by Sue Star
Don Davis, the schoolteacher Cora had tried to pair up with Anna, lingered by Anna’s side. He tapped her elbow. “C’mon, I’ll walk you and Priscilla home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Davis, but—” She stopped herself short of taking out her frustration on him. It would be better, she decided, to return home via the sidewalk, around the block, rather than take Priscilla back through the darkened lawn, past the crime scene. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, forcing a smile.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The smell of urine reminded Meryem of other days long ago. She’d been trapped, the hunted prey of the Nazi dogs. She did not like to remember that time. And so she hadn’t. But now, bound and gagged in a toilet, there was little else to do. Memories crawled through her mind like lice in her hair. Those other times had been similar to this, except now she knew the sweet release of liberation.
The memories of their escape washed through her mind. She waited, expecting another liberator. What else could she do but wait, hungering for her liberator?
There had been more than one.
Their angel-savior had not worked alone against the Nazis. His partner, a man called “Stork,” had waited for them that day with packhorses in the shelter of firs on the other side of the meadow. They rode all day and into the night through mountains that grew wilder as the sun coursed through the sky.
The gunshot wound to their savior’s shoulder festered, and infection set in. When all looked lost, Stork—the coward partner—left them. Meryem and Umit and their savior hid in a cave with a few supplies from one of Stork’s saddlebags. She knew he wouldn’t return, even though he promised he would. His was a hollow promise to bring back more help. She could not rely on his promises, but turned instead to her grandmother’s teachings about making poultices from certain roots and leaves. She gathered what she needed from the wilds near to their cave, mixed them up, and packed the shoulder. She couldn’t let their rescuer die.
He did not die.
And then when he recovered his strength, their liberator vanished into the night.
Perhaps he did not know that certain treasures were missing from his saddlebag. They were joint treasures for Meryem and Umit, repaying the kindness of their care. One was the amulet, a silver piece with a lucky jewel, humming with power. The other, a bundle of folded paper with unknown markings, tied up with string. Worthless, no doubt, but the amulet would keep them safe.
From then on, they carried their few treasures with them in their journeys, running from hiding place to hiding place while the Nazis and Russians fought their own battles. And over the years, their savior’s amulet did keep them safe. Safe, when they finally reunited with their clan near Bucharest, eked out a living, and waited for their next benefactor to appear in their lives—Ozturk Bey.
Safe, until Umit tried to sell the amulet. Now it was gone, into American hands. Gone, along with Umit.
How long would she have to wait this time for rescue?
* * * * *
Anna held Priscilla’s hand, and they followed Don Davis out the front door. She paused for a minute on the porch where she’d spoken to Hayati such a short while ago. Yet, it felt like a lifetime ago. Before hearing Fran’s story about Mitzi’s addiction.
Anna’s gaze fixed on the globe of yellow light piercing the darkness—the streetlight on the corner. Rainer had darted away in that direction. Yaziz’s man had lurked there the night before.
She felt overwhelmed by the questions running through her mind. Events beyond her control had caught her in some unknown whirlpool. She wasn’t altogether certain that she and Priscilla could emerge safely into a normal world again. Nothing would ever be normal again.
Priscilla clung tightly to her hand, and the gesture gave Anna the strength she needed to walk down the steps. Now she was grateful for the teacher’s company and his idle chatter about next week’s start of school.
Her thoughts felt distant to her as they walked briskly down the sidewalk, toward the corner. Where Rainer had run. Did he still lurk in the shadows? If so, he might have watched the events unfold in the backyard. She hoped he hadn’t been involved in that man’s death.
She really didn’t know him anymore. Didn’t know what the new Rainer, Rainer the Spy, was capable of doing.
She would have to confess to Yaziz about Rainer’s presence here tonight. That is, if the detective ever got around to interviewing the witnesses.
“Their process isn’t like ours,” Don said, as if reading her mind. “They’re still trying to learn western ways.”
“He studied in the States,” Anna said. “He should know what to do.”
“It may not be him, but his department that he has to answer to.”
Yaziz answered to one of her neighbors, Anna thought, the father of Priscilla’s friend. Ahmet, he’d wanted her to call him. Ahmet and his daughter Gulsen lived in one of those houses across the street. Where Rainer had run. “They’ve had time to westernize,” she said. “It’s been...what? Twenty-some years since Atatürk?”
“Nineteen, since his death. And not all Turks wanted to adopt western ways when he forced them to. Their old ways are still out there, alive and well, and little by little they’re eating away at the westernization that Atatürk accomplished.”
“So you think there’s a struggle of ideology within the police department?”
Don shrugged. “All I’m saying is that those opposing forces cancel each other out and make it difficult to accomplish anything. There’s the law, and then there’s the unwritten code. Which do you choose? Your duty or your loyalty?”
“Why can’t you choose both?” Anna squeezed Priscilla’s hand. Both duty and loyalty to her family had brought her here.
“You’re lucky if you can,” Don said. “In the modern Turks’ case, their duty may be following Atatürk’s westernization policies, but their loyalty may still be to the old ways that the new has forced them to abandon.”
Like Ahmet, Anna thought. He was about to be remarried in a traditional arrangement made by his aunt and uncle. She wondered, as they walked the rest of the way, what was Rainer’s interest in Ahmet.
* * * * *
Later, after tucking Priscilla into bed, Anna climbed the last of the steps to her attic bedroom. Weariness wrapped around her shoulders, yet her heart still raced. She flicked on the overhead light and leaned against the door to shut it behind her. Light filled the room, spilling down atop a dark-haired man. He sat at her writing desk, his hand in one of the desk drawers. His head jerked up, and he blinked at her. In the same instant, she swallowed her scream. It was Rainer!
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. “How did you get in? How did you even know—” She remembered the intruder who’d been in her bedroom the day before, subtly rearranging the layers of her lingerie. It had been him.
He slid the drawer shut, sprang to his feet, and crossed the room in three strides. “Oh, God, I’ve missed you. I just...had to find a way to get closer to you. I thought...seeing where you sleep, touching your things... Oh, Annie... My Annie... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He held out his arms to her, but Anna took a step backwards, instead. Away from him. Her jaw muscles tightened.
“You didn’t come back,” she said.
“I’m here now.”
“I don’t mean just tonight. Rainer, it’s been twelve years. Where have you been all that time? What happened?”
“Annie, please understand. I couldn’t let you know anything. After the war, there were still...problems.”
She remembered Yaziz’s statement about enemies being unclear after a state of war, and she wondered now if that was true, if that had contributed to Rainer’s absence. “What could possibly be that big of a problem that you couldn’t have gotten a message to me that you were still alive?” The coldness in her voice surprised her.
“It was too dangerous. You saw what happened to the man at Atatürk’s Tomb.”
“Is that why Umit died? Because of you?”
Anna shivered. “He had one of the letters I wrote to you towards the end of the war. How did he get it?”
“Who knows? He probably stole it.”
“I want to know the truth. I want to know why you made me lie for you tonight.”
“To keep you out of it. I can’t risk letting you get involved.”
“It’s not up to you. I already am involved.” She turned away from him to glance at the window, holding the dark of night at bay. The killer could be out there now, unseen. Waiting. Watching Anna. Because Rainer was mixed up in some sort of dangerous game. Rainer had put her through hell, grieving for him.
“Swear to me, Annie,” he said from behind her. “Say nothing about this. Swear that you’ll stay out of it.”
“How dare you!” She whirled back around to face Rainer. “Twelve years, you let me think you were dead.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”
He’d said nothing about love, Anna thought. It really was over between them.
“All I had were your letters,” he said. “When I lost them, I thought I’d lost you all over again.”
He’d lost them. Not one, but all of the letters. However Umit had come into possession of that single letter he’d tried to show her back at the tomb, he must’ve had the other letters, too. That’s what had been kept inside the empty box his wife had hurled at Anna. Hayati’s guess was right. Hearing Rainer’s name must’ve triggered Mrs. Alekci to look inside her box and find it empty. Empty, because Umit’s sister had taken the letters to sell to Cora Wingate. His sister was the gypsy woman Cora had mentioned.
Anna swallowed hard and took another step backwards, away from Rainer. “Why now? Why after all these years? Why did you come in disguise to the party tonight? Viktor Baliko! How could you? Why are you pretending to be a Hungarian with a pregnant wife?”
“I can’t tell you why.”
“That woman is pretending to be your wife.”
“It’s just a job.”
“You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
“Do you think I could tell you that, even if I were?”
“So it’s true.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it is. It’s true. The war’s over, didn’t you know? Why are you still fighting the war? Are they using you to spy against the communists? Why did you agree to do that, instead of coming home?”
“Home. Where is home? I have no home anymore.”
“You had a home. Why didn’t you come home?”
“You’re saying you want me to come home?”
She started to answer, and then bit off her retort. The truth was, she didn’t want him to come home anymore. Too many years had gone by, and she no longer knew him. “Why did you ask me to pretend I never saw you?” she said, avoiding the truth.
“Please, Annie...”
“Because it would destroy your cover, if I revealed your true identity? You were there at the Wingates’ party for another purpose, weren’t you? You had to find out whatever it is that Fran and Paul are up to.”
“No, Annie...”
“Why didn’t you want me to hear what they had to say? They were talking about a coup and something else. Getting rid of something. Was it the photographer they meant?”
“Good Lord, no.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she swayed from the impact of her questions. “What are Fran and Paul doing that’s so wrong? And why did Hayati make up that story about meeting you in the taxi? How’s he involved in your little masquerade?”
“He’s not. I don’t know why he said that. Who can tell with the Turks?”
“You had to meet someone after the party, didn’t you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
She let out a strangled laugh that was more of a cry. “I should’ve guessed you’d say that.”
“Annie, let me—”
“Who are you?” she whispered. “I don’t know you anymore. What have you become? Why can’t the world know that you exist?”
“I wish I could answer all your questions,” he said. “I can’t. Trust me, Annie.”
“Trust?” She felt hysteria creep to the edge of her voice, and he rushed to her, covering her mouth with one hand and holding her tight against him with the other.
She struggled at first, and then she remembered that this man was Rainer, a man she’d once loved. Her body went limp against his, and when his arms loosened their hold on her, she stiffened and pulled away.
“Why are you here?” she said. “In Turkey? Why are you here, after all these years, in the same city, on the same street where I am?”
“Because I sent for you. Annie, it was me.”
“No, you’re wrong. Henry asked me to come. To take care of Priscilla. While they had to go away.”
“And I arranged it.”
“You...and Henry...” They’d worked together in the war, Fran had claimed.
Rainer grunted. “We were somewhere in the mountains, and we came across this German camp. We freed some prisoners so they could come over to our side. But it all went wrong. There was an accident, and Henry left me for dead, and I had to survive, you see? The gypsies knew better than anyone how to survive. I would’ve died, if not for—”
Anna’s eyes widened with understanding. “The Alekcis.”
“What matters now is that you’re here because of me.” He reached for her again, and she sidestepped him again. But not fast enough. He caught her by the arm and pulled her toward him.
The door creaked open. “Aunt Anna, I’m afraid—” Priscilla’s shaky voice ended in a whimper.
“Oh, shit,” Rainer murmured in Anna’s ear, shaking her arm loose from his grip. “I’ll be back. Wait for me.” Then he swept past Priscilla, standing in the open doorway, crying.
Anna rushed to Priscilla and scooped her in her arms. She hugged her close and listened to Rainer’s footsteps pound away, down the stairs. A door slammed.
“Hush, honey, it’s okay. He didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s a good guy. He’s Rainer, honey.”
“No!” Priscilla kept sobbing. “It’s him! The man who’s chasing Daddy!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Using translation help from Hayati Orhon, officers from the National Police spoke to the Wingates’ guests late into the night. Yaziz stayed until the unhappy end. He’d arrived in the fancy neighborhood, Kavaklidere, earlier that day, on a lead from a butcher in Ulus about his missing witness from Anit Kabir—she was a gypsy girl, hawking copper pots up and down these streets. Yaziz eventually tailed her to the big house, owned by one of Atatürk’s generals and conveniently located between the Wingates’ and Burkhardts’ houses. Now, hours later, Yaziz found himself at the far end of the city without transportation in the middle of the night. One of the sergeants gave him a ride home.
The city block where he lived in Yenişehir, the new downtown, was a cement wall of joined apartment buildings that all looked alike. Even to Yaziz. Especially when he was so weary that he mistakenly identified his own building. He ended up walking the last block, rather than confess his mistake to the sergeant. The walk, at least, cleared the fuzz from his mind, and he would be good for another hour or two.
He limped slowly up the stairs to his apartment on the top floor. There was an elevator, which sometimes ran, but that wire cage more often than not entrapped him. Even this exhausted, he preferred the security of the stairs.
With each step of the first two flights, he breathed deeper. He puzzled over the mysteries that disturbed his life. Only yesterday he’d received the summons about trouble at Anit Kabir. Who had wanted to kill a gypsy? Now, he wondered, who would want to kill a student photographer?
Unrelated deaths, perhaps, except for the presence of Miss Anna Riddle at both crime scenes. Although he’d changed his mind about her guilt after today’s incident in Ulus, she was not en
tirely free from his suspicion.
It could be weeks before the autopsy was done. But Yaziz needed no report. Tonight’s victim was surely the result of murder. As the first one so clearly was.
The camera had been smashed. Yaziz had led the Americans to believe that the damage was the result of the man’s falling on it. Yaziz knew better. The camera had been destroyed deliberately. The film it contained had been removed.
What was on that missing film?
Perhaps there’d never been any film in the camera in the first place. Still, someone hadn’t wanted something seen. Plans for the revolution that frightened Bulayir? Such plans—had they been in progress next door in the big house?—could easily be seen from the spot where the photographer had fallen.
What did the Americans, they who had their finger in every pot, have to do with this latest development?
Yaziz rounded the third flight of steps. Paused while his laboring breath settled a fraction. Trudged on.
Then there was the mystery of what Erkmen was up to. Yaziz had never trusted his curly-headed colleague. Theirs was a friendly rivalry, long underway before yesterday, when Erkmen appeared under the lamppost outside the nargile salon.
Why had he wanted Miss Riddle’s purse?
It wasn’t that Erkmen was so incompetent. No. His greatest fault was that he was a little harsh in his treatment of the public. Which, in itself was only a nuisance and not a problem.
The problem Yaziz had with Erkmen was that both of them vied for the top. Both of them moved swiftly through the ranks, swifter than the norm. But Erkmen wasn’t koreli. Yaziz did not know what had generated the favors being showered on Erkmen. He’d always thought his rival’s success was on account of some distant family connections with the police.
After tonight, Yaziz was no longer sure. He’d seen Erkmen dressed in a servant’s uniform at the general’s house. What was he up to?
But the biggest surprise development during tonight’s surveillance, discounting the complication of the murder next door, was when he saw Murat show up. Apparently the old judge was on the general’s guest list. Yaziz felt betrayed. Why hadn’t his old friend told him he was on such familiar terms with one of Atatürk’s men? Close enough to be invited to dinner? Clearly, Murat had some information Yaziz did not know and could have used.
