Her face brightened, she almost smiled. She invited me in and asked me what I would like to drink.
“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee.”
She ushered me into the large, colourful living room, seated me in an easy chair, and disappeared. Ten minutes later a cup of good strong Turkish coffee stood steaming in front of me.
“This is for your kids.”
She thanked me extravagantly for the chocolate and asked me to tell her what had happened. For the second time that day I went over the whole story. I couldn’t leave Hanna Hecht out of it, even though I would have liked to spare Ilter’s feelings.
She listened in attentive silence, shaking her head now and again. When I had finished, the living room was immersed in darkness. Through the window we could see the moon rise. For a while we sat there in silence, then Ilter Hamul got up and switched on the light. There were tears on her face.
“How can I thank you?”
“Give me change for that bill. At two hundred a day, I get six hundred. That’ll do it.”
She went to get the money and gave it to me, with a firm handshake.
“Is your brother at home?”
“He’s in his room, packing. He is going to Turkey tomorrow.”
“I would like to have a word with him.”
“Come with me.”
She took my arm, and we went to a door that stood ajar. Light shone through the crack onto the floor of the dark hall. Ilter Hamul left me there. I knocked quietly and went in without waiting for a reply. Yilmaz Ergün was bending over a half-packed suitcase. He turned and looked at me over his shoulder. His room contained an unmade bed, an open wardrobe, two chairs, and a nightstand with a radio alarm clock. The only decoration on the wall was a calendar published by the town of Heidelberg.
He straightened his back and turned around, holding three folded shirts.
“Mind if I smoke?”
He nodded reluctantly and dropped the shirts in the suitcase.
“Please, keep on packing, I don’t want to interrupt you. Although I want to assure you that there’s no need for you to go away.”
I lit my cigarette and pulled up a chair. Yilmaz Ergün sat down on the bed.
“Cigarette?”
“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
He looked at me with a serious, almost sad expression.
“What did you mean by that—there no need for me to go away?”
I took a couple of puffs on my cigarette.
“What I meant was that no one is looking for you for the murder of your brother-in-law.”
He bent forward and hid his face in his hands. I could only see the shiny black hair on the top of his head. I had time to smoke another couple of cigarettes before he looked up again.
“How did you know …”
“The knife. Only amateurs use a knife. I never made inquiries, but I assume it was a kitchen knife?”
“Yes. It was.”
“You never liked Ahmed Hamul, did you? Your father favoured him over you. Vasif always thought you were second-rate. All the approval you got came from your mother.”
“Stop!”
“I’m sorry. You probably thought that it was Ahmed Hamul who dragged your father into those drug deals. In actual fact, your father was blackmailed into it. That’s how his troubles began. Then, later, he helped Ahmed get into the business. For three years you harboured rage and sorrow over the dissension in your family. It seemed to you that it had to be Ahmed Hamul’s fault. When your father died, I’m sure you thought about kicking Ahmed out of the house. But since he hardly came home anymore anyway, and out of kindness to your sister, you didn’t do it—your sister Ilter, that is. Because it was what happened to your sister Ayse that finally drove you to kill Ahmed. You couldn’t forgive him for getting Ayse hooked on heroin. I think that the day you found out about it was the day when you first thought of killing him. With the passage of time, what had begun as an idea struck you as more and more inevitable. It must have seemed like a solution to all your problems. You would have your revenge for the jealousy of all those years, and your family could live in peace, at long last. Ayse’s addiction gave moral justification to the deed. And so, what had been only an idea became a plan, a task. For the salvation of the family.”
Yilmaz Ergun sat cowering on his bed, completely motionless. I wasn’t sure that he was still listening to me.
“But you are not a gifted murderer, not even as an amateur. You made two stupid mistakes. First of all: no alibi. Ilter told me that you get off work a little before six, and that you are usually home by six o’clock. I have no idea how you got hold of Hanna Hecht’s telephone number, but …”
“I tailed him once and read the name on the door. Then I looked it up in the phone book.”
“In any case, you called him there on the fifth of August and asked him to meet you somewhere in the neighbourhood. Right after work. If I asked you where exactly you were at that time, you probably couldn’t tell me. Isn’t that so?”
He nodded.
“The second mistake: if you work in a restaurant kitchen, you don’t just grab the first carving knife that comes to hand to kill your brother-in-law with.”
I paused for a moment. He still didn’t move.
“If someone had decided that you were a suspect, or if the detective who was supposed to investigate the murder hadn’t happened to be the murderer of your father—and he’ll probably take the rap for Ahmed’s murder as well—then you’d be behind bars right now.”
He stared at me with wide eyes.
“The murderer of—my father? But—”
“That is another story. Let Ilter tell you about it. I am bushed.”
I got up and stood at the door.
“Did you know that Ahmed wanted to get out of the business? When you drove that carving knife into his back, he was about to make a payment on a house in northern Germany. In a couple of months he would have moved there with your family. He had already found a place for Ayse to take the cure. You should have asked him what his plans were. You could have talked with him. And you could have spared yourself from becoming a murderer.”
We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.
“Do you know why I am not handing you over to the cops?”
He shook his head, looking sad.
“Because you will have to deal with what you did for the rest of your life. It doesn’t feel good to know you’re a murderer, and it feels even worse when the murder was completely pointless. But if it’s any consolation to you, I’m the only one who knows.”
I tapped the side of my head.
“Good luck, Mr. Ergün. Happy days in Istanbul.”
I pulled the door shut quietly and tiptoed down the dark hall and out of the apartment. The staircase was dimly lit and still filled with the heat of the day. I lit a cigarette. As I walked downstairs, the gentle notes of a jazz saxophone wafted out of one of the apartments. I thought about a girl I had known a long time ago.
Then I bought a bottle of Chivas from Madame Hulk and walked home through the night.
JAKOB ARJOUNI’S KAYANKAYA THRILLERS AVAILABLE FROM MELVILLE HOUSE
KISMET
978-1-935554-23-3 | $15.00 US / $17.50 CAN
As a Turkish immigrant raised by Germans, Kemal Kayankaya is regularly subjected to racism in gritty, working-class Frankfurt, and getting work isn’t easy. So when his friend Rosario asks him to protect his business against some battle-hardened Croation thugs demanding protection money, the down-and-out Kayankaya takes the job.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TURK!
978-1-935554-20-2 | $14.95 US / $16.95 CAN
The police aren’t interested when a Turkish immigrant is murdered in the red light district, but wisecracking detective Kayankaya suspects there’s something bigger going on, and, unfortunately, he’s right.…
MORE BEER
978-1-935554-43-1 | $14.95 US / $16.95 CAN
Coming in June 2011
Four
eco-terrorists caught vandalizing a chemical plant are also accused of murdering the head of the plant, but witness say there were five men. They hire Kayankaya to help them find the mysterious fifth man.
ONE MAN, ONE MURDER
978-1-935554-54-7 | $14.95 US / $16.95 CAN
Coming in October 2011
When Kayankaya is hired to find a missing young Thai woman, Kayankaya launches a trawl through the immigration offices and brothels of Frankfurt and discovers that lots of young asylum seekers seem to be disappearing into the Frankfurt night.
Happy Birthday, Turk! Page 14
