Holding one open hand out in greeting, Zelfa moved forward. 'Hello, Cengiz, I am Dr Halman, I've come to help you.'
'Aaaahhh!'
Keeping her eyes on both Cengiz and the two officers who were now closing in on him, Zelfa also took in that the man was shaking. Whether this was from shock, fear or just sheer exhaustion she did not know. What she could see of his wounded arms indicated only superficial grazing.
As the first officer got a lock onto one of Cengiz's arms, the other one pulled him down to the floor. As his face hit the mess beneath him, Cengiz howled. Quickly, lest his breathing should be impaired, Zelfa moved forward and shifted his head to one side.
'It's all right, Cengiz,’ she said, 'I only want to talk to you and then try to make you more comfortable.'
'I want my mummy and daddy!'
'Yes, I know, and if you can be quiet for a while perhaps we can do something about that.' Then looking the officer directly in front of her straight in the eyes she said, 'This place is a fucking disgrace!'
'Inspector Suleyman said he should be put here,' a female voice from the other side of the room said caustically.
'In view of what happened to another disordered prisoner down here last year I doubt that Inspector Suleyman wanted you to let him harm himself!' She looked up into the woman's sneering face and added, 'Inspector Suleyman has the wit to know that when someone is bleeding he is usually injured!'
The woman said something which could have been
'Well, you should know' or words to that effect, but Zelfa chose to ignore it. The last thing she needed right now was a dissection of her private life.
Now a little quieter than before, Cengiz's eyes were full of sad tears. Zelfa sighed. Why Cengiz's fingerprints had been on Ruya Urfa's spectacles and jewellery she didn't know. More recently, a pair of his shoes had been found to match dusty footprints in the hall of the apartment as well. But looking at him now it was difficult to credit this man with a coldly calculating poisoning. In order to do something like that one would have to know many things: what cyanide was, that it could be disguised within almond halva, that it would work very quickly, that it was a good idea to do it while everyone was either at or watching on television a passionately anticipated football match. This had to be beyond someone like Cengiz. And for a moment, before she took hold of her emotions once again, Zelfa felt very angry with Mehmet for putting this poor creature through this terrible ordeal. Not that Mehmet, given the evidence, had any choice in the matter.
'You can sit him up,' she said as soon as she could see that Cengiz's breathing was becoming calmer.
The two officers grunted as they raised Cengiz onto his haunches. Their prisoner was a big man and he was also exhausted, quite unfit and therefore a dead weight.
'Now, I can give you some medicine—'
'No! No, not—'
'Ssshh! All right, all right,' she said as she gently placed her hands across his and looked up into his face. 'You don't have to have it. If you are a good, quiet boy and—'
'I hate it here!'
She smiled. 'Yes,' she said, 'so do I. But if I can get you moved to a cleaner place so you can get some sleep then we won't need to give you any medicine, will we?'
'Don't want medicine!'
'No,' she said, 'of course you don't and I will not give it to you provided you try to get some sleep.'
One of the officers holding Cengiz cleared his throat There was, Zelfa noticed, a look of extreme alarm upon his face. He, at least, had counted upon the medication to give him an easy shift. Well, fuck you! Zelfa thought as she smiled at Cengiz again.
And, almost as if he saw and understood her thoughts for himself, Cengiz started a long, slow grin back at this strange, pale little saviour.
Mickey made the two other men sit in the kitchen as he took their wobbly friend through to the bedroom.
'Help yourselves to raki if you like.' He pointed to a bottle on top of one of the greasy work surfaces. But the men did not answer, they just stood very straight-faced and quiet Now inside the apartment they were much more subdued, with the exception of Mehmet.
When Mickey opened the door, Mina was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, studying her face. She turned, scowling, until she noticed that her client was considerably better looking and cleaner than her regulars.
'This is Mina,' Mickey said, a smirk spreading over his hairy features. 'All right?'
Seemingly drinking in every gram of Mina's considerable figure, Mehmet grunted his assent.
Mickey smiled. 'OK, mate,' he said, 'no violence or weird stuff and we'll all be friends.' Then clapping him firmly on the back he whispered, 'Enjoy yourself.'
As soon as Mickey had closed the door behind him, Mina pulled the straps of her negligee down to reveal her breasts. 'Hello,' she said, 'can I—'
But before Mina could articulate just what she was offering this unusually urbane new client, Mehmet Suleyman had his hand over her mouth and his gun to her head.
Chapter 7
Hell, it is often said, is a state of mind. Sometimes, however, the infernal zone can take on an all too physical manifestation. For Mehmet Suleyman it was a police station full of people yelling their own agendas. Given the conflicting nature of the individual needs of the various groups, the result was chaotic.
Erol Urfa, who had been called in some time before to identify his daughter, was edgily awaiting her reappearance from the room where she was currently being examined by a doctor. Resplendent in a black and red velvet suit, he had come in with his manager, what appeared to be all of Tansu's family and, strangely from Suleyman's point of view, Ìsak Çöktin. With the exception of Çöktin, the party looked as if they were dressed for cabaret which was what, in a sense, they appeared to be providing with their deafening babble of anger punctuated by occasional forays into tearful relief.
There was one group, however, that Suleyman was anxious to interview. Semra Arda, her daughter Mina and the English pimp all needed to be formally interrogated. The two women wept continually while the man just shook soundlessly within his handcuffs: Suleyman hoped their states were transitory although, logically, he knew it was unlikely. As soon as Cohen had appeared at the hamam and inquired after the baby, Semra had broken down and admitted that the child in her care was Urfa's. When Mina had been arrested she had denied this. There was a lot to sort out, and that was without the problems now being presented to him by both Cohen and an irate Zelfa Halman.
'We can't leave Madame to die alone,' Cohen said as he leaned tiredly against Suleyman's desk.
'Well, you'd better try to find out who her doctor is and get him over there,' and then dragging his hands wearily down his face Suleyman said, 'Why she isn't in hospital is beyond me.'
'But I don't know who her doctor—'
'Well, ask Semra Arda, she should know! Or perhaps even Inspector Ìkmen! He seems to know everything there is to know about everything!'
'Oh, right.'
'Go!' And then turning to the fuming woman in the corner, Suleyman snapped, 'And? Yes?'
As soon as the door had slammed behind Cohen, Zelfa Halman started. 'What do you think you are doing with Cengiz Temiz?'
'What?' Either through tiredness or genuine forgetful-ness Suleyman was suddenly and completely confused.
'Cengiz Temiz?' She moved towards him, her cigarette held before her like a weapon. 'You know, the man with Down's syndrome you put into the care of three characters straight out of a Lovecraft short story.'
'Eh?'
'When I arrived less than an hour ago he was hysterical, swimming around in his own piss and had mutilated himself! God knows how long he'd been like that. I strongly suspect that those cretins you had charged with his care only called me when they smelt his blood!'
'Dr Halman—'
'I'm telling you now that if the Temiz family make a complaint, I will support them.' She rudely pointed her cigarette at his face. 'I expected better of you, Inspector! You and Ìkmen are usually more c
ompassionate than what generally passes for policemen in this bloody country.'
'Upholding prisoners' complaints is your right, Doctor,' he said. 'In Ireland—'
'Where people are frequently bombed and shot,' he looked up at her face which was now white with fury. 'Yes? You were saying?'
The switch from Turkish to English was sudden and ferocious. 'Don't even begin to tell me about the country of my birth, Mehmet! Don't even breathe about things you don't understand! There is about as much similarity between yourselves and our Garda as there is between a rock and my arse!'
'Then perhaps, Dr Halman,' he said, joining her in the English language, 'you should return to practise in the country of your mother.'
'Don't think I don't want to!'
He turned aside to retrieve a stack of files from the floor. 'If that is what you want, that is what you must do.'
As a thick, resentful silence enveloped the room, Suleyman opened the top file and made some attempt to get beyond the first sentence. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as she paced angrily up and down in front of his desk. Then suddenly and explosively, once again, she said, 'So do you want me to go or—'
'My personal feelings are irrelevant,' he answered, slipping easily back into his native tongue. 'If you are professionally frustrated here . ..'
'So you'll not ask me to stay for any other reason then?'
Anxious that those outside should not be privy to an exchange that had now taken on a personal edge, Suleyman returned to English again. 'If you wait for me to beg, you will wait a long time.' Turning aside to pick up his cigarettes he added, 'If you fail to understand then speak to your father.'
'Oh, I understand all about Turkish male pride all right!' she said as her eyes unbidden began to water. 'It fucking stinks!'
He stood up quickly, towering above what was now the shrunken figure of his opponent 'I have no more time for this,' he said. 'I have people to interview. If you wish to draft a report on Cengiz Temiz and leave it on my desk I will attend to it as soon as I can.'
'So I'll not be seeing you at the house for a while then?'
"That decision is entirely in your hands,' he said and then, turning sharply, he put his hand on the door handle and turned it.
It may have been an optical illusion but Zelfa Halman did think that she saw just a little wetness around his eyes as he moved away. But as he opened the door onto the babbling hordes outside, she flung the word 'Bastard!' at him anyway.
Those beyond the door suddenly became very quiet
Çetin Ìkmen switched the telephone off and then flung it carelessly onto the floor.
'What's going on?' Fatma said as she kicked the sheets back over to his side of the bed and turned her sleepy face up to his. 'Is it Bulent?'
'No. Go back to sleep.' He kissed her lightly on the lips and then swung his legs over the side of the bed. As he sat up, he felt his head swim with tiredness.
'get in . . .'
'I have to go out,' he said as he shakily placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit up.
Fatma opened her large brown eyes and blinked. 'Why? You're not working.'
He breathed the smoke deeply and then almost instantly clutched at his stomach. 'Someone needs me.'
'But you're not well!' She sat up, suddenly and shatteringly awake. 'Anyway, who needs you so much Çetin? At this hour?'
As he clipped his watch onto his wrist, Ìkmen sighed. 'Madame Kleopatra. It's a long story, but basically Suleyman has left her in the hamam to die alone.'
'But Mehmet wouldn't—'
'Yes, but Cohen says that he has. Dr Katsoulis is on his way but he's having to come from his home in Anadolu Kavagi. Madame is an institution, she should not die with only her nightmares for company.'
'Why should she have nightmares? She was, I thought, always a good woman.'
Ìkmen stood up and stretched, cigarette in mouth. 'When Halil and I were little, Mother used to take us to the Ìskender Hamam. It was a long way for us but Madame even then had something of a reputation. Like most women, Mother would take food, all the clothes and potions we needed for the day and,' he smiled, 'her cards. Madame lay great store by my mother's predictions.'
'So she's a witchcraft friend, is she?' Fatma said with a scowl. Despite having been married to Cretin for nearly thirty years, Fatma still did not approve of her late mother-in-law. That she had been Albanian lent her a strange 'otherness' that was forgivable. Her practiced the so-called black arts was less acceptable.
Her husband, dressing hurriedly now in the half-light from the street lamp outside, ignored Fatma's disdain, as was his custom. 'Then when Mother died, Madame played a different type of card game with my father,' he said. 'Madame, Mimi Sarkissian and Timür would play for hours for just a few kuru§ -until Madame took to her deathbed.'
'Was her husband still alive then?'
Ìkmen knotted his tie and shrugged. 'I don't know. Arto's father had died which was why Mimi used to come.' He sighed. 'I can't believe Mimi died so quickly after Timür. When Madame goes, that whole way of life will have disappeared.'
With a grunt of pain as her back creaked, Fatma hauled herself across the bed and then kneeled up to help her husband with his tie. 'You're a good man, Çetin Ìkmen,' she said, her hps a little tight around this admission.
When she had finished arranging his tie, Ìkmen bent down to kiss his wife again. ‘I am an old sinner, as well you know,' he said with a smile. And then flinging his jacket across his shoulders he crept quietly towards the bedroom door.
Fatma who had far too many children to be able to help herself said, 'Drive carefully.'
* * *
As soon as Mina Arda took her eyes off the female officer across the desk and looked at Suleyman, she started to shake. That moment when she'd first seen what had to be the most attractive customer she'd had for years now seemed very far away. Now, by sharp contrast, she could barely tolerate his voice without wanting to be sick.
'You do have a right to legal representation,' he said.
The female officer cleared her throat in a way that Mina interpreted as disapproval. Not that talk of lawyers made any difference to Mina anyway. With absolutely no assets beyond her meagre 'wages' from Mickey, she knew what type of lawyer she could afford.
'No,' she said, ‘I don't want that.'
'I should tell you,' he said as he settled himself next to the female officer and lit up a cigarette, 'that the charges against you are very serious. Your mother claims she did not know the child you appeared with on the night of Mrs Urfa's murder was Erol Urfa's daughter until she saw the broadcast yesterday evening. She says you "needed a child". Can you tell us about that?'
'No. But if you ask my mother, she will.'
'You're being very obstructive for one who is facing charges of both kidnap and murder.'
'I didn't kill Mrs Urfa! I didn't even know her!'
'But you came into possession of her child in order to fulfil some sort of need.' He flicked the ash from his cigarette into an ashtray and then leaned forward across the table. 'Did perhaps Mickey procure the child for you or—'
'Mickey has got nothing to do with it! He may be a crazy violent bastard and I hate him, but—'
'You don't need to protect him, you know,' the female officer said. 'He can't hurt you now.'
'Officer Kaya is right,' Suleyman put in. 'You must look to yourself now, Mina.'
'Look,' Mina said, tears rising in her eyes once again, 'whatever Mickey may or may not be, he's got nothing to do with this!'
'Considerable quantities of hashish have been discovered in your apartment Mickey, we know, made a call to a known drug dealer just before I entered your apartment. Together with an ampoule of what would seem to—'
'It's morphine,' Mina said and then added quickly, 'which is mine.' She sighed. 'Mickey hates children. He would have gone crazy if he'd found out I had the baby. I stole the amp from the lady my mum looks after.'
'Madame Kleopatra?'
&n
bsp; 'Yes. I thought that if I could give Mickey a little bit extra every so often it would allow me time to go and see the baby.'
'So he does take opiate drugs then?' Kaya asked.
'What do you think!' Mina then turned back to the hated Suleyman. 'Mickey isn't involved in this’ Inspector. Let him go.'
'So, if Mickey isn't involved and you did not kill Mrs Urfa in order to procure her baby, how did this all come about, Mina?'
Mina slumped her chin down onto her hands and murmured, 'Can I have a cigarette?'
Suleyman pushed his packet and lighter across the table to her. Mina lit up and then, on a sigh, she began.
'It was the fat boy who brought her to me,' she said and then, seeing the look of confusion on Suleyman's face, she explained, 'He's a client of mine. He's middle-aged, lonely and ... he says he loves me and . . . you know. He brought me the baby with some wild story about how her mother had been killed by a devil. He said that with the mother now dead and this demon or whatever on the loose, he had to put the baby somewhere safe and so he came to me. Not that I cared very much where the little one came from, as soon as I saw her, I knew that I wanted her. Just like the fat boy knew I would.'
'So how soon after that did you realise that the child was in fact the missing Merih Urfa?'
'I had a feeling when I heard about it on the radio sometime the following afternoon. Then when I saw the little one on the television . . .' She shrugged.
Officer Kaya frowned. 'How did this fat boy know, as you put it, that you, a working woman, would want a baby?'
Mina looked from Kaya across to Suleyman and then back at the woman again. Td rather tell you alone or with another lady, if. . .' She put her head down and looked at the floor.
'So do you know the name of this fat boy?' Suleyman said, quickly changing from a subject that he knew he couldn't handle to one that he could.
'Yes.'
'Well?'
Mina looked up into what seemed to her to be his hard eyes. 'He didn't do it, you know. It was as he said, a demon.'
'Well then, if it was a demon, your friend has nothing to fear, does he?'
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