As far as I was able to find out, Mazi harbour isn’t a busy place. There are no hotels or bed-and-breakfasts. It seemed pointless to lie in wait in Bodrum hoping he’d discover us for himself.
Then I remembered that I did have a place to stay in Mazi harbour: Cengiz’s house. The holidays had ended, which meant his wife and children would be back in the city. The house was most likely empty. It was up to me to get him to let us stay there.
It wasn’t long before Jihad2000’s response arrived. It was, of course, full of protests and complaints. But it wasn’t accompanied by a long list of prayers, earning him a point. Kemal had attached a copy of Adem Yildiz’s itinerary. I learned that he planned to stay in Bodrum for four more days, then attend a one-day opening ceremony in Ankara before heading to Kayseri for the groundbreaking ceremony for a new plant.
We had to be quick. Four days in Bodrum would be ideal. Otherwise, it would be next to impossible to get our hands on Adem in Ankara or to find a hotel in Kayseri.
I vetoed the idea of Ponpon accompanying us. She insisted, as panicked as ever. First she pleaded with her eyes, then they grew misty as she informed us of how terrified she was for us. There was nothing to be afraid of. We had everything under control. There was no need for us to ask Fehmi to arrange an introduction. In any case, we had no idea if Fehmi was even in Bodrum. In short, Ponpon was most definitely not accompanying us.
“But I’ll worry myself to death,” she said. “Here, all alone! And the two of you there, on your own with that killer. . fg ”
I didn’t bother to reason with her. I just firmly repeated the words “no way” several times. She pouted like a spoilt child, her lower lip distended further than I thought humanly possible.
Hasan would have to remain behind to run the club. I ignored his suggestion that Ponpon or Siükrü be left in charge while he accompanied us. The last thing I needed was to attract the attention of Adem Yildiz by arriving with a large entourage. There was quite a difference between being approached by two queers or descended upon by four flaming queens. Hasan sat silently as I outlined my reasoning, obviously a bit miffed at being categorised not only as a queer, but as a flaming queen to boot.
I noted his relative indifference. I’ve always had my suspicions about Hasan. To date, nothing has borne them out. Still, it seemed rather significant to me that he insisted on baring his butt crack, worked at a transvestite club and had friends only from our circle. Then there were his proclivities for stripping on the dance floor while looking over the trade, his obvious fascination with the ritual of girls who tugged their customers into a dark corner for “crotch control” and his invariable follow-up questions the next day, when he would egg the girls on for the most delicate details, including girth and length. He seemed to be making progress. Now if he’d reach the point where he just bent over and took it like a man it would do him a world of good. I decided to give him a little prodding in that direction at the first possible opportunity.
Meanwhile, I returned to the issue at hand. Our man knew Ponpon from the stage. And he’d seen Hasan around the club. He’d surely recognize them were they to meet again. As for me, though, he’d only seen me in full drag. In daywear, dressed as a man, although with rather feminine airs, there’s no way he could identify me. Perhaps it wouldn’t be entirely impossible, but it was unlikely. It wouldn’t do to underestimate his intelligence, but I felt relatively confident. And I would be accompanied only by “Isa” Gürhan, my live bait.
sa so Ponpon and I had both taken to referring to Gürhan as I he’d get used to being addressed that way. He was as eager as can be, and blissfully ignorant of what lay in store for him. For now, he seemed overjoyed to be part of our little party. He’d been spending his time experimenting at home with any make-up, wigs and accessories he could get his hands on. I can’t say the results were a total success, but he’d get the hang of it over time.
I had a ton of things to do. Top of the list was reserving a flight to Bodrum; then came a moment of intimacy with Cengiz, followed, of course, by the surrender of the key to his summer house.
I had total confidence in my skills.
Twenty-nine
We arrived safe and sound in Bodrum’s Milas Airport.
sa Gürhan had gone a little overboard in the costume department. We’d had everyone’s eyes, and even a few hands, on us since departure. Ultimately, this was a good sign. No one seemed to have a problem with his appearance. Except me.
I had succeeded for many years in keeping my distance from youngsters, whom I generally consider to be silly and obtuse. Now I found myself with a bent boy in tow. I mentally prepared myself for the experience ahead. I was determined to pull it off without a hitch.
I ignored the porter’s insistent enquiries as to where we would be staying, and leapt into the first taxi. It wasn’t until we arrived in Mazi harbour that I realised how foolish it had been to forego bargaining over the fare.
I had brought along anything that could possibly be of use, and much that surely wouldn’t. An enormous bag contained my spy kit. I’d purchased most of the items from Spy Shop in Queensway, London. I had infra-red binoculars, a listening device, and heat sensitive camera and film.
sa Gürhan had stuffed a bag with his favourite articles from the wardrobes of Ponpon and myself. He’d tried on each and every garment, discarding as shabby a stage costume Ponpon had treasured all these years.
The taxi driver was fairly young. He was on to us immediately. But I was too tense to give him more than a passing glance. He made it clear that he knew the score, but didn’t seem inclined to flirt in any case. Considering my mood, he’d made the right choice.
The journey took longer than I’d expected. We were assaulted by the latest pop. sa Gürhan sang along with each song, commenting on the singers. For me, they were indistinguishable. sa Gürhan was no singer, he more than held his own with the radio artists.
Mazi harbour has one of the few remaining bits of unspoilt coast. Cengiz’s house is on the far end of the harbour. I handed the taxi driver a small fortune, and we disembarked.
“Ay, this place is totally deserted,” sa Gürhan grumbled immediately, registering his disappointment. “There’s no one here but us. And Bodrum is miles away. Why’d we bother coming?”
I contented myself with a severe scowl. He went off to explore the house, pouting slightly.
There was nothing much to explore. Other than the living room we’d entered through the front door, there were two small bedrooms, a kitchen leading to a terrace and a tiny bathroom with an open shower.
The terrace was magnificent, ringed with wild thyme and rosemary. The table and gardening set had been brought in. The living room must be cramped in the winter. We’d have to move the whole lot outside. I hate such tasks. I silently wished Ponpon had joined us after all. She’d happily arrange and rearrange a house for hours on end. As often as not, she’d return everything to their original places, dissatisfied with the effect she’d achieved.
Before getting down to business I turned on the radio and placed it on the terrace, hoping to attract the attention of Adem Yildiz if he was nearby. The tinny racket reverberated up and down the empty harbour. For the same reason, we both donned a pair of tiny shorts. I did all I could to transform Gürhan into a sexpot. That is, with the materials on hand, to make him look like a woman. The final touch was an apricot bandana tied over his head. Occasionally uttering hysterical shrieks, we got to work.
The terrace was covered with dust and dirt. We’d have to wash it. I got the garden hose. It was hot and we’d perspired all the way from the airport. I began by spraying Gürhan. Right on cue, he let loose screeches and yelps that would announce our presence to any and all in the vicinity, including all forms of life and the very mountains, rocks and sea. From the opposite side of the harbour a lone fishing boat responded with a wolf whistle. The clingy wet T-shirt completed Gürhan’s overall vampishness.
We’d barely moved two chairs to the terrace w
hen Adem Yildiz materialised.
“Welcome.”
He spoke in a low whisper. He must have thought it irresistibly sexy. We were subjected to a raffish stare, the look of a real lady-killer.
“Merhaba. I’m Adem from next door. I heard a commotion and wondered if something was wrong. There’s usually no one around at this time of year.”
I introduced myself and gestured to Gürhan, saying, “And this is my friend Isa.”
Isa produced an insipid giggle as he scented his quarry. However, I didn’t notice any particular reaction from Adem when I pronounced the name “Isa”.
“You must be Cengiz’s friends,” he said.
“That’s right,” I told him. “I really needed some peace and quiet. He was kind enough to give us the key. There’s nothing like getting away from it all, is there?”
Adem Yildiz looked over at the radio as though wondering what my definition of quiet was.
“This place empties out once school starts,” he said. “I’m all alone in this big harbour. There aren’t many houses here anyway. The weather’s perfect this time of year. You chose the right time to come. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“I was starting to feel a bit lonely.”
It was time to play dumb.
“Do you live here year-round then?”
“No, I only come now and then.”
“Oh,” I continued. “We thought you lived here.”
Considering the deep tan he’d acquired since I last saw him, it was, in fact, a reasonable supposition.
“Actually, I live in Istanbul. But when I get the chance I come down here for a few days. Business obligations and things. You know what it’s like.”
“I certainly do,” I assured him.
“Let me give you a hand. We’ll finish in no time and then we can all get something to eat together.”
Adem was like a heat-seeking missile. Without any preliminaries, he expected our instant assent to a dinner engagement.
“My caretaker and his wife live with me. He handles the gardening, cooks, things like that, you know. He’ll whip us up a feast tonight.”
“Ay, that’d be wonderful,” squealed Isa, opening his mouth to speak for the first time. “Our cupboards are bare. We haven’t even got any sugar.”
If Adem really did have some kind of caretaker, a doorman or gardener or whatever he was, he was unlikely to do much with them around. I didn’t relish the thought of spending an evening at his home for nothing. Still, it would be an investment of sorts. And it was true that our kitchen was empty. I didn’t even want to think of the expense of hiring a taxi to go food shopping in the town.
“We’d be honoured,” I graciously accepted.
The way he continuously eyed up Isa while talking to me was getting on my nerves. But it was a sign that all was going to plan.
As we moved the furniture I realised Adem Yildiz was a lot fitter than he looked. He stripped off his white Burberry T-shirt and was left wearing only a pair of navy blue Bermuda shorts. His body was unexpectedly appetizing. And the little jokes he indulged in weren’t all that offensive. I even laughed at some of them. Contrary to first impressions, he seemed almost the gentleman.
He was already flirting in earnest with Isa Gürhan, but occasionally focused his attentions on me too. If he anticipated group sex, he was way off base.
The suave civility of our serial killer was beginning to affect me. I found him hard to resist. He had a charm that was difficult to define. He wasn’t particularly handsome, nor did he have a spectacular build. There was no spark in his eyes. His sense of humour was passable only at times. Logically, there was no reason to be drawn to the man. But he was appealing none the less. He had a strange charisma. The way he rested his hands, his posture, the slight compression of his lips when he smiled, the way he became almost girlish as he imitated us, joking around, then reverted to his usual machismo . . . The man had something working for him, that was for sure.
I may have been able to resist, but Isa Gürhan was clearly infatuated and ready for anything. I congratulated myself for not revealing all the details about Adem. If Gürhan had known, he wouldn’t be so much at ease. It was definitely better this way.
Thirty
We parted, agreeing to meet at 7:30 that evening. Adem went home to supervise preparations. We began to dress. It doesn’t usually take me long to get ready. Gürhan, on the other hand, was the sort who needed hours. Every time I called him he’d trill “coming”, but remain in the bedroom.
I was tired of waiting. I opened my laptop, got online and went through my messages. There was nothing important. That is, there was nothing that required my immediate attention. Jihad2000 was on the rampage. He’d cracked all my message codes and read each and every one. To prove it, he’d attached a sermon to them all as a sort of signature. I would handle him upon my return.
I wanted to call Ponpon to give her an update. She was no doubt going mad with curiosity. There was no telling what panicked course of action she’d take if she didn’t hear from us. My home phone was busy every time I rang. Ponpon seemed to be busying herself in my absence with hours spent on the phone. I resigned myself to a large phone bill.
The house was so tiny it was easy for me to monitor each step of Gürhan’s preparations. That is to say, I wasn’t surprised by the final effect. But I had to hand to it to him, he was like a graceful, young gazelle. He would have held his own against any fashion model. Swishing past me, he gave a half turn. I whistled my appreciation.
“Sorry it took so long, but what do you think?” he asked. “It was well worth the wait. You look fabulous.” I told him.
I was pleased with my merchandise. It wouldn’t do for me to out-dress him, since I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention to myself. I chose a simple, even refined ensemble. In a pair of thin, beige cotton trousers and a transparent ice-blue blouse that revealed my smooth, flat torso, I was almost plain. The outline of my white G-string, however, was most certainly visible from behind. That would create enough excitement.
It could get quite cool as the night wore on. I draped shawls over our shoulders.
Just before leaving, I set aside all the devices that might come in handy later. I checked the film and battery, and took the recording device and miniature camera with me.
As we left the house it was starting to get dark. The path leading to Adem Yildiz’s house winds down to the shoreline, then doubles back up a slope. It was lined with bushes bristling with thorns and sharp branches. sa Gürhan tottered along in his super high heels. I took his arm.
The path wasn’t a long one, but the deepening dusk and rough track were slowing us down. There were virtually no lights around the harbour, and we found ourselves plunged into near total darkness. I cursed myself for not leaving at least one light burning back home. We’d have an even more difficult time getting back.
“Ay, I can’t see a thing.”
“I’ve got your arm,” I said reassuringly.
“And these shoes keep coming off.”
“Why don’t you carry them?”
“Are you crazy?” Gürhan replied. “I’ll cut my feet. Or at least get them dirty. I can’t let him see me with filthy feet.”
“Why don’t you dip your feet in the sea just before we get to the house. It’ll cool you off, too.”
“You’re so clever,” he cried. “You’ve got an answer for everything.”
I laughed.
“But I’m not putting my feet in that freezing water. Anyway, what’s the big deal? He can wait a little. It’s not like he’s out on a street corner. He’s at home.”
We continued walking.
Adem Yildiz’s house was several times larger than ours. Next to it was a huge boathouse, and in the garden a shed of some sort. It lay near the deepest part of the harbour. Through the darkness, I could just barely make out a Zodiac tethered to the pier. None of this had been visible from Cengiz’s house.
Some lights
were burning on the side of the house facing the sea. As we climbed the stairs leading up from the sea, Isa Gürhan cried out:
“Yoo-hoo . . . We’re here!”
He was just like Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot. Hot on the trail of a wealthy man, he was at his sweetest and most alluring. Thinking of the film, I compared myself to Jack Lemmon in drag. I smiled.
A table had been laid. On it were lit candles and a bottle of wine. But there was no sign of Adem Yildiz. No appearance was made by the caretaker and his wife, either. a tinkled. “Yoo-hoo . . . Adem Bey . . . We’ve arrived,” sa tinkled
Adem’s voice floated out from inside. “Have a seat, I’m coming.”
“But where are you?” I asked.
“Just pour yourselves a glass of wine. I’ll be out in a second . . . ”
I did as instructed. Before handing the glass to sa Gürhan I came to my senses, and paused.
“Would you care for a drink?”
“Yes, please,” he replied.
“Now it won’t do to get too tipsy,” I said. I Iooked sa Gürhan straight in the eye and added, “You know what I mean!”
“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed demurely. I put the glasses back on the table.
A spread of meze, bowls of pistachio nuts and the famous Yildiz börek had been prepared. There was also an enormous bowl of salad. I took a handful of pistachios.
“Surprise!”
As I spun round, I froze at the sight of Adem Yildiz. sa choked back a half-screamed “No! This can’t be happening . . . ”
But it was happening: Adem Yildiz stood across from us in full drag, his arms extended high in the air as he awaited our approval. On his head was a raven black wig. A strapless lamé gown clung to his form, exaggerating his masculine frame. A tuft of chest hair poked out of his cleavage.
I didn’t know what to make of it. My astonishment must have been obvious, not just from my expression, but emanating from every pore of my body.
The Prophet Murders Page 17
