to be able to obtain copies easily enough and if she couldn’t, wouldn’t, would it stop him? She doubted it.

  ‘Eda?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, I have it.’

  ‘Good. Thank you. When shall we meet?’

  She checked her watch. ‘I could pick you up in a couple of hours.’

  ‘Are you sure that you don’t want some rest first?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Can you get yourself to the Dolmuș Otopark near the town centre? Just ask for directions. I’ll be there in two hours.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll see you there.’

  She closed her handset and slid another cigarette out of the pack.

  ***

  14

  The minibus sped away in a cloud of dust, leaving Tallis isolated and alone at the side of the narrow, poorly-maintained highway. From his elevated position he enjoyed a glorious view of the Aegean spread out before him with many islands dotted about within it. He found the view beguiling.

  Apart from the view, there seemed little else pleasing about his destination. His surroundings consisted of crudely-sectioned plots of arid land in various stages of neglect or development. Some concrete skeletons were built, waiting in limbo for further investment and the next stage of their construction, while others were just patches of brown, parched grass strewn with builders’ spoil and other rubbish. This was not what he had been expecting and he was disappointed.

  The heat beat down upon his floppy hat. He emptied the last of his bottle of water before tossing it on to a nearby overflowing rubbish skip. Looking both ways with greater caution than he might usually have exercised – he had no wish to be flattened by some fourteen-year-old on a scooter in the middle of nowhere – he crossed the road for a better view. What he saw brought a smile to his face. Below him, tucked out of sight of the road, nestled the real Akyarlar. From his vantage point he made out dozens of whitewashed villas stepped up behind each other and connected by a maze of shaded streets around a small, pretty bay protected by the elevated land where he stood.

  He could see that the main road that separated the beach and the Aegean from the homes was also the centre of the commercial enterprises. Shops, cafes and restaurants lined up shoulder to shoulder. The little bay had several craft anchored in it, including a few larger yachts. He couldn’t make out any detail of the yachts, let alone their names. He resolved that when he returned to Bodrum town he would invest in a good pair of binoculars. Remaining optimistic about the accuracy of Murat’s information and logic because he had to, he stepped out to begin his descent of the only road that appeared to connect Akyarlar with the outside world. His chief concern as he did so was whether he would survive the stroll and if not what would do for him first – heatstroke, dehydration, heart attack or a teenage scooter pilot.

  *

  Any anxieties that Eda and Sansom might have felt regarding their impending reunion were dispelled by circumstance. She spotted him waiting in the shade of a tree, giving a good impression of being just another tourist waiting for a bus. As she pulled up next to him a coach full of newly-arrived tourists rounded the corner behind her. In typical Turkish fashion, the coach driver indicated his impatience at having to wait for the ten seconds that it would take Sansom to get into the car by leaning on his horn. Eda threw a hand gesture and a couple of words out of her open window and they sped away out of the car park.

  Slowly, they threaded their way out of the busy town and were soon making better speed on less congested roads. An irritating nervousness continued to grip Eda despite her best efforts to shake it. They made their small talk as she drove, and to any unknowing observer they could have passed for old friends who had just met up having not seen each other in a long time.

  ‘So,’ said Sansom, when it was clear that they were driving with a purpose, ‘where are we going?’

  She looked across at him from behind her big sunglasses. She desperately wanted to plead with him to forget it, to listen to her, to let her convince him that he shouldn’t lose his life or his liberty, as he inevitably would, on this path of self-destruction. What would it achieve? Would his dead wife really want this for him?

  In the end, she simply said, ‘Akyarlar. It’s a little village on the Bodrum peninsula. It’s where Botha is heading.’

  Sansom nodded his understanding and, as though it had been whipped out of the open window like a discarded sweet wrapper, the atmosphere of ease and warmth disappeared to be replaced by something more tense and oppressive.

  Resigned to it now, Eda reached into the back seat and freed a large manila envelope from beneath her bag. She passed it across to Sansom and for a brief moment their skin touched. Something like an electric charge pulsed through her entire body, causing the hairs on her arms to stand up. As she fixed her gaze on the road ahead, she was aware of Sansom studying her. He had made no attempt to open the package. Could he be waiting for her to ask him not to? Confused by her own thoughts, she said nothing and feigned ignorance of his staring until, with an audible sigh, he broke the seal and removed the contents. Pandora’s box was open. She pressed her foot on the accelerator and, in silence, they advanced on the remote village of Akyarlar, Sansom temporarily lost to her in the contents of the envelope.

  *

  A few minutes later, Sansom said, ‘And you’re sure there’s no chance that he’ll be in Akyarlar yet?’

  ‘As sure as I can be without knowing it. In any case, Akyarlar is reached by a road that drops steeply down to the sea. We can stop at the top and see if there is anything anchored in the bay resembling the photograph of his yacht. If there is, we can decide what to do then.’

  He nodded his agreement, put the material back into the envelope and started admiring the view. ‘It’s a beautiful part of the world,’ he said. ‘A little arid, perhaps, but the sea is wonderful. You said that you’ve been coming here since you were a child?’

  ‘My parents have a villa in one of the smaller bays further round the coast. They don’t use it much any more, hardly ever in fact. I’m sure they just keep it on in case I ever want to get away from Istanbul.’

  ‘How often is that?’

  ‘About once a year, usually in the summer.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ he said. ‘If I had access to a place on this coast, I’d spend all of my summer down here.’

  ‘It can be just as affecting during the winter too,’ she said. ‘Colder, of course, but the sea is as beautiful when it’s angry as when it’s like this.’

  ‘You’re very lucky,’ he said.

  ‘Come and have a look. When we’ve finished here, I mean, today, come and enjoy the peace of the place for a while.’

  ‘I’d like that very much. Thank you.’

  Again they shared a smile. She determined then that she would find time to confront him with her views before things went much further.

  They left the main highway for a half-made-up road that twisted and turned through ups and downs; sometimes through bare landscape and sometimes environments dense with spindly trees. She drove at a speed that discouraged conversation on roads that suddenly dropped away tens of feet to either side. Sansom found himself gripping the seat and using his legs to brace himself.

  After a few largely-uninteresting miles, they rounded a corner that opened up a breathtaking view of the sea with the i
sland of Kos rising out of the haze in the distance. Eda slowed the car to a stop at the roadside. They got out and stood looking down on to the bay of Akyarlar. Even at their distance, they could see that there was no yacht resembling the photograph of Botha’s anchored amongst the varied flotilla and so, gratefully retreating out of the heat back into the car with its air conditioning, they set their course to explore the little settlement.

  During the steep descent to the bay they passed a garishly-dressed tourist ambling along under his floppy hat in the midday heat. Something about the man’s gait reminded Sansom of someone he had seen recently.

  ‘Must be English,’ he said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Don’t you know? Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun.’

  *

  Some forty minutes after embarking on his hike down the hill to the sea, DI Tallis’s shirt was soaked with perspiration and his feet were blistered. Would he never learn to wear-in new footwear, even sandals, before going trekking in them? His socks were showing spots of blood at the heels and he was generally filthy from the dust he’d kicked up. He trudged into the main street of the quiet little resort. It was still anyone’s bet whether he would survive the day.

  Top of his list of priorities was rehydration. A litre of water purchased at a little store put him on his way to achieving this. Second was his overwhelming desire to get his poor feet into the sea that had both beckoned and teased him from afar for the best part of the last hour.

  He found some shelter from the sun under a concrete projection and, removing his shoes and socks to inspect the damage, gently eased his feet into the refreshing water. The initial relief bordered on ecstasy. Even the smarting of the salt water in his broken and raw skin couldn’t spoil it for him. Leaning back against the sea defence, he savoured the therapy of the lapping waves and drank thirstily from the bottle, believing that heaven must be something similar.