'Well, of course I haven't!' Suleyman cried as he flung himself wearily down behind his desk. ‘I have paid Latife Emin very little heed during the course of this affair. I mean, what would have been her motive?'
‘I don't know.' He sat down in front of Suleyman's desk and lit a cigarette. As he did so, his ulcer made small twinges of protest 'But that surely is something we must now find out'
'Oh, so I just drag Latife Emin back in here and parade her before Cengiz Temiz!'
'No.' Ìkmen sighed. 'Both you and I know that given the status of these people, we can't do that If they were nobody, then we could, but it is in the nature of all societies to have those on top and those on the bottom, and those on top get treated more gently.'
'So what do you suggest then?' Suleyman asked angrily. 'I pass this over to MIT on the pretext that because all the protagonists involved are Kurdish it might be political?' 'You wouldn't do that.'
Suleyman looked down at his hands and groaned. 'No, you're right'
'Let us try, if we can, to think laterally,' Ìkmen said in a slow, considered voice. 'Why don't you get the file out and let us review the evidence in the light of what happened today.'
Suleyman took the folder out of a drawer and laid it on his desk. 'Of course, you don't actually have to be here at all,' he said as he rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers.
'No, but I am and so . .. OK, Mrs Urfa was killed by the ingestion of cyanide-laced halva. What other forensic evidence do we have?'
Suleyman consulted the various documents in front of him with a grave expression on his face. 'We have. Cengiz Temiz's prints all over the body, plus some footprints that match his footwear .. .' He perused the information, frowning. 'Erol's prints on the table, the child's, Ruya's on kitchen equipment and her pen . ..' He looked up, frowning even more. 'Except that. . .'
'What?'
'Erol said that his wife didn't read or write and so why would she have a pen?'
'She could have used it for drawing,' Ìkmen opined,
'but I take your point Write that down, just in case.'
Suleyman took a sheet of paper from his desk and scribbled this seeming anomaly at the top of the page.
'So, as I understand it,' Ìkmen continued, 'Cengiz Temiz basically walked in on the murder scene.'
'According to Cengiz the door to the Urfas' apartment was open, he went in, saw both the devil woman and Ruya Urfa's body.'
'The devil woman ran when she saw him . . .'
'With, what we now know, was an unsteady gait'
'But why was the door open?' Ìkmen asked. 'I mean, the idea that the woman murdered Ruya with the door open, notwithstanding the fact that the world was currently watching football, is absurd.'
'Unless,' Suleyman said, 'she had gone back to get something she had forgotten.'
'True. But what?'
'Who knows?'
'How possible do you think it is that Cengiz Temiz murdered Ruya in order to procure a baby for Mina Arda? Really?' asked Ìkmen.
Suleyman smiled a little sadly. 'Even if one takes into account the fact that Cengiz has a previous conviction for immoral behaviour, I don't think he'd have the cognitive skills to kill in this way. That his "theft" of the baby was both opportunistic and philanthropic seems to me beyond doubt. I am quite in accord with Dr Halman there.'
- 'Right' Ìkmen paused for a few moments before carrying on, as if absorbing what had already been said. 'So let us assume that the devil woman does indeed exist' 'Right'
'She looks like Tansu Hanim, wears clothes like her, and Tansu, let's face it, has a very good motive.'
'Yes,' Suleyman said, 'except that Erol told me that even with Ruya dead, he would not and could not marry Tansu. He will, he says, marry another woman from his village. He wants more children.'
Ìkmen's eyes narrowed a little. 'Mmm. Indeed. Not one he is betrothed to, though. Must be quite some tight little community he comes from. Any idea where?'
'Out east Suleyman replied. 'I could find but I suppose.'
'Yes, that might be a good idea.'
Ìkmen knew full well that Suleyman was far from convinced with regard to his theories about Erol Urfa's beliefs but this piece of information, which seemed to point towards a very closed and old-fashioned community life, only served to heighten his own interest But if Tansu knew about Erol - which, given the content of her songs, seemed to be so -she would also know that murdering Ruya Urfa would do her personally no good at all. 'Unless of course,' he said out loud, 'it is not Tansu who writes her songs but another member of her entourage.'
Suleyman, who had not been privy to Ìkmen's thoughts, looked confused. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean that if Tansu did write her own bitter songs, it indicates that she knows that Erol is a Yezidi.'
'Oh, not this again!'
Ìkmen held up a hand. 'No, hear me out' he said, 'please. If Tansu wrote those songs, it could be that she knew he was a member of the sect which would mean she would know she could never marry him. Motive gone. But if, as I feel, she is not a very literate woman, she could have got someone else to write her songs for her. Someone who, possibly, got to know about Eroi's origins.'
'Or someone who just has a particular liking for peacocks,' Suleyman said acidly.
'Well, yes, but—'
'What you're saying is,' Suleyman interrupted, 'if someone else wrote those songs, Tansu's motive still stands. But without a positive ID from Cengiz Temiz
'We arrive back at her oh so similar sister yet again.'
'Who has no obvious limp and no coherent motive that I can see,' Suleyman reminded him.
'Unless it was to free Erol for her sister. They are all awfully close, aren't they, the Emins? I mean, Tansu keeps them all in some style, doesn't she?'
'Yes. But if we assume that Latife did kill Ruya in order to free Erol for her sister, then she, at least, could not, following your reasoning, have written Tansu's songs. Assuming of course, as I do not, that this Yezidi thing means anything at all.'
Ìkmen smiled. 'You know what this case is like, don't you, Mehmet?'
'A nightmare?' He shrugged. 'The one where I fail spectacularly and have to take a taxi-driving job?'
'No,' Ìkmen said as he removed a cigarette from his packet and placed it in his mouth. 'It is an arabesque.'
'Well, it's about those involved in Arabesk, yes.'
'No, not the music Arabesk, but the form,' Ìkmen said with a decided twinkle in his eye. 'Arabesque as in a complicated pattern of either form or calligraphy designed by the Arabs and then refined by our ancestors. Art without the human or animal form which, as we know, only Allah may create or destroy. You must know what I mean, surely!'
'Well, yes,' Suleyman said, 'although the connection did not occur to me until you mentioned it. Some arabesques are positively maze-like, aren't they?'
'It is said that the rooftops of Saa'na in the Yemen almost seem to move with the proliferation of fiendishly complex mazes.' A moment of silence passed between them and then he said, 'So what are you going to do about your maze then, Mehmet?'
But before Suleyman could answer, there was a knock at the door.
The familiar features of Ìsak Çöktin appeared within the office. 'I've written that report you wanted about the cyanide, sir’ he said as he placed a sheaf of papers onto Suleyman's desk. 'Thank you.'
'I did also ask Miss Latife Emin about their gardener’ Çöktin continued.
'Oh?' Suleyman said, looking up now with interest 'And?'
'Well, he's called Resat he does quite a few of the big gardens in and around Yeniköy’
Suleyman smiled. 'Including, I think we will find, that of a Mr and Mrs Ertiirk,' he said with some satisfaction. 'For if this Resat is indeed the same as Ertürk's man, then I know for a fact that he uses cyanide to kill their rats.'
'How do you know all this, Mehmet?' Ìkmen asked, really quite amazed at the younger man's sudden insights.
'It is a long story involving two d
eranged young women.'
'Oh?'
'Which I really don't have time to go into now.' As he spoke he shuffled once again through the file on his desk until he eventually found a small scrap of paper. He handed it to Çöktin. 'This is the telephone number of a Mr Kemal Ertürk’ he said, 'which I would like you to call in order to get hold of some details about where this Resat lives. I think we may need to speak to him very soon’
^Yes, sir.' Çöktin took the paper over to his desk and dialled the number on his telephone extension.
Until somebody answered Çöktin, neither Ìkmen nor Suleyman spoke. As soon as he got through, all that changed.
Lowering his voice in order not to disturb Çöktin's conversation, Ìkmen said to Suleyman, 'I have the feeling, or rather I gained the distinct impression downstairs, that Tansu Hanim knows who the culprit might be. She realised when she saw Cengiz do his limping impression.'
Suleyman sat and digested this until the click of a replaced telephone signalled the end of Çöktin's conversation.
'Resat lives in Besiktas 22/3 Misir Bahçe,' he said, looking at the piece of paper in his hand. 'Do you want me to go out there, sir?'
'No.' Suleyman leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. ‘I would like you and Tepe to perform some discreet observations regarding the comings and goings to and from Tansu Hanim's house.'
'Oh, but I thought that she—'
'Yes, Mickey Çöktin,' Ìkmen said with a smile, 'Tansu and all her retinue have indeed departed from this place, but we still have some doubts and so it would be as well for you and Tepe to remain vigilant'
'And I want to know everything,' Suleyman added sternly, 'including when Erol makes an appearance.'
'Oh, but that's not likely to happen now, sir,' Çöktin said before he had really thought his words through.
Suleyman frowned. 'Oh? And why not?'
Çöktin knew that his face was bright red. He also knew that he had to say something fast in order to save himself. If Suleyman suspected that he'd been talking to Erol, well, it didn't bear thinking about. 'Well, er, I thought it was common knowledge,' he said falteringly.
'Oh?' Suleyman reiterated suspiciously. 'And this knowledge comes from?'
'Oh, gossip in the bazaars, you know,' Çöktin said with a nervous laugh. 'Shall I go and get Tepe and—'
'If I find that you have been talking to Erol, you know that disciplinary procedure will follow, don't you?' Suleyman said gravely.
'Yes.'
Suleyman looked Çöktin deep in the eyes for just a second and then said, 'Off you go then.'
'Right.'And with that he left.
When Ìkmen could be certain that Çöktin was out of earshot he said, 'Do you believe him?'
'Not in the slightest.'
Ìkmen shook his head. 'It's a shame, he's a good man.'
'Who has changed considerably since being in contact with Erol Urfa.'
'Well, it could well be as I said,' Ìkmen expounded.
'They could well be brothers in religion. He's never been like this about any other Kurdish suspect.'
'Yes, well,' Suleyman rose to his feet and put his cigarette out in the ashtray. 'But now I must go out and speak to this Resat.'
'About his work and his cyanide?'
Suleyman smiled. 'Yes,' he said, 'and also about wasps. The Emins had a problem with wasps a little while back, I believe.'
'Mmm. And with Miss Latife, as Beikis told us, being so keen on gardening . . .’
'Oh, yes,' Suleyman said as he picked his car keys off his desk and put them in his pocket, 'she did say that, didn't she? Makes you wonder whether her interests extended to disposing of pests, doesn't it?'
Strangely, for Tansu, she had been very quiet during the journey back to Yeniköy. Yilmaz had thought that even with the lawyer in the car she might still rail at him. But she did not Perhaps she had come to terms now with the fact that Erol had deserted her -or maybe her interview with the police had been so horrendous it had robbed her of speech. He still felt bad about having been the cause of her ordeal in the police station. The Emins had always been staunch and faithful to each other - until now - and he had no doubt that at some point recriminations would follow. But for the moment he just sat back and enjoyed the fading of the fierce sunlight and the coming of the slightly cooler evening breezes. The Bosphorus was, he thought, probably at its most beautiful at this time of day, when its blues and whites were just touched by the gentle coppery tones of sunset If only he still had little Belkis to share such moments with, but there.
Latife and Ferhat Göktepe strode into the hall to . meet a tense-looking Galip.
Still silent, .Tansu then entered the house, followed by Yilmaz and, until the singer dismissed him, Adnan Öz.
'You can go back to your office now, Adnan,' she said as she mounted the steps to her front door. ‘I need to be. alone with my family.'
'Ah, but—'
'I will call you when I need you!' she said commandingly and turned on her heel and entered the house.
Yilmaz shrugged at the rather taken aback lawyer and followed his sister who, now in the hall, was saying something very similar to Ferhat Göktepe.
'But Tansu, my darling,' the manager was saying, 'if you do need anything, anything at all, you must call me.'
'Yes, yes.' Distractedly, or so it seemed to Yilmaz, she patted her manager on the arm and gave him a small smile. 'But please go now, Ferhat,I need to be alone to
'Yes, of course, my soul,' he said as he kissed both her hands several times over. 'I do understand, I—'
'Ferhat, please!'
'I'm going! I'm going!' Which he did, blowing kisses to his most lucrative star as he went
Tansu, followed by Yilmaz, walked into the large, pale living room where Galip and Latife were waiting for them.
Tansu crossed the room in order to get herself a drink, then moved back to the door which she slammed on the outside world with some vigour.
Although Suleyman hadn't formally dismissed Ìkmen, he had not asked him to accompany him to Besiktas. So, try as he might, it was difficult for Ìkmen to carve a role for himself in the current round of activity. And besides, there was still Fatma to contend with; she would be furious at his breaking doctors' orders. There was also Madame Kleopatra Polycarpou's funeral tomorrow morning. Somehow he would have to try and persuade his angry wife or even one of his moody daughters to press his best suit for the occasion. Unlike Cohen, who was also due to attend, he did not have the luxury of still being in uniform.
As he made his way down to the reception area, Ìkmen once again pondered why Madame might have killed her husband, the eunuch. Sexual jealousy, surely, could not have come into it, and marital violence, another favourite when it came to homicide, was unlikely. Murad Aga, to his recollection, had always seemed to be completely under Madame's control. He always looked as if he adored her. Perhaps the motive was monetary. It was a thought, seeing as people always said that the hamam did in fact belong originally to Madame's husband who they now knew was none other than Murad Aga. Still, with all the protagonists in that little saga now well and truly dead, Ìkmen's thoughts upon this were more along the lines of interested speculation rather than active inquiry. And anyway, more pressing concerns were afoot now. His other cigarette packet, which he hadn't given to Cengiz Temiz, was completely empty - a situation that needed urgent attention.
At the front desk, however, something much more interesting from the point of view of the current case confronted Ìkmen. Erol Urfa, complete with baby Merih in a car seat plus someone who looked like an attendant drunk, was talking anxiously to the duty officer who was, in this case, Kaya.
'So how long is Inspector Suleyman likely to be?' Erol was asking as Ìkmen approached the scene.
'I have no idea, sir,' Kaya replied. 'Perhaps you would like to wait'
With the aid of a slightly disgusted sniff at the swathes of cigarette smoke that were emanating from a cloth-capped individual who was also wa
iting for somebody or other, Erol said, 'Well, I'd rather not really. Not with the baby . ..'
'Quite right' the drunk at his shoulder agreed somewhat volubly. 'Not one of your better ideas, my dear Erol.'
'I'd really rather you were quiet now, Ibrahim,' the singer said, turning, rather sharply on his companion.
As he drew level with the party, Ìkmen briefly made eye contact with Kaya before he said, 'Is there anything I can do for you, sir?'
For a moment, Erol Urfa looked at Ìkmen with a puzzled expression on his face. It made the inspector feel as if he were some strange type of fauna the singer had not previously encountered.
At length, Erol said, 'Who are you?'
'My name is Inspector Ìkmen. I work with Inspector Suleyman.' Ìkmen smiled. 'You are, of course, Erol Urfa, are you not?'
'Yes.'
Ìkmen offered his hand which Erol took.
'Is there anything I can help you with?'
'Well, I was really hoping to speak to Inspector Suleyman,' Erol said as he looked down at the baby who appeared to be stirring.
Ìkmen sighed. 'Well, he's likely to be some time. You are welcome to wait in my office if you wish.'
'Oh, I don't think we want to do that, do we, Erol?' the drunk said unsteadily. ‘I mean . . .'
'Well, you don't have to stay if you don't want to, Ibrahim,' Erol said, turning to the man with a taut expression on his face. 'But I would rather—'
'You know you're committing fucking professional suicide, don't you!' the man said loudly. 'In my—'
'And I think that you've had far too much to drink to be in a place like this,' Ìkmen said as he took hold of the man's arm and started to move him towards the door.
'Hey! Erol is my—'
'Erol and the baby will be quite safe with me,' Ìkmen said to him firmly as he propelled him forwards. 'You just go and sleep it off somewhere, yes?'
'I'll wait for you in the car, Erol!' he said over Ìkmen's shoulder. 'Don't say anything stupid, will you?'
'I'm sure he won't,' Ìkmen said with a smile.
The man, now out in the street, wobbled off in several different directions before finally settling upon a chosen course.
As Ìkmen returned from the doorway, Erol said, 'He means well.'
Arabesk Page 21
