‘Only our sister, Hale, and my son,’ Vedat said quickly. ‘Hikmet and Kaycee came for a private visit – to the family.’
Hikmet looked at his brother, his face pale with anxiety.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A visit to the family. Yes.’
In common with many victims of crime, Hikmet Sivas was currently behaving like one in a dream, answering questions in a stilted manner, looking distractedly around as if he had only just regained the power of sight. The physical symptoms of shock were present too: the way he shivered in the forty-five-degree heat and the bloodlessness of his face.
İskender adjusted his tie so that it sat more stylishly at his neck. A handsome man, he enjoyed exploding the myth that all police officers were by definition unkempt. Together with Mehmet Süleyman and, to a lesser extent, Orhan Tepe, he represented the more modern, professional face of the urban police force.
‘I understand from our previous discussion,’ he said, addressing Hikmet Sivas, ‘that you haven’t lived here in your own country for many years.’
‘No.’
‘My brother is an American now,’ Vedat said with rather more pride in his voice than İskender liked.
‘I see. However, I do have to ask you whether you have any enemies in this country, Mr Sivas. People who might wish to harm or manipulate you through your wife.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’
İskender gave Vedat Sivas a stern look. ‘I’d rather your brother answered the question,’ he said. He turned back to Hikmet. ‘Well?’
Hikmet, whose head was now down, his chin resting on the wattled skin of his chest, murmured, ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘And in America? Do you or your wife have any enemies there?’
For the first time during the course of the interview, Hikmet Sivas actually looked into the handsome, immobile eyes of Metin İskender. Here was a man, he felt, who approached his professional life with a complete lack of emotion. What he was doing now, opening an investigation into the kidnap of a beautiful young woman adored by her husband, was just an assignment like any other. He’d want to get Kaycee back in order to be seen to be doing his job well, but that was all. There was no empathy in those cold black eyes of his. They reminded Hikmet of some of the eyes he’d seen in the faces of studio starlets he’d worked with years ago – women who screwed well for parts in dire but lucrative movies.
In spite of himself, Hikmet forced a smile as he answered İskender’s question.
‘I may be old, Inspector,’ he said, ‘but I am still a Hollywood movie star. Put yourself up on a giant screen in front of millions of people and most of them will like you. But some won’t. Some will be envious, some will simply not like you, some will hate you. Some will even like you too much and stalk you.’
‘Has that ever happened to you or your wife?’
‘What? Being stalked?’ He shrugged. ‘Years ago there was a man who hung around my house, wanted to talk to me, wore the same clothes, said he loved me . . .’ He looked up in order to gauge whether or not this shocked the Turkish policeman. But the cold eyes gave nothing away. ‘He was taken to a state mental hospital. He’s still there, as far as I know.’
İskender leaned back in his chair and breathed deeply. Beyond the fact that Kaycee Sivas had been abducted in a part of the city where every second person was living beyond the boundaries of what was strictly legal, there was little to go on. Predictably, the young officer who had arrived just after the incident hadn’t been able to find any witnesses among the thronging, largely Russian-speaking crowd. Nobody had entered the leather shop that Sivas, who was now not so sure about this himself, had felt his wife had been taken to. And even if İskender did get a very profound feeling that he was not being told everything he needed to know by these men, he couldn’t prove it. He surveyed the Sivas brothers with a critical eye. His superior, however, exhibited nothing but star-struck awe when he entered the room. A large man with a high colour that only hinted at the floridness of his temper; he almost fell over his own feet as he nervously presented himself to Hikmet Sivas.
‘It is indeed an honour, if a sad, sad duty to serve you, sir,’ he said as he took the star’s hand in his and pumped it enthusiastically. ‘We are ready to receive your commands.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And please let me assure you that no effort will be spared to locate your wife and return her safely to you,’ and then looking across at İskender he said, ‘Is that not so, Inspector?’
İskender, now standing to attention, said, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I appreciate your concern.’ Hikmet Sivas smiled.
‘Oh, it is an honour, sir, an honour! The men under my command will not rest until this dreadful stain upon the integrity of our city is put to rights.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It is nothing.’ He turned to İskender and said, ‘If you have finished I will take Mr Sivas and his brother up to my office.’
İskender briefly smiled his assent. Up to Ardıç’s office for a better class of tea and cigarettes no doubt. How different from the way these things were done with the common man. Fame and money, money and fame . . . As the star and his brother left the room, İskender retrieved his notes from the table and started to make his way out too.
But at the door he met the large bulk of his boss. Quickly, as if checking to see whether anyone was listening, Ardıç looked behind him before whispering to İskender, ‘Get on to headquarters in Ankara and tell them. This is international, they have to know. And then find her, Inspector, before Ankara can even think about applying pressure. Tear Beyazıt apart if you have to, but find her.’
By the time İkmen and Hulya got back to their apartment that evening, Bülent had already gone out. Although he was tired and slightly annoyed at himself for spending so much money on what was, admittedly, a very beautiful gold coin, İkmen decided that now was the time to talk to Hulya about Hatice. Armed with, in İkmen’s case, a bottle of Efes Pilsen beer and, in Hulya’s, a cola, the two of them went and sat together on the darkening balcony.
‘So you’re sure that Hatice didn’t mention anything about this dancing opportunity to you until the evening before she died?’ İkmen asked.
‘No, Dad, she didn’t.’ Hulya looked down into her glass, her face serious.
‘And when she did talk about it, she didn’t mention Hassan Şeker?’
‘No.’
‘So as far as you can tell, he didn’t have anything to do with this dancing thing.’
‘I don’t know.’ Hulya looked up, her eyes just slightly glassy. ‘But I don’t think that Hassan Bey would have done anything to hurt her. She really liked him. He wouldn’t have raped her.’
‘Ah . . .’ İkmen looked away.
‘What?’
‘Well, Hulya, we know Hatice had had sex with Hassan Bey before.’
‘You’re not saying that because she wasn’t a “good” girl before, she couldn’t have been raped, are you?’
İkmen took a swig from his bottle before replying. ‘No, I’m not. But that is what a lot of people will think.’
‘What, old men and religious people?’ Hulya curled her lip in a sneer. ‘I don’t care what they think!’
‘No, but . . .’ İkmen lit a cigarette, exhaling on a sigh. ‘Look, Hulya, there’s something else too.’
‘What?’
‘Although this man or men did undoubtedly hurt your friend and had sex with her, we now know that they didn’t actually kill her.’
Hulya frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
İkmen told his daughter what Arto Sarkissian had explained to him about the nature and probable cause of Hatice İpek’s death. As he spoke he watched her expression stiffen, seeming almost to age, as she took in the implications of what he was saying.
At the end of his exposition she said, ‘But surely, Dad, even if Hatice did die naturally, you’ll still have to find these awful men?’
‘Well, of course,’ İkmen responded. ‘But what I’m saying, Hulya, is that even if I do find them, it would seem that they cannot be tried for murder and to prove that an unmarried girl who was not a virgin was unwilling . . .’
‘They hurt her, Dad!’
‘Yes, darling, I know.’
‘Well then.’
‘Hulya, look.’ İkmen swallowed nervously. ‘I know this is difficult for you to understand, but some people do like pain, it—’
‘Men like pain, not women!’ Hulya snapped furiously. ‘Men beat their wives and force their women to have sex and the law protects them!’ She looked down at the floor. ‘Not you, I don’t mean you.’
‘All of those things that you talk about are against the law, Hulya,’ İkmen began, ‘but—’
‘Women have to be “good” women if they really want justice!’
‘No,’ İkmen cleared his throat, ‘but the opinions of those who call themselves moralists do have power. Once all the facts are known, some will feel little sympathy for Hatice. And although I will, as I promised, somehow find these men and bring them to justice, their punishment might not be as severe as I would have liked. If they didn’t kill her, if their lawyer convinces the judge that she consented to sex . . .’
They sat in silence for a while, thinking their own thoughts. Eventually Hulya spoke.
‘You know, Dad,’ she said quietly, ‘talking about this makes me wonder whether it is possible for men and women to be equal in this country when some people think that girls have to be good while men can do what they like.’
İkmen smiled sadly. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘but not everyone thinks like that. I don’t. As you know, it was part of our Ghazi Mustafa Kemal’s mission to set women free to achieve their potential. But some people, even some women, believe that freedom can only be attained through submission to men and to—’
‘Allah?’ Hulya shook her head. ‘You know I think that religion is awful, Dad. Dr Halman once told me that when she was a girl in Ireland, women couldn’t have abortions even if they were very sick, because of religion. I don’t know how Mum can go along with religion. She’s not stupid, is she?’
İkmen laughed. ‘No, she isn’t,’ he said, ‘which is why she only pays attention to the bits of Islam that she likes. Turkish women are, on the whole, very sensible, Hulya. Like your mother, many of them pray, stay indoors to care for their families and rule their homes like empresses. If you notice, I challenge your mother only on very big issues concerning our children, and that is all. She rules me and she can vote just like I do too.’
‘Yes, but Dad, if the Republic doesn’t have a religion, which we’re told that it doesn’t—’
‘Look, Hulya,’ İkmen said gravely, ‘somehow we’re moving into politics here. I didn’t want to, but . . . Democracies only strive towards the ideals inherent in that word. Nowhere is, I believe, truly democratic. But one thing that the nominally democratic have to do is they have to listen to and accommodate lots of differing views. Religious people, secular moralists, myself, we all have our view.’
‘Yes, but what if I don’t like a certain view?’
‘Then when the time comes you vote for a party that opposes that view,’ İkmen said.
‘Yes, but what if—’
‘Look, if you don’t like something, then you oppose it in whatever way you feel is right. I oppose what some people may think about Hatice and I will fight, within the law, to prove that her attackers are dangerous and deserving of punishment. What I can’t do is change what others think or prevent whatever effect that might have on my investigation.’
‘But—’
‘But if anyone does try to convince me that this case is not worth pursuing, I will fight and if I can’t go on, I will pursue Hatice’s attackers in my own time.’ İkmen put out his cigarette, and took another swig from his bottle. Hulya, who had been watching her father’s face harden with the force of his conviction, reached across and took his free hand in hers.
Chapter 8
* * *
Something big was happening – something quite separate from the investigation into Hatice İpek’s death. Tepe was glad. He hadn’t needed Constable Yıldız questioning him first thing in the morning. Especially in view of the fact that the questions involved recent events at the Sultanahmet pastane.
‘So you saw Ekrem and Celal Müren and one of their boys at the pastane. So what?’
‘They were talking to Şeker’s wife,’ Yıldız said.
Tepe shrugged. ‘So? Did you hear what they were saying to her? Were they threatening her?’
‘Well I didn’t actually hear . . .’
‘Then don’t worry about it,’ Tepe said.
He had then left Yıldız, who still looked very unsure. Now, however, both he and Yıldız had other things to think about. Ardıç had summoned them all to talk about the fact that the Beyazıt district had been practically disassembled during the night. Or so rumour had it. Why this had happened nobody knew or was prepared to say, except that it was about something ‘big’.
When Tepe entered the squad room both the level of activity and noise told him that Ardıç hadn’t yet appeared. Neither, as far as he could see, had İkmen. After just a brief nod at Ayşe Farsakoǧlu, Tepe picked up a stray newspaper and settled himself down in a corner of the room.
People didn’t usually sit in Commissioner Ardıç’s office – not unless he invited them to do so. On this occasion, however, he was prepared to make an exception. And so when a pale and drawn-looking Metin İskender entered his office and sat down without being invited, Ardıç made no comment. The man had, after all, been up all night, shouting and threatening his way through the illegal brothels, lower level gangster dens and drug operations of Beyazıt district. He had singularly failed to locate Kaycee Sivas or even acquire any information about a beautiful unnamed American woman. But he and his men had arrested several people wanted for other offences plus they had taken possession of a quantity of cocaine. İskender had, as ever, thrown himself into his work with a will.
Almost immediately after İskender arrived, İkmen appeared. He looked troubled, and Ardıç suspected that before their meeting was over he was going to look even more concerned. As İkmen, following İskender’s example, sat down in the commissioner’s presence, Ardıç considered how he might avoid a confrontation with his most experienced and successful detective. Basically he couldn’t, but he would need to bring İkmen up to speed with events first and so he opted to do this before entering into any uncomfortable specifics.
‘As you know, İkmen,’ he said, ‘I have ordered all available officers to a briefing downstairs.’
‘Presumably it’s about what happened in Beyazıt last night,’ İkmen responded and then turning to İskender he said, ‘Quite an event, I understand.’
İskender sniffed and turned his head away. He was only too aware of İkmen’s dislike for big, violent operations which, the older man felt, only served to drive the most seasoned criminals further underground.
Ardıç, ignoring the tension between his two officers, continued, ‘Last night, İkmen, was all about our attempting to locate a kidnap victim.’ He passed a photograph of a young, willowy blonde across the desk. ‘Kaycee Sivas was abducted from her brother-in-law’s car at approximately four forty-five yesterday afternoon. It happened outside the Antik Leather Boutique on Fetihbey Caddesi.’
‘Which is in Beyazıt.’
‘Which is in Beyazıt.’ Ardıç paused to light a cigar. ‘An area not unfamiliar with criminal activity, including kidnap. However, what makes this kidnap a little different is that the woman involved is an American. She is also the wife of the Hollywood movie star, Hikmet Sivas, or Ali Bey as was. Her husband was in the car, together with his brother, when Mrs Sivas was dragged from the vehicle. According to Sivas two, maybe three, men were involved. They dragged Mrs Sivas from the car and disappeared into the crowd.’
İskender turned to face İkmen. ‘You won’t be sur
prised to learn that nobody saw or heard anything,’ he said.
İkmen grimaced.
Ardıç cleared his throat. ‘Now as you can imagine, İkmen, this is big news,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t broken yet, but it will soon and when it does we need to be ready. Beyazıt, as you know, received considerable attention from us during the night but so far we’ve come up with nothing. I, not to mention our masters in the capital, want this woman found. I want no excuses, no expense spared and I want every available officer working on this.’
‘But I’m already working on a case, sir. Hatice İpek—’
‘Who Dr Sarkissian tells me died of natural causes,’ Ardıç countered. ‘Yes, İkmen, I do know. I telephoned him this morning in order to find out whether the girl had been murdered. I needed to discover whether you were free to lead this new investigation alongside Inspector İskender.’
İkmen opened his mouth to speak but was silenced when Ardıç held up one of his large hands.
‘The girl died naturally, İkmen, there was no murder. You are therefore free to assist in the hunt for Kaycee Sivas.’
‘But sir, murder or no murder, the girl was brutally raped, cut and buggered and her body concealed after her death. A crime has been committed.’
‘Yes, but not a murder!’ Ardıç shifted his large behind agitatedly in his seat. Why couldn’t İkmen just get on and do as he was told without all this argument! Why, come to that, did he himself argue with İkmen?
‘Look, İkmen,’ he said, ‘the İpek girl was not, we know, a nice girl. Young as she was, she was not a virgin. For all we know, she liked it rough.’
‘Dr Sarkissian believes there were several men.’
‘Some men will pay good money for brutal sex. It went wrong. The desecration of the corpse and its concealment tell us that. Of course I believe that whoever did this needs to be caught and punished, but if the girl was having sex anyway—’
‘Sir, I don’t believe she consented to it. The place she was found, the clothes she was wearing—’
‘You will join Inspector İskender in the search for Kaycee Sivas and that is final!’ Ardıç yelled, now finally roused to fury.
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