Deadly Web

by Barbara Nadel

  ‘Shut up!’ the pilot said. ‘No one’s interested!’

  ‘Sir!’

  İkmen, alerted by the desperate tone in Çöktin’s voice, stood up and went to join him at the side of the boat.

  ‘Sir, Inspector Süleyman has been under the water for too long!’

  İkmen placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know.’

  And then seemingly unable to take it any longer, Çöktin threw his jacket to the deck and said, ‘I’m going in after him.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes!’

  İkmen took hold of Çöktin’s arm between hard, bony fingers. ‘No! It’s dangerous down there. I won’t have you risking your life too! I should go, I told him to get Max.’

  ‘Sir, with respect . . .’

  İkmen removed his jacket and had just bent down to take off his shoes when Çöktin shouted, ‘Here!’

  Looking up sharply, İkmen saw what looked like two white smudges in the water about a hundred metres from the boat.

  ‘İsak!’ It was definitely Süleyman’s voice. ‘Help!’

  ‘Now you can go in,’ İkmen said as he replaced his shoes.

  Çöktin dived in and, in what seemed like a long time, but actually was only a few minutes, he could be seen with Süleyman approaching the boat. What was more, they were not alone.

  ‘Max is alive,’ Süleyman gasped as İkmen pulled him back on to the boat. ‘Allah preserve me, I’ve drunk I don’t know what . . .’ He spat on to the deck, clearing his throat as he did so.

  Çöktin, still below in the water, began to move the seemingly unconscious magician into a position where İkmen could grab him.

  ‘And he’s got two hands,’ he said as he pushed the man up into İkmen’s arms.

  ‘Yes,’ İkmen grunted.

  ‘Unless his blood were made of tomatoes he would have,’ Gonca put in with a laugh in her voice. ‘A very silly little illusion for such a big magician!’

  CHAPTER 22

  As soon as they had cleared all of the water from Max Esterhazy’s lungs, İkmen and his officers got the magician, Turgut Can and Çiçek on to the launch and headed for the city. İkmen didn’t, however, leave the magician alone during their trip. Still sneezing Bosphorus water, Max Esterhazy, shackled now to İkmen, was subjected to an onslaught from the furious inspector.

  ‘What did you give my daughter, you bastard?’ İkmen yelled as soon as the magician opened his eyes.

  ‘Na . . .’

  ‘What did you give her?’

  ‘Na . . . Nothing . . .’

  İkmen turned to look back at the still insensible Çiçek and then took the magician by the throat. ‘Nothing!’

  ‘Ha . . .’ A moment almost of amusement passed across Max Esterhazy’s face before he hauled himself up against the side of the boat and said, ‘Çiçek?’

  She made a small sound and her eyelids did briefly flicker.

  ‘Çiçek, wake up, lovey,’ Max said in English. ‘Come on, it’s only Max . . .’

  ‘Only Max!’

  ‘Steady.’ It was Süleyman’s voice and his hand upon İkmen’s arm that stopped him going any further.

  ‘If he’s saying he hypnotised her—’

  ‘She’s coming round, İkmen,’ Gonca said. ‘Look.’

  Çiçek’s eyes were open now and, although they moved in a fashion that suggested they were unfocused, it was plain that some sort of change had occurred.

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly hypnotism,’ the magician said, still amid the occasional cough of Bosphorus water. ‘The sigil . . . I was in control some days ago – of her. She was lonely . . .’

  ‘If you’ve touched her . . .’

  The magician’s eyes suddenly and alarmingly hardened. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I haven’t. I’ve never touched, as you say, anyone. She was to have been the first.’

  ‘Oh, and what about the others?’ İkmen said. ‘What about Gülay Arat? What about the gypsy girl and that other one? What about Alison?’

  Max Esterhazy shook his head. ‘None of them,’ he said. ‘The girls provided at the portals were taken by things you wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, demons, I—’

  ‘If that’s what you want to call them, yes,’ he smiled. ‘When one attempts such a powerful ritual, one needs to evoke entities possessed of powerful appetites. The practitioner, myself, merely guides the ice-cold penis of the Goat entity into the supplicant. Only one, in reality, you will notice, Çetin.’

  ‘And İrfan Şay,’ İkmen said. ‘He filmed these “entities”? Oh, please, Max, don’t insult my intelligence.’

  ‘Believe what you like.’

  ‘I will. And mostly I will believe that all of this was about you and the profit you could make from giving Şay movies containing real death.’ And then turning to Süleyman he said, ‘You’d better organize transport for when we reach Eminönü.’

  Süleyman took his phone out of his pocket and turned aside to make the call.

  İkmen leaned in close to the magician now and said, ‘So what about Alison then, Max? What was that performance with my daughter?’

  The magician smiled softly. ‘Alison was perfect,’ he said. ‘I loved her passionately.’

  ‘What did you do to her?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing. That is my tragedy, Çetin. She came into my life and then she left, to go to Cappadocia.’ He leaned in towards İkmen in order to whisper, ‘She turned me down because she was in love with you.’

  ‘She never—’

  ‘You were married, of course she didn’t tell you,’ Max snapped. ‘But she loved you, my perfect woman – over me.’ And then his voice hardened again. ‘Amazing, isn’t it? I’m tall, good-looking and I want to make her my goddess, and she pines for a penniless little Turk! I’ve never forgiven you for that Çetin! Never! I’ve never been with a woman since . . .’

  ‘What about your lady up in Şişli?’

  ‘Only a friend!’ he laughed bitterly. ‘I can only have friends, Çetin. I wanted Alison and only her. I dressed Çiçek up to look like her because I knew it was the only way I could ever become aroused enough to—’

  ‘Don’t speak of my daughter like that!’

  ‘When you came to me asking for help with that ridiculous scrawl, my ritual was already underway,’ Max said. ‘It was you, your presence, Çetin, that gave me the notion of using Çiçek. You denied her to me just as you had denied Alison. All the blood I poured over my apartment was for you, to confuse and punish—’

  ‘Çetin, there’s going to be a car waiting at Eminönü for us,’ Süleyman said.

  ‘OK. And Karataş and Yıldız?’

  ‘They will meet us at the station.’ He then looked down at the magician and said, ‘You are going to have to answer a lot of questions, Max, not least of which concern Cem Ataman. I mean, you didn’t kill him, did you?’

  ‘I wasn’t even there,’ Max responded. ‘He was a good student – of magic – the best one. I could talk to Cem about anything – my fears, my enthusiasms. He had a tremendous hunger for the mysteries – once, of course, I’d sorted him out as regards useless concepts like good and evil. He went willingly to perform the rite and he died. He gave me the western portal as a gift.’

  ‘So you knew . . .’

  ‘Of course I did! Cem and I planned it together.’ He closed his eyes. ‘But I’m tired now and disinclined to answer any more questions.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to later!’

  Max opened his eyes briefly and replied, ‘I don’t think so. I will tell you only that my grand ritual, using my own blood, as you saw—’

  ‘That was tomato juice!’

  ‘Get it tested and see,’ Max smiled. ‘My working is over and the city is safe. Gülay Arat was a willing victim – what a naughty place that Atlas Pasaj is, introducing young ladies to the Devil! Silly people looking ridiculous in black, as I told Gülay. It so delighted her when she learned what I did, what I could teach her. She wanted and welcomed what came into th
e world through me. But little Lale was a good Muslim and was very afraid; even when I attempted to reassure her she fought. It was very ugly to watch. The gypsy was, of course, a mistake. Foul blood. I knew I’d have to pay for it in some way, which is, of course, why you’re here. But the ritual is nevertheless complete and that is the main thing. I’m telling you these details, Çetin, while I can,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll have fun beating the rest out of Turgut. I know you’re on to İrfan Şay, but . . . Oh, and by the way, just for the record, Ülkü Ayla is a complete innocent in all this and, should you find her, I would like it if you could be kind to her. Poor little girl, I sacrificed her too in a way . . . Now if you don’t mind . . .’ He leaned back against the cabin of the launch and closed his eyes.

  ‘What about the other blood, Max, the blood that wasn’t yours?’

  ‘Oh, that’s so easy, Çetin,’ the magician smiled. ‘Where do you think I got it?’

  ‘I, well . . .’

  ‘Dad . . .’

  İkmen turned round sharply to see his daughter’s slightly raised face looking up at him. It was extremely white and there was a deadness in her eyes that was totally unfamiliar to him. İkmen looked down at the cuff around his wrist and said to Süleyman, ‘Can you . . . ?’

  ‘Of course.’ He went over to Gonca and gently took Çiçek from her.

  ‘Mehmet?’

  ‘Yes, you’re OK now, Çiçek,’ he said as he smoothed the unaccustomed blonde hair from her face. ‘I’m here, and your father. There’s nothing to be afraid of any more.’

  As the lights of the Eminönü docks and the imperial mosques and palaces behind them came into view, İkmen studied the apparently sleeping face of Max Esterhazy closely. How could he have known and yet not known this man so completely? And what had happened to make him, suddenly, take the action that he had? Was it the impending conflict in the region? Was he so afraid that it would change his life that he felt he had to kill in order to prevent it? Or had it all just been a purely commercial act punctuated by stupid costumes and sleight-of-hand parlour tricks? İkmen more than most knew that magic, whatever it was, possessed some power. In a way he knew he was relieved that Max had completed his ritual, because if he hadn’t İkmen didn’t know what that inconclusion might produce.

  And what of Alison? He had never dreamed that she’d felt like that about him! And why had it affected Max so badly? Alison had been lovely, but she was just a girl like millions of others . . . But then maybe that had more to do with Max’s past than Alison herself; maybe the key to that lay in what the magician’s father had been and the ambiguity that appeared to surround that. On one level, Max almost certainly did want to do good, to protect the city – maybe even make up for some of the dreadful things that, perhaps, his father had done. But there was also an element of fury there too. His woman had preferred someone he considered inferior and he’d never been able to get over it. Turks were maybe in their place as occasional friends and servants – which brought to mind Ülkü Ayla and the assertion of innocence Max had made for her. Was she truly innocent or was this yet another of Max’s games? Time and some hard interviewing would, he hoped, produce an answer.

  They pulled into the shore and İkmen and the pilot took an apparently sleeping Max Esterhazy to the waiting police car.

  İkmen had Max and Turgut Can taken down to the cells while he took Çiçek to hospital.

  ‘We’ll interview them both in the morning,’ he said to Süleyman as he took his leave of him.

  ‘It is morning, Çetin.’

  İkmen shrugged. ‘When I get back then,’ he said, and then added with a smile, ‘You’d better go home and change, Mehmet. I think that suit is now beyond human intervention.’

  Süleyman, who had up until now almost forgotten about his waterlogged appearance, smiled.

  When İkmen had gone, Çöktin turned to Süleyman and said, ‘Sir, who is this Alison?’

  ‘Oh, just someone,’ Süleyman said wearily. ‘The inspector and Esterhazy knew her years ago.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You’d better go home for a few hours too, İsak,’ Süleyman said. ‘It’s been a terrible night and we will, I am sure, have to listen to yet more horror later. Go home, clean up and I’ll call you. Oh, and,’ he placed his hand on his deputy’s already retreating back, ‘thank you for what you did tonight. You probably saved my life.’

  Çöktin, as if embarrassed, put his head down. ‘Sir.’

  Süleyman watched him go and then started to make his way up to his office to complete the necessary paperwork. This had to be done and so the ruined suit and squelching shoes would have to wait for a while at least. If nothing else, he thought grimly, my appearance will give people something to talk about.

  He’d just started to mount the stairs when he heard the commotion down below. Raised voices together with the sound of running feet made him retrace his steps a few paces. It sounded as if the noise was coming from the cells. Mentally he went over all the precautions he had taken to ensure that neither of the prisoners could harm themselves. They’d been very thorough. But then again what happened to prisoners once they were ‘down there’ was something he couldn’t legislate for. Not everyone was like himself and İkmen, and Esterhazy, at least, was being held on suspicion of murder. He made his way down to the cells and pushed his way through what seemed like thousands of constables.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked one of the men that he knew by sight.

  ‘Prisoner’s dead, sir.’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Even before he got to the door of the cell, he knew it was Max. On the launch there had been something strangely final in his manner. He didn’t remember now what the magician had actually said, but then maybe it hadn’t been to do with anything as overt as speech.

  He pushed the cell door open and saw Max, motionless on the floor, a very young constable pumping half-heartedly at his chest.

  ‘Have you called the doctor?’ He squatted down beside the body and pushed the young man out of the way.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, do so! Now!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The young man stood up and ran towards the door.

  Süleyman pinched the magician’s nose between his fingers and blew into his mouth. He then pumped on his chest for several seconds before resuming his place at the man’s head again. As he pinched his nose for a second time, Max’s eyes flew open and for just a split second, Süleyman thought he saw a smile cross his blueing lips.

  ‘Allah!’

  But then in a blink of an eye the effect had disappeared and the magician was just like a great, blue and grey stone once again. Süleyman continued working on what he knew in his heart was a dead body until, after what seemed like a lifetime, the doctor arrived.

  Çiçek İkmen was strangely animated, given her ordeal. She wasn’t, of course, her usual lively self, and her father was insistent that she remain in hospital and submit to medical tests, but she wanted to talk and he felt it was important to listen to her.

  ‘What was the fortune-teller doing on the boat?’ she asked him as she gazed, now firmly, into her father’s face.

  ‘It’s a long story, Çiçek,’ İkmen replied. ‘What happened to you, my soul?’

  She saw the tears in his eyes and she squeezed his hand encouragingly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I met your friend Max. We had a drink.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the Kaktüs,’ she said, naming a friendly, literary and arty bar just off İstiklal Caddesi.

  ‘Why? Why did you go with him?’ Now his guilt was beginning to manifest itself, making İkmen feel slightly sick. Max had said he ‘wanted’ Çiçek, that he admired her ‘magical’ personality. Why hadn’t İkmen even considered this as a possibility?

  ‘I was depressed,’ Çiçek said. ‘Dad, I made a fool of myself with Mehmet.’

  İkmen’s heart jumped. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t done anything,’
she said. ‘I just went and told him how I felt.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Probably too embarrassed,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t know what possessed me to do it, Dad! He asked me why I was looking so down and so I told him. I don’t know why.’

  For some reason that İkmen balked at attributing to Max’s sigil, Çiçek had behaved in an impulsive fashion that was not natural to her. Gonca had said that magicians put a lot of effort into these sigils and so they were very powerful at doing whatever the practitioner wanted them to do. Had Max really taken control of Çiçek, manipulated her into a position where she would confide in and trust him without thinking?

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Then nothing,’ she shrugged. ‘Then the fortune-teller on the boat and you and . . . and Mehmet . . . And there was hair too, on my head, blonde . . .’

  ‘It was a wig, little pigeon.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The door opened and a small man in a white coat entered.

  ‘Here’s the doctor,’ İkmen said. ‘I just need to speak to him before he sees you.’

  He then walked over to the small man and led him outside where he gave him a brief overview of events.

  ‘It was as if she were hypnotised,’ he said in conclusion. ‘The man in question spoke to her and she opened her eyes.’

  ‘But she now remembers nothing of the events on the boat?’

  ‘No.’

  The doctor shrugged. ‘It is unusual for a person to recall nothing from their experience of hypnotic trance,’ he said. ‘I certainly have never come across such a thing. Maybe the trauma has caused temporary amnesia. I will examine your daughter and also perform a blood test.’

  ‘For drugs?’

  ‘Yes. Although the way she came round would seem to suggest that your daughter was in a hypnotic state, that could just be coincidental.’

  ‘You mean he gave her a drug, knowing approximately when it would wear off?’

  ‘Maybe. It seems likely from what you have told me that if a drug were administered to her, that happened in the bar. My guess would be that if she was given anything it was probably Rohypnol, which renders those ingesting it both pliable and at least temporarily amnesic.’