He picked up where he’d left off. “Now this time she hasn’t changed to so great a degree, but there’s an edginess to her, an agitation about her, that I’ve never seen before. And to take the children, my grandchildren, whom she’s never taken anywhere, and whom I’m not sure she truly loves—to take them away without explanations or goodbyes…”
He stopped there, his eyes filling with tears.
Of course I knew the whole history. God, did I know it. If it was a horror to me, an unrelated stranger, what must it have been to her father! I dug my fingernails into my palm as I struggled to appear impassive.
When he had gained control, I asked, “How do you think I can help you, sir?”
“Very simple. I want you to find her, and if she’s alive, I mean if she’s okay—because I’m worried about that—I want you to give her this.” He held out a brown, sealed envelope. “She will understand the contents. She’ll know what it means.”
I suppose the devil in me was saying ethical, shmethical, for I didn’t ponder very long in thought. “I’ll do that much, Mr. Bloodworth. But first, I must tell you that if I find her, and that is a very big ‘if,’ I cannot tell you where she is unless she consents. If you hire a different P.I., he or she wouldn’t be under such a constraint. It’d be a simple missing-persons case.”
“I still wish to employ you, Ms. Jamison. I believe you to be a good investigator and a good person. I know I can count on the goodness within you to help Ashley and the children. Surely that supersedes all other considerations. And, Ms. Jamison, I believe Ashley’s disappearance has much to do with whatever it is that you worked on for her.”
I opened my mouth to protest but once again he held up his hand.
“I’m not saying that you’re to blame or that there’s any fault on your part. I’m merely observing that certain events are juxtaposed in time. First she’s edgy. Then she hires you. And when your work is done, she vanishes. Causal relationships are plausible, wouldn’t you say? It’s logical, isn’t it? You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.”
He paused to add sugar and cream to his tea, stirred it thoughtfully for a moment and removed the sprig of mint. When he looked up his eyes were molten pools of blue. “So you’ll work for me.”
It was a statement, not a question. I had already agreed to it in so many words. Looking back, I believe I did so because I feared for Ashley’s safety. Though she had protested that she wanted no interaction with the men who had raped her, apart from knowing who they were, and who had fathered her children, I never fully believed it. I’d wager diamonds to dog biscuits that she had left to seek out one or more of Tom, Dick, and Harry. In that regard, Mr. Bloodworth was right about my role.
A further, nagging thought was that Ashley was unaware that Harry, for whatever reasons, was accompanied everywhere by an armed bodyguard, and that Tom employed two vicious hoodlums. At least she was aware that Dick was under guard 24/7. She knew these men were capable of cruelty and even murder, but she didn’t know that each of them was abetted by hired thugs.
Like Ashley, her father refused a contract, preferring to pay a large sum in advance. We shook hands and he said, “Welcome aboard,” as if I’d just stepped off the gangplank onto his private yacht. Little did I know into what turbulent waters I was about to sail.
CHAPTER 26
Now that I’m ‘aboard,’ sir,” I said, “request permission to search this room for leads.” I suppressed the reflex to salute. In less than one minute I’d waded into murky ethical waters, but I had by then convinced myself it was all in Ashley’s best interest.
“Yes, of course you may. I’m afraid I don’t have keys to anything in this office but I’m sure you have your ways.” He turned to leave, and after a couple of steps turned back. “By the way, if you need anything, pull this cord”—he indicated a braided rope with a tasseled end—“and one of the servants will come, okay? Stay as long as you need to. I’ll have lunch sent in.”
Without further words he left the room. A few moments later a young black woman brought a plate of sandwiches and more iced tea. I seated myself in Ashley’s executive chair, bit into a sandwich, and revved up the old gray matter.
I saw little point in rifling through Ashley’s files. I needed clues to recent activities, unlikely to be filed yet. The desk drawers were unlocked and their contents unhelpful. A dark computer screen off to the side invited me to try my luck booting up. The computer was probably password protected, but nothing ventured…
As the hardware whirred through its wake-up stages, I cast a glance at the statuette of the praying hands and appealed to no one in particular for access to the machine. It was my chief hope. The musical tones of the Windows operating system as it came to life brought me to the moment of reckoning. I was in luck. No password needed.
Though I’m hardly an expert—I couldn’t write a computer program for love nor money—my job as a P.I. requires me to have more computer skills than the average bear. I know how to manage files and snoop into them. I have a better than working acquaintance with the Internet and the various Internet browsers. The computer wizards who are my next-door neighbors have given me hacking lessons for beginners. These skills I put to work.
I searched various files, sorting them by date and snooping into the most recent. After two hours, I had nothing. Then I noticed that Ashley had minimized her Web browser, but had left it open. I maximized it and began to click on the “go back” arrow. In essence I could read the browser pages that Ashley had been using, and I was, as Charles might say, “bloody lucky.”
Among Ashley’s Web pages was one showing the purchase of an electronic airline ticket. The record showed one first-class passage departing the previous evening from Washington’s Dulles Airport to Atatürk International Airport, Istanbul, Turkey. While I sat in her office, Ashley was in Istanbul. I didn’t like the idea one bit.
I pulled the cord and heard bells jingle in the distance. Quaint in this electronic age. It worked, however, and the same girl who had brought me lunch appeared at once. I asked her to ask Mr. Bloodworth to please come to the office.
When he showed up two minutes later, I filled him in on what I’d found.
“Turkey,” he exclaimed, “why Turkey?”
“I believe there is someone in Istanbul whom she thinks she knows,” I answered cautiously.
“Do you think she’s in trouble of some kind? Is she fleeing the country?”
“Well, I’m guessing, but I think she’s going to, not running from, and yes, I think she could be in trouble. With your okay, I’m going to fly to Istanbul.”
“Yes, of course you have it, and you’ll ask her to take care, and show her the…I mean, hand her that envelope.”
“I will if I can find her. She purchased a single one-way ticket. That may mean that the children are staying with someone in the U.S. You have any idea?”
His brow furrowed in thought, but before he could speak, my own thoughts had raced ahead. “Of course she might buy them tickets at the airport, but why not online? I’ll bet they’re still in the country. If you’d follow up on that, I think my job is to get to Istanbul as quickly as possible.”
He agreed. I asked him for a couple of snapshots of Ashley. When he went off to find them, I phoned American Airlines and reserved a seat on the evening redeye to London’s Gatwick Airport. From there, I’d have to take an afternoon flight to Istanbul. It arrived at night and Ashley would already have had two days to get into trouble, but without a time machine it was the best I could do.
I departed in haste for home in order to prepare once more for travel. I called Uncle Husnu to see if his hotel would accommodate me in about 24 hours. He was perfectly sweet, called me his little turnip, and even though we’d just seen each other a few weeks ago, acted as if I’d been gone for years. He insisted on having his man meet me at the airport, and brooked no further argument.
The time between leaving Hatfield Hall and landing at Atatürk airpo
rt is a blur of frantic activity mixed with near unendurable boredom. You’d think that flying over 500 miles per hour would satisfy, but the faster you go, the faster you want to go. I wished for the Concorde instead of my Boeing 767 slow boat. The few hours of sleep I managed were heaven-sent. The layover in Gatwick seemed endless. The final leg to Istanbul, though less than four hours, felt like fourteen.
The driver sent by Uncle Husnu was the same man who had transported (and guarded) me two weeks ago. He was a bull-necked, sturdy fellow who took his job seriously in spite of my assurances that there was no danger. It was comforting nonetheless to be escorted to the hotel, and to my room. It was too late to do anything but try to get some sleep. Morning would come soon enough, and with it the formidable challenge of finding Ashley.
Naturally, I couldn’t sleep right away. Beside it being late afternoon according to my internal clock, I still didn’t have what I felt was an effective plan for locating her. If I thought she was here on vacation, I’d walk the Istiklal shopping area looking for, and asking about, a dazzling blonde westerner. She’d sparkle like a jewel among the swarthy Turks. But I didn’t believe this was a pleasure trip. I feared that, driven by her demons, Ashley was here to contact J. Thompson Beck, Doctor of Divinity, rapist. And that when she did, she’d place herself in grave peril.
The next morning I enlisted Uncle Husnu to help me find Ashley. I gave him one of her photos and asked him to call the upscale hotels in Istanbul to see if he could find out where she was staying. The best use of my time was to stake out Beck’s home to see if Ashley would come prying. I also thought I might get information from the cops watching the place. They would remember Ashley long after they’d forgotten a visitation from Muhammad’s ghost.
Now that Uncle Husnu knew the kind of people I hung out with—the two hoods from the underground cistern were a dead giveaway—he was adamant about providing me with a car and driver-cum-bodyguard. I didn’t refuse. I needed all the help I could get.
“He doesn’t know a word of English,” warned Uncle, “but he’ll protect you with his life.”
The driver knew where Beck’s orphanage was. He had grown up on the Asian side of Istanbul and had been in the police force prior to coming to work at the hotel. Speaking Turkish slowly so as not to be misunderstood, I told him I wanted to watch the place to see who comes and goes, but I was worried that the cops would shoo us away.
He said he knew most of the cops and they might be persuaded to help, especially if a few million liras were to change hands. I didn’t object to the idea but it turned out to be unnecessary. Concern about the controversial orphanage must have cooled. It was no longer under police protection. We parked the car in an inconspicuous place with a good view of both the house and grounds. The tedium of waiting began.
Uncle had thoughtfully had the kitchen pack lunch for us. After some hours we were about to break into it when a woman, clearly a domestic servant, came out of the front door and walked toward a nearby bus stop.
Over my driver’s protest, I slipped quietly out of the car and ducked behind the right fender. As soon as the woman was out of eyeshot of the house, I approached her. She was surprised when I spoke to her in Turkish, and more surprised when I offered her a sum of money equal to a week’s wages if she’d answer one or two small questions.
I showed her a picture of Ashley and asked if by any chance a woman who resembled her had visited Dr. Beck in the past day or two.
“Oh yes, ma’am,” she said, “the yellow-haired lady came this morning.”
Half of the woman’s teeth were missing and I had to ask her to repeat herself. My understanding of spoken Turkish seemed to rely heavily on the speaker’s dentition.
“Is she still there?” I asked, my heart beating faster.
“No, ma’am. She left shortly after she came.”
“Can you tell me what she did, or what they talked about?”
She didn’t answer. Rather, she focused her eyes on my handbag. I got the point. She had answered “one or two small questions” and having sensed the depth of the well, wished to ladle up more. I handed over another week’s wages.
“They went into the doctor’s study. I was running the vacuum cleaner so I couldn’t hear them.”
“Please listen to me, as Allah is great,” I said, holding up yet another week’s wages just out of her grasp. “I want you to tell me everything you saw or heard, from the time the blonde lady arrived until the time she left.”
“I told you everything, ma’am. They talked, she left. That’s all I know.”
“That’s all you know?” I mimicked, making to put the money back in my handbag.
“Except maybe one thing,” she said, her eyes glued to the paper bills. “The master, he looked upset, and the lady, she looked like she had the evil eye, and she said ‘I’ll be back,’ just like in the movies.”
“How do you know she said that? She doesn’t speak Turkish.”
My informant proffered a semi-toothed smile and said in highly accented English, “I understand small English,” and reached for the money.
I walked back to the waiting car. I ate lunch in silence, my mind racing over what I’d just learned. What did Ashley tell Beck? Or, more pertinent, what did she ask him for? And Beck, no fool, somehow talked her into coming back later. Later, when he was more prepared. And no sooner had that thought occurred than a car pulled up in front of the orphanage and out piled the same two goons who had harried me in the Grand Bazaar and the Cistern Basilica three weeks ago. The tall one led the way up the walk and Beck himself admitted them through the front door.
That clinched it. I’d have to wait for Ashley and confront her before she got to the house. I hoped that the message I bore from her father, still in its sealed envelope, would dissuade her from whatever crazy plans she had. If not, I’d be forced to take drastic measures.
The afternoon crept snail-like, unwillingly, toward dusk. After an interminable time, it began to grow dark, and I began to despair of my errand. Suddenly, out of the dark blue of the twilight, two police squad cars squealed around the corner and came to an abrupt halt in front of the orphanage. Two cops got out of each car, and the four went to the front door and demanded entrance.
Five minutes later the cops escorted Beck and his two hoods off the grounds and into the police cars. They shoved Beck and the small hood into one, and the big guy into the other.
Now it was clear. Ashley had used her influence or wealth to have Beck detained and perhaps tried for some crime, or kicked out of the country. She had come by his place earlier to either blackmail or taunt him. When she said, “I’ll be back,” she didn’t mean it literally.
That was a satisfactory close to the affair. I was sure either that Uncle Husnu would locate Ashley’s hotel, or we could go to the police regarding Beck’s case and they’d give us Ashley’s local address. My job was to find her, keep her safe, and hand over the envelope from her father. I was relishing the glow from the light at the end of the tunnel when the train ran me down from behind.
“Miss Dagny, they’re not real cops,” volunteered my driver.
“What,” I exclaimed, thinking I’d misunderstood his Asian-accented Turkish. “Would you say that again? You mean those really aren’t cops?”
He nodded and spoke carefully, “They are not really cops, and those are not really police cars. The number plates are wrong. And the way they put those men in the cars. It was not how cops do it. They are always careful of the head. I know what cops look like and how they act.”
My smugness vanished. “Can you follow them?” I asked.
“Your uncle wouldn’t like it.”
“It’s very important. It may be a matter of life or death. Please. Before we lose them.”
He shifted the car into gear, shaking his head in that “I know I’m going to regret this” kind of a way.
CHAPTER 27
They were several blocks away by the time we started after them, but my driver was sharp-eyed
and able to follow undetected. They didn’t try to be evasive, but rather took a main avenue at a sensible speed toward wherever they were going. Eventually they turned off onto a secondary street and we closed the gap a little. They drove by a stadium and slowed as if looking for a place to park. We slowed too, exposing ourselves somewhat, but our quarry was too preoccupied to notice. They turned onto the grounds of the stadium. As we drove casually past I noticed that they had stopped.
“What is this place?” I asked my driver.
“It’s a soccer field,” he explained. “They also play American football here. That’s become popular lately.”
“I want you to drive back and let me out. I need to see what they’re doing.”
“I will certainly not, as Satan is evil.”
“Satan is evil, and Husnu Oktalmus is your boss. Did Uncle not tell you to do as I ask?”
“Miss Dagny, this is too risky. Those men are dangerous, I can tell. Please don’t go. I can’t protect you.”
“Listen, it’s okay. I’ll take very good care,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone, not even my uncle, but I, too, must protect someone. It’s a matter of honor for me to see if she’s in danger. For me, it’s like a promise to God. It’s my duty.”
He relented, but insisted on coming with me. I refused. I told him that stealth was needed, not strength, and he’d serve me best by waiting in the car in case I had to flee.
I found a place to enter about a quarter of the way around the stadium from where the two phony cop cars had parked. I walked up some stairs and through a tunnel. From there I had a view of the field. I crouched in the shadows to watch.
Six men in uniform, two of them carrying bright electric lanterns, escorted the now handcuffed prisoners onto the field. The captives were forced to their knees in front of the goal posts that were used for American football. There was no sign of Ashley.
Where Evil Lurks Page 21
