Deadly Web

by Barbara Nadel

  CHAPTER 19

  Without even thinking about it, people make assumptions regarding how certain encounters might proceed. And although İkmen wasn’t usually given to fantasies of high drama, he had imagined, maybe because he knew what Max Esterhazy was, that his next meeting with him would come about in a dangerous fashion. He would never have dreamed that he would have almost walked straight past him.

  At the Eminönü end of the Galata Bridge, there is an underpass that extends the pathway along the shore on both sides of the structure. It isn’t an entirely salubrious place, playing host as it does to some very unpleasant public toilets and, at night, not a few drunks. By day, however, it is bearable and, indeed, İkmen, were he honest, did go there occasionally to the stallholders under the bridge to purchase a cheap lighter or even the odd packet of fake Marlboro cigarettes. On this occasion, however, he was just simply getting from one side of the bridge to the other. Having observed activity around the Bosphorus and Üsküdar ferry stages he was now, with Constable Yıldız, on his way to see what was happening at the Golden Horn terminus. There were always quite a lot of private boats over there. Strolling in silence, İkmen was thinking about what he’d had to make up in order to get Ardıç to sanction so many officers on the waterfront, when suddenly there was Max. Smaller somehow and, strangely for such a striking man, almost invisible in the crowd, but it was definitely him. With a nod towards Yıldız, İkmen reached out his arm and clamped his hand around Max’s wrist.

  ‘Max.’

  The magician turned and in turning it was almost as if he became himself again – tall, foreign and obvious to all around him.

  ‘Çetin!’ There wasn’t a flicker of anxiety, only delight at seeing his friend.

  Yıldız, positioned behind Max, placed one hand on his gun holster.

  ‘Max, we’ve been looking for you,’ İkmen said, reverting, as he usually did with Max, to English. ‘Everyone’s been very worried.’

  ‘Have they?’ the magician smiled. ‘Why’s that then, old chap?’

  ‘I think that we need to talk,’ İkmen said. ‘I have my car here.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s lovely,’ Max replied. ‘However, I am a bit busy at the moment . . .’

  ‘This isn’t a social invitation, Max,’ İkmen said.

  The magician looked into his eyes and then shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Hikmet Yıldız put his hand on the magician’s other arm and together with İkmen he led him out of the underpass and on to the path.

  İsak Çöktin cleared his notes off the magician’s desk as soon as İkmen, Yıldız and Max Esterhazy entered the study.

  ‘So far I’ve found three students, all of whom have had lessons cancelled,’ he whispered as İkmen, still with his eyes firmly on Max, ushered the sergeant into the living room.

  ‘OK.’

  İkmen quickly returned to the study where Hikmet Yıldız was giving an account of what they had found there after he’d left.

  ‘Blood, you say?’ The magician rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘God!’

  ‘Some of it we thought was yours,’ İkmen said. ‘Well, it was the correct blood group, at least.’

  ‘Well, it clearly isn’t mine,’ Max said as he moved to go and sit behind his desk.

  ‘I would rather you sat here, please,’ İkmen said, indicating one of the nearby leather armchairs. He wanted, he felt, to keep Max’s hands where he could see them. ‘Max, where have you been?’ İkmen too settled himself down into an armchair. ‘What have you been doing all this time?’

  ‘Oh, this and that, you know . . .’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ İkmen responded sharply. ‘What I know is that we were called to this apartment by your maid on Tuesday. You had gone, there was blood in the study. The last sighting of you, Max, was by the kapıcı who said he saw you re-enter the building approximately fifteen minutes after you left your apartment.’

  ‘Well, the kapıcı must be mistaken.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Çetin, I didn’t come back and haven’t been back here since five o’clock on Tuesday evening,’ Max said. ‘I left, I’ve been . . . elsewhere.’

  ‘Where?’

  Max leaned forward in his chair and smiled. ‘Çetin, you know what I do . . .’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ İkmen said. ‘But if you were about magical business then why didn’t you tell Ülkü Ayla, your maid, where you were going?’

  ‘Because she was out at the time and because she, like you, didn’t need to know.’

  ‘Ah, but she did, Max,’ İkmen said. ‘Because when this apartment became a crime scene then Miss Ayla had to move out.’

  ‘But I didn’t know some nutter would come in here and throw blood about, did I?’

  ‘Did I say that blood was thrown about?’

  ‘Spattered, what—’

  ‘Maybe someone was killed in here,’ İkmen said.

  ‘You mentioned nothing about a body. I assumed—’

  ‘Correctly, as it happens,’ İkmen said. ‘But be careful what assumptions you make, Max.’ And for just a second he fixed him with his eyes before continuing. ‘Now, while I respect your right to privacy with regard to your business, Max, I do have to ask you to tell me where you were and who you were with on the Tuesday night after you “disappeared”, Wednesday and last night.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just answer the question, Max.’

  The magician knitted his long fingers underneath his chin and then smiled. ‘Now, Çetin . . .’

  ‘Please don’t even think about either dissembling or appealing to our friendship, Mr Esterhazy,’ İkmen said. ‘One of my colleagues was shot in this very apartment, while in pursuit of this investigation. Just answer my question and answer it now, please.’

  For the best part of a minute, Maximillian Esterhazy sat in absolute stillness and silence. Nothing moved, not even his eyes, which bored into İkmen’s with what could have been fury. However, at the end of this period, which was heralded by a huge, amiable smile, Max spoke quite normally. ‘Oh, well,’ he said. ‘I suppose I’d better get on to old Sevan.’

  ‘Do I take it you mean the advocate Sevan Avedykian?’ İkmen asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s the chappie,’ Max said with a chuckle in his voice. ‘Excellent fellow.’

  İkmen reached across to Max’s desk and retrieved his hands-free telephone.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘I think it is probably best that Mr Avedykian meet us down at the station.’

  Max Esterhazy took the phone from him with a shrug and then looked about him for his address book. İkmen, without a word, went in to Çöktin and retrieved it for him.

  The news that Max Esterhazy had been found travelled fast. And although İkmen hadn’t specifically requested Süleyman’s attendance, in view of the fact that there was little he could do for Gülizar the gypsy until after the autopsy, he made his way back to the station. As he walked down towards the front entrance, he noticed two women – one coming into and one leaving the station. The older and more flamboyantly dressed of the two stopped when she saw the younger woman, who was Çiçek İkmen, and engaged her in conversation. Süleyman, hoping that perhaps he might be able to get past Çiçek without being seen, did try to do this, but without success.

  ‘Ah, Inspector Süleyman, I presume,’ the older woman said as she pushed a ring-and-bracelet-encrusted hand out towards him. Just briefly her eyes flicked towards Çiçek’s now crushed and reddened face and she said, ‘You and I have some business, Inspector, together with a mutual friend.’

  ‘How do you know me?’ he said, and then almost as an afterthought he bowed stiffly to Çiçek.

  ‘I am a gypsy; I know almost everything,’ Gonca laughed. ‘And for anything I don’t know I have this young lady’s father. And besides, I don’t have to be a witch to know that once I’ve found the handsomest man in İstanbul I must have located Mehmet Süleyman, do I?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘I came to see my dad,�
� Çiçek said, as she looked beyond the gypsy and up into Mehmet Süleyman’s face. ‘But he’s busy, so I’ve left a message.’

  ‘Ah, right. You know . . .’ He wanted to say something about what had passed between them when she’d come out to his parents’ house, but what with the gypsy and his own awkwardness, he just couldn’t find the words. ‘Fine. Good. Yes.’

  Çiçek, smiling if on the verge of tears, shrugged. ‘OK then,’ she said. ‘I’d better be going . . .’

  ‘Yes . . .’

  She was such a nice girl. He had such a lot of good memories about her. When she’d been a teenager he’d sometimes bought her sweets – much to her chagrin at the time. They’ll make me fat, big brother Mehmet, she’d always said, you’re very, very naughty! But she’d always laughed – then. And even though all those long years ago he’d known that she had a crush on him, it had been just that, a crush. But now that she was older, that had changed and what he saw before him, though still beautiful, was a deeply unhappy and lonely woman. He also saw someone he knew he could only ever love as a sister.

  ‘I’ll see you later, Gonca Hanım,’ she said, and then turning to Süleyman she bowed. ‘Mehmet.’

  ‘Çiçek.’

  And then she left just as the gypsy twined one of her big long hands around Süleyman’s arm.

  ‘She likes you, that girl.’

  ‘What do you want with me?’

  The gypsy laughed. ‘Oh, what do I not want with you?’ she said lasciviously. ‘But unfortunately I’ve come to see İkmen on this occasion.’

  ‘So have I.’

  ‘Oh, then we will go in together, I think,’ Gonca said. And so, somewhat reluctantly, Süleyman allowed himself to be escorted into the station by her.

  İkmen was waiting in his office when they arrived. Surrounded by paper, cigarette ends and books, he was, unusually, without his jacket and looked more like a flustered academic than a police officer.

  ‘Ah, good, you’re both here,’ he said as he looked up and very briefly smiled at them. ‘Max Esterhazy is currently down in Interview Room number 1 with Sevan Avedykian.’ And then, seeing the look of confusion on Gonca’s face, he added, ‘His advocate.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  They both, somehow, found chairs. İkmen then went on to tell them how he’d found Max and what had happened subsequent to his discovery.

  Süleyman, frowning throughout, sighed. ‘I’m not happy about this,’ he said. ‘With the maid gone and no forensic evidence.’

  ‘I know, but what can I do?’ İkmen said. ‘He wouldn’t give me a straight answer with regard to his whereabouts.’

  ‘He will,’ Gonca put in, ‘twist and turn like a fish.’

  ‘I know! I know!’

  ‘He is much more knowledgeable than any of us,’ the gypsy continued. ‘He may laugh if you tell him of the connections you have made.’

  ‘He may well be right to do so,’ Süleyman said acidly and then, turning to İkmen, he continued, ‘You know I still have this hacker in custody as well as two men from the Hammer who have previous records for sexual assault? I am still pursuing that line of enquiry.’

  ‘Yes,’ İkmen sat down, ‘and I think you’re right to do so. But I also know that Max is hiding something, he must be. And I’m not prepared to let him go until I know what it is.’

  Süleyman shrugged.

  The gypsy beside him, and still in possession of his arm, smiled. ‘Well, we’ll soon know, won’t we?’ she said. ‘As time goes on and the magician becomes evermore anxious.’

  ‘Why should he be anxious?’ Süleyman asked.

  ‘Well, darling, it’s like this,’ she said, and then proceeded to tell him about how a magic circle is created and specifically about the four now, supposedly, open portals.

  In response he just put his head in his hands despairingly.

  ‘Inspector Süleyman has a few problems with this,’ İkmen said. ‘Which I can appreciate.’

  Gonca looked at the younger man and frowned sympathetically. But then she suddenly turned her entire attention on to İkmen and said, ‘But if you are to do this then you will need to do it correctly, so listen and learn, İkmen. Magical people are tricky and ritual magicians are the cleverest of all tricksters known to man.’

  ‘Jak! Jak!’

  Not again! Not now that he’d only just managed to get into his book for the first time in a week!

  ‘Jak, come quickly!’

  With a low growl of suppressed fury, Jak Cohen hauled himself out of his chair and walked into the living room. Why the hell he was bothering to try to get the latest Harry Potter under his belt in this madhouse he couldn’t imagine.

  ‘What now?’ he said as he regarded his brother’s indignant face over the top of the TV remote control.

  ‘It’s this video,’ Balthazar said indignantly. ‘Women with Sea Snakes? More like women with rubber snakes!’

  ‘Oh God.’ Jak raised his hands up to his head and said, ‘Did you get that out of the bin?’

  ‘Yes. Women with Sea Snakes . . .’

  ‘Why? Why did you get it out of the bin, Balthazar?’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Christ Almighty!’ he said in English before reverting back to Turkish. ‘You don’t honestly think that they put girls in with real sea snakes, do you?’

  Balthazar squinted at the strange, watery images on the screen and said, ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Of course they’re rubber, Balthazar. Real sea snakes would kill them, especially given what they’re doing with the poor bastards!’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Oh, watch it if you must!’ Jak said with a sigh. ‘But please, don’t moan.’ He looked wearily at the screen and pointed, ‘Look – that girl there, she’s nice. Imagine she’s giving you a blow job or something.’

  But then as he looked at the screen, it suddenly went blank.

  ‘Or maybe not,’ Jak said. ‘What rubbish!’

  He’d just moved to eject the tape from the machine when a picture of sorts appeared on the screen. In the middle of it was a girl, naked and on her knees.

  ‘Leave it! Leave it!’ Balthazar said as he tetchily waved his brother away from the screen. ‘This looks good.’

  ‘Christ!’

  Jak, his concentration as well as his patience well and truly at an end, sank down into a chair to join his brother in appreciating whatever degraded rubbish this might be.

  A dark shape, which appeared to be a man, moved behind the girl and then, just for a moment, she was entirely still, eyes staring straight at the camera. Only when she began to move did his hands reach around, take her breasts and move her up and down against him.

  ‘This looks real to me,’ Balthazar said appreciatively.

  ‘The quality’s awful,’ his brother said, ‘and it’s quite, well, creepy in a way . . .’

  ‘Mmm. Good, though.’

  They watched for a while – the sex, the genuine at first fear and then pleasure that seemed, from what they could see, to be in the girl’s eyes. That, Jak said, was unusual. Porn actresses were, in his experience, generally dead in the eyes. But then something else happened that made them both sit up. It happened very quickly and so they had to play and keep on playing that part of the tape many times over before they could work out absolutely what it was. When they did, however, Jak took the tape out and laid it down on the floor in front of the television. Then they both just stared at it for a time while Balthazar tried to work out what one might do in a situation like this.

  ‘On Saturday night I did what I usually do, which means that I had dinner at Four Seasons in Beyoğlu and then went to visit a friend.’

  ‘What friend?’ İkmen said sharply.

  Max Esterhazy smiled. He appeared to be perfectly at ease in this stuffy little room with its tiny window and numerous cigarette ends. Even the mirror, which everyone in the room knew was of the two-way variety, failed to disturb Max’s seemingly natural sang-froid. />
  ‘A lady,’ Max said. ‘Her name is Gül Özpetek – she’s divorced and lives in Şişli. And yes, I can and will give you her details and yes, I did stay with her all night. I usually do, Ülkü will tell you.’

  ‘If we could find Ülkü that would be most compelling,’ İkmen said. ‘But we couldn’t let her back into your home, a crime scene or so we thought, until we had either found you or a dead body.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Unfortunately Miss Ayla appears to have moved on from where she had been staying, however,’ İkmen looked up. ‘What about Tuesday’s events, Mr Esterhazy? Your disappearance . . .’

  ‘My client didn’t disappear, Inspector İkmen,’ Sevan Avedykian slid in smoothly. ‘He left his apartment at five p.m. and, since that time, has been staying with a Mr İrfan Şay, a gentleman, I believe, with an interest in Mr Esterhazy’s area of expertise.’

  Sevan Avedykian was, as İkmen knew of old, a pragmatic sort of man who was probably not easy around words like magic.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell your maid where you were going, Mr Esterhazy?’

  ‘Mr Şay, a respected businessman, is anxious to keep his interest in things of an occult nature to himself,’ the lawyer said.

  The subtext behind this was one that İkmen could understand. After all, officially, ‘sorcery’ was still a crime in the Republic and so people, particularly of a ‘respected’ nature, might well want to keep their interest in it to themselves. However . . .

  ‘Yes,’ İkmen said. ‘I can understand that, but it still doesn’t account for the fact that your client failed to tell his maid that he was going to be absent. He could at least have left a note. I mean, when, Mr Esterhazy, were you planning to return to your home?’

  Max Esterhazy shrugged. ‘I don’t know, old boy. One gets into conversation . . .’

  ‘And yet you cancelled at least three of your tutorial sessions,’ İkmen said. ‘You also rescheduled Miss Topal’s session to take place not at your home but on Büyükada. Why was that?’

  ‘Fitnat and myself have frequently had our sessions out on the island,’ he smiled. ‘It’s so very pleasant out there when it’s hot. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make it in the end.’