Dark Water

by Parker Bilal

  Inspector Serkan was sitting on the far side of the room gazing out of the high windows. He was still wearing his coat, a rather threadbare camel-coloured cashmere. In the morning light he looked older than he had the night before, as if the hours had rubbed out the last vestiges of innocence from his face.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Amin Bey.’

  There was something quaint and respectful about the way he got to his feet. By his side Makana heard Haluk sigh with contentment, as if in longing for some lost age of chivalry. There was something rather old-fashioned about the Turkish detective. It confirmed Makana’s first impression, that the inspector, despite his humble appearance and manners, was a shrewd and rather cautious man.

  ‘I took the liberty of ordering coffee. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Makana glanced over his shoulder. The receptionist was already issuing orders on his way out of the room. There was honour in entertaining a police inspector, or perhaps he was just being prudent.

  ‘You certainly believe in travelling in style, Mr Amin. I must salute you.’ Serkan gestured at their surroundings and smiled, as though everything about Makana amused him. ‘This hotel has played a part in the history of this city. Once upon a time the elite of Europe would travel to Istanbul and stay in these fine rooms.’ He waved, as magnanimous as a modern-day Kublai Khan. ‘And now you are here.’

  ‘I don’t think I quite fit that category.’

  ‘Times change,’ said the detective philosophically. ‘What matters is how they change us.’

  A waiter appeared, to start energetically sweeping up breadcrumbs with a brush and a little silver tray. Serkan waved him away and asked him where the coffee was. That much Makana could follow. The waiter nodded over his shoulder as if to some blank spot from which coffee would magically emerge. Serkan waited from him to move out of earshot before he continued speaking.

  ‘I must confess that I am here because of my wife.’

  ‘Your wife?’

  The inspector shrugged. ‘I am a poor sleeper. When there is something on my mind I wake up in the night, I wander the house, I smoke in the kitchen. Naturally, all of this disturbs her rest, so she tells me, and she always tells me the same thing, as though I forget that she has told me a thousand times before. She tells me to find out what it is that is bothering me and to go straight to the source and address it. So here I am.’ Serkan held out his hands as if to underline the fact.

  ‘I am the cause of your sleeplessness?’

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘I’ve been accused of worse.’

  A pause ensued as the waiter arrived, rattling cups. He set them down before proceeding to fill them from a pot. The coffee looked thin and unpromising.

  ‘Have you given any more thought to the death of Mr Nadir Sulayman?’

  ‘Why would my opinion be of any value?’

  Inspector Serkan sipped his coffee and pulled a face. ‘American tourists are causing untold damage to our coffee-drinking habits.’ He snapped his fingers and the worried waiter came over. Serkan addressed him sharply and he hurried away. Another example of the way the inspector wielded authority: quiet but effective.

  ‘I may be wrong, Amin Bey, but I believe you have some understanding of murder.’

  ‘I trade in agricultural machinery.’

  ‘Yes, so you said.’ A faint smile played on the inspector’s lips.

  ‘You think I’m lying.’

  ‘Lying is a strong term.’ The inspector frowned as the waiter returned to remove the pot and cups. ‘Sergeant Berat would no doubt prefer me to put it more strongly.’

  ‘He thinks I am lying.’

  ‘He is my subordinate.’ Inspector Serkan tilted his head, ‘but I must listen to what he says.’

  ‘If you take a look at Mr Sulayman’s business records, you will find they confirm my claim.’

  ‘That is what Sergeant Berat is doing as we speak.’

  Makana sat back. Serkan’s eyes were those of a cat patiently observing a particularly tricky bird.

  ‘I thought that you had concerns about Nadir Sulayman’s business dealings?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Yet you come to me because you’re not sleeping.’

  Serkan gave a shrug. ‘I am a light sleeper. If something does not sit right with me, then I am disturbed.’ The detective sighed. ‘No doubt it will lead me to an early grave, as my wife tells me.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I can do to put your mind at rest.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you could begin by telling me why you did not report the assault in which your passport was stolen.’

  ‘It seemed an unnecessary bother.’

  ‘Most people when violently attacked in a foreign city and relieved of their passport would automatically go to the police. Yet you did not.’

  ‘As I say, I had a lot of things to do. It happened late at night. The British Consulate provided me with a replacement. I thought it best to move on.’

  ‘Apart from the passport, did they take anything else?’

  ‘A little money, not much.’

  The coffee arrived, this time already poured into the little cups. It was worth the wait just for the aroma. Serkan nodded approvingly.

  ‘Did you get a look at your attackers?’

  ‘No, and that was part of the problem. I didn’t think I had much to offer the police.’

  ‘How would you describe them?’

  ‘Young men who had probably had a little too much to drink.’ Makana stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘Sometimes they get carried away.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you could have been seriously hurt, or worse. Some of these ruffians carry knives.’

  ‘I don’t think they wanted to hurt me.’

  ‘They could easily have done so.’

  ‘But they didn’t.’ Makana watched the inspector and waited for his next move.

  ‘Well, you’re a lucky man, Mr Amin. Not only did the attack do no harm to yourself, but the British consulate also made an exception. Normally a police report is needed for a replacement document to be issued. In your case they waived that rule. Is that not a curious fact?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Is it?’

  ‘I find it strange that a man such as yourself, well travelled, experienced in the ways of the world, should avoid such formalities.’

  Makana had been trying to put off lighting a cigarette, worried that it might make him look nervous, but it was a losing battle. He offered the packet to Serkan, who politely declined, producing his own from his coat pocket instead. There were no waiters in sight and no ashtrays, so Makana retrieved a saucer left on the next table. In such a grand room it felt like an act of vandalism.

  ‘I would like to put your mind at rest, Inspector, but I’m afraid I can’t really explain. At the time I wanted to just get back to my hotel, and the next morning there seemed little point.’

  ‘Let us leave that matter for the moment.’ Serkan squinted at the ash on the tip of his cigarette. He snapped his fingers again and the waiter returned, bearing an ashtray. ‘Can you tell me, please, what is your opinion of Mr Sulayman’s death?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m really not sure my opinion would be of much use to you.’

  ‘You were the first person at the scene of the crime, apart from the killer. You might have noticed something that escaped our attention.’ The inspector cleared his throat. ‘Some of our officers have more enthusiasm than sense.’

  ‘You mean they trampled over the crime scene?’

  ‘We are a long way from perfect. Perhaps it is not so different where you come from.’

  ‘Police procedure? I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Of course not. Still, I would like to hear your impressions.’ Serkan gestured for Makana to continue.

  ‘It struck me as a nasty way to die.’ Slipping a noose over someone’s head and watching them choke to death wasn’t just taking a life, it was about watching someone die. To kill that way suggested a degree of cold-bl
ooded sadism.

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Serkan mused. ‘Not the fight. You know, perhaps, that most murders are like that.’

  ‘How would I know something like that?’

  The Turkish detective smiled. He drew slowly on his cigarette as he watched Makana. ‘Some people dream for years of killing their husband or wife, or lover. They never bring themselves to commit the act until one day it just happens. Almost by itself. They have no explanation of why they chose that moment.’

  ‘This was different.’

  ‘Yes, I think we can agree on that. The killer watched him struggle. That takes a certain kind of character.’ Inspector Serkan stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Have you ever killed a man?’ he asked, his eyes flicking up to meet Makana’s.

  ‘There isn’t much call for that in my line of work.’

  ‘Perhaps in some previous job.’ Serkan studied the tablecloth. ‘Military service, the security services?’ The inspector shrugged as if it were a casual inquiry.

  ‘Are you asking me if I work for Egyptian intelligence?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No.’ Makana finished his cigarette and pushed his coffee cup aside. ‘I can assure you that I have no connection with them.’

  ‘My apologies, Amin Bey, I was just … speculating.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Makana felt as if he were in a complex chess game against a very able adversary.

  ‘You have perhaps heard that Istanbul has recently suffered a series of murders.’

  ‘I read something about that the other day.’

  ‘You are well informed.’

  ‘You’re asking yourself if this could be related?’

  Inspector Serkan moved his coffee cup away to lean his elbows on the table. ‘The interesting thing is that the murder weapon is the same. I don’t know what the name for it is. American forces use the plastic loops instead of handcuffs in Iraq and Afghanistan. More economical, I suppose. We are trying to trace the manufacturer of the one used, but it’s almost impossible. You find them everywhere in the market.’

  ‘You think there is some kind of political angle?’

  ‘It’s possible. Many people feel we should be more vocal in our rejection of US policies, particularly with regard to Kurdistan.’

  ‘The other victims were killed the same way?’

  ‘Yes. Three of them so far, four if we include Mr Sulayman.’

  ‘The karakoncolos.’

  Serkan dismissed the name with a cluck of his tongue. ‘People like to believe in fairy tales.’

  ‘So that’s all there is to it?’

  ‘It’s easier to believe that a monster is loose than that it might be a simple person, perhaps even someone you know.’

  ‘There must be a lot of pressure on you to solve the case.’

  ‘As you can imagine. Politicians, the business community. Powerful men, let us say. Such news can damage a city’s reputation.’

  ‘The tourists will stay away.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Inspector Serkan toyed with his lighter, a tarnished silver device that looked like a family heirloom. ‘On the other hand I have people like Sergeant Berat who are so eager to please that they would pin the murder on the first likely suspect who comes along.’

  ‘Meaning me?’ Makana queried.

  ‘We are speaking in strict confidence, you understand?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I don’t believe you killed Mr Sulayman. I also do not believe that he was murdered by the same person as the other three victims. All of those murders took place in public places. Everything suggests the victims were chosen at random. They were alone late at night. A drunken girl passed out on a bench. A blind man who sold lottery tickets. A taxi driver asleep in his car.’ Inspector Serkan took a deep breath. ‘It suggests the killer wanders the streets seeking opportunity. We are possibly looking for someone mentally unstable. The city is full of lost souls. Our killer is one of them.’

  ‘And there’s nothing to connect them with Nadir Sulayman.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘The killer might have changed their method.’

  ‘It’s possible, but in my experience unlikely. There is also evidence of torture, broken fingers, lacerations. Not simply defensive wounds. We are awaiting the report from the autopsy, but what I’ve seen so far suggests that the killer wanted information from Nadir Sulayman.’

  Makana had drawn the same conclusion himself, but didn’t say so. ‘Could the person who killed Nadir Sulayman have tried to make it look as though the serial killer was responsible?’

  ‘In a clumsy fashion.’ Serkan nodded his agreement. ‘It suggests a profound lack of faith in the abilities of the investigators.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take it personally. Perhaps it was simply intended to put you off the scent for a while.’

  ‘Interesting theory.’ The inspector’s eyebrow rose again. ‘Maybe you missed your calling, Amin Bey. You might have made a good detective.’

  ‘I was just stating what you had made obvious. Wasn’t that what you were implying?’

  Makana reached for his coffee. It was cold now, but he sipped it anyway. Serkan seemed to sense that the conversation was over.

  ‘For a man who deals in agricultural machinery, you take death remarkably calmly. Most people would have been shaken after what you saw last night, but not you.’ Inspector Serkan rose to his feet. ‘I don’t believe you killed Nadir Sulayman, but I do believe you know more than you are telling me. Are you aware that withholding information is an offence?’

  ‘I told you everything I know about what I saw.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Inspector Serkan tapped his lighter on the table. ‘I have been frank with you, perhaps more so than I should have been. What you know might hold the key to this case. It might save other lives. In any case, you can rest assured that I intend to find out exactly what is going on here. I repeat what I said last night: do not attempt to leave Istanbul without informing me. Good day.’

  Makana watched him cross the room and disappear through the doorway past the waiters. He was in no doubt that Serkan was a resourceful man. It would only be a matter of time before he started to take a real interest in Makana’s affairs, and then he might find himself in trouble. Everything seemed to be conspiring to push him out of this city as fast as possible. Yet he knew he couldn’t leave, not yet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Restless after his encounter with Serkan, Makana decided to try Winslow again. He bought another pack of cigarettes and a fresh phone card, but was beaten to the phone booth by an old man carrying a sack on his shoulder, bound, he noted, with one of those plastic loops. As Serkan said, everyone had them. The sack writhed suspiciously as he set it down against the wall. The hind legs of a rabbit protruded into the air, He glanced warily at Makana as he gave the loop a good tug to make sure it was tight before lighting a cigarette and addressing himself to the matter of the telephone. Makana turned away and gazed out over the crowded hillside and narrow streets on the other side of the valley. Behind him the man was shouting into the receiver as if trying to reach a number on the moon. When he finally conceded the booth it smelt strongly of sheep. This time Marcus Winslow answered on the first ring.

  ‘I was beginning to worry.’

  ‘Things took a bad turn last night. Nadir Sulayman is dead.’

  ‘Yes, so I gathered.’ Winslow sounded weary. ‘It was on the news reports.’

  ‘I was there.’

  ‘You saw it happen?’

  ‘No, but I must have disturbed whoever it was. I was knocked out.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who did it?’

  Makana stared out of the booth, towards the sea.

  ‘No. The police seem to be in the dark.’

  ‘Forget about the police, they’re not going to be any help to us.’

  ‘Sulayman was tortured. Someone wanted to find out what he knows.’

  ‘Okay, we can work around this,’ said Winslow.

  ‘How? He was our wa
y out of here.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that!’ Winslow snapped. He took a moment to compose himself. ‘Your main priority remains Nizari. You have to get to him fast. Bring him in. Leave the rest to me.’

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Makana dug out his cigarettes. ‘Whoever killed him knew what Sulayman was up to.’

  ‘We don’t even know his death is related to our operation.’

  ‘We can’t take the gamble it’s not.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘That there’s a leak somewhere. Nobody followed me, I’m sure of it. So someone knew of Sulayman’s involvement. They took him out to put a dent in our operation. Without Sulayman we’re stuck. We can’t move Nizari.’ Makana clamped the receiver to his shoulder as he lit the cigarette. ‘Oh, and by the way, there’s a police inspector taking an interest in me.’

  ‘Are you a suspect?’

  ‘He’s working Sulayman’s case and he thinks I’m hiding something.’

  ‘Look, I could try to pull a few strings, but that might make it worse. Turkey is unpredictable. The best advice I can give you is to stay away from the police.’

  ‘I intend to. But I’d still like to hear what your alternative plan is for getting us out of here.’

  ‘Forget that. You just focus on getting hold of our friend.’ Winslow sounded impatient.

  Through the grimy perspex Makana noticed that the grim-faced woman with the collection of bags had turned up again. He had thought her old and frail, now he saw she was younger, still in her thirties. Her face had been disfigured somehow, as if it had been pressed against a hot iron. She set down her bags and stood at a distance, rocking back and forth, glaring at him.

  ‘What about Nizari’s money?’

  ‘You must stall him. I don’t have clearance yet, but the main thing is to assure him he will get whatever he asks for. We can deal with the fallout later.’

  ‘Two million dollars is a lot of money,’ said Makana. The woman was still outside the booth watching him. Her face was weather-beaten and ingrained with dirt, her hair wild and cut unevenly.