Chapter 37
It was nearly nine at night, and all of our guests had assembled in the enormous drawing room of the waterfront mansion. That it would be a finale straight out of an Agatha Christie novel, I had no doubt. For that was our intention.
As the guests arrived, we were on the floor above completing our preparations. Preparations that were both physical and mental. It was critical that we planned exactly what would we say, as well as when and how, and that each and every allegation be backed up by the appropriate source or document.
And, of course, we had our costumes to consider. After our quick, separate showers, Nimet and I began rummaging through her wardrobe. That is to say, by opening up her wardrobe to me, as well as her heart, Nimet confirmed beyond a doubt that all of my intuitions on the subject of her generous nature had been spot on. She chose a simple, dark blue dress. No sleeves, no collar. A perfect fit. When it was my turn, she instinctively gestured to the area of the capacious wardrobe reserved for frills and embroidered evening gowns. While it’s true that my eyes had involuntarily strayed to the sequins and ostrich feathers, tonight was different. And what’s more, Haluk Pekerdem would be coming. I’d have to rein it in a bit. I selected an ensemble every bit as sober as hers: white, high-waisted YSL trousers and a white silk blouse. They were, of course, rather too big, so I accessorized with a wide belt. Perfect.
The guest list was long and varied, compiled in a process not unlike that of a wedding, with “yours” and “mine.” I’d insisted on my commissioner friend, Selçuk, Cihad2000, who was also in it up to his ears, and Ponpon, who would be enraged if uninvited. Nimet chose her attorney, Haluk Pekerdem—how could I say no?—Canan, who was his wife and Faruk’s sister; Hikmet, who is not only Nimet’s brother but could also apparently be counted upon to maintain order if things got out of hand; and, finally, Faruk’s assistant, Sami Bey, whom I hadn’t yet met. Nimet told me he was a prominent member of the Jewish community and summed him up as taciturn, tense, and trustworthy.
On our joint list were: Volkan’s brother-in-law, Ziya Göktaş, who was to be picked up by Nimet’s chauffeur; and Okan, who would be escorted to the house by the always dependable Selçuk. And, of course, where Okan goes, the great poet Refik Altın also goes.
It was exactly nine o’clock when Nimet and I descended to the drawing room. Everyone was present and accounted for. We’d planned an impressive entrance, but Ponpon spoiled it by running up the moment she saw me.
“Sweetie!” she said. “What on earth’s going on here? Tell me quick. I dropped everything and came straight over. I’m dying of curiosity. Don’t do this to me! Come on, tell me everything this instant!”
“All in good time,” I said coolly.
“What do you mean, ayol?” she snapped. “I’m not like them. I’ve got to work for a living. I have a show to put on.” Ponpon’s words were accompanied by a sweeping wave of the arm that condemned those present who had not found gainful nocturnal employment.
“It won’t take long. Take a seat, if you like,” I said in my calmest voice.
“And if I don’t like?”
Hands on her hips, Ponpon had thrown back her head. She’d neglected to apply foundation under her chin. I even spotted some shadowy stubble.
Leaning forward, I whispered in her ear. Her hands and chin shot down to a more appropriate level. Cupping her chin, she shot me a wink. She looked slightly embarrassed.
“And stop screeching,” I added. “Everything’s on track. I only invited you because I thought you’d want to see for yourself. And it’d take too long to tell you all about it later . . .”
Flashing me a look of sisterly solidarity, she trotted off to her chair.
Cihad2000 was the only person none of the other guests had met. He was sitting in his wheelchair, of course. I introduced him to Nimet, and then to the others, not explaining why he was there. Then I shook hands with all present, saving Haluk for last.
Hikmet looked nothing like his younger sister, Nimet. He was dark, with searching, intelligent eyes and a firm handshake. On his cheek was a lesion of the sort we call an “Eastern Boil.” He spoke in a deep, reassuring baritone. I could see why Nimet had insisted he come. With Selçuk and Hikmet both present, one in an official capacity and the other in an informal one, we’d be safe. Still, those eyes of his missed nothing, and I felt like I was under constant observation.
Wearing a Prince de Galles jacket, Sami was tiny, thin, and totally bald. His blue eyes looked even smaller behind the thick lenses of his rimless glasses. His hands were small, too. And hot. We exchanged “good evenings.” His lips were thin to the point of non-existence. He looked like a real hothead to me.
“It’d be nice to meet privately for a change,” said Selçuk, who was in a dark suit for the occasion. To his mind, he was among the crème de la crème, and he’d dressed appropriately. He gave me a friendly hug. I introduced him using only his first name, with no mention of his title. For obvious reasons, it was too early to mention the presence of a commissioner in our midst.
“Now remember your promise,” I said to him softly. “No interference without a sign from me.”
“I’ve exceeded my jurisdiction just by being here. We could all be taken in for aiding and abetting. This isn’t right. You should have let me bring a colleague. You know this isn’t my department,” he whispered.
“You’re enough for me,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. “You’re the only one I trust.”
Holding Refik’s hand, Okan was cowering in either fear or embarrassment. In an exaggerated show of respect, he kissed Nimet’s hand and touched the hand to his bowed head. He didn’t even shake mine, settling for an arid merhaba. So, I hadn’t been forgiven for the thrashing of the day before.
Refik looked at me timidly.
“I hope you’re not up to no good,” he said as he shook my hand. “You’ll save my Okan, won’t you? I couldn’t take it if you didn’t . . .”
What could I say? He’d have to take it, or else what?
“I trust you . . .” he threw in as I moved along to the next guest.
I produced my most refined, most English smile. This was an Agatha Christie moment, after all. I’d been transformed into a Wendy Hiller, a Vanessa Redgrave, a Diana Rigg, a Jane Birkin!
Ziya, who was looking around furtively through narrowed eyes, was smaller than I remembered. By hunkering down in an armchair at the very back, as far away as possible from the others, he only emphasized how out of place he was. I introduced him to Nimet. I can’t say the look he shot her was a friendly one.
“You’re up to something,” he told me. “Let’s see what happens.”
Gone was the fawning rascal I’d met at the wake, replaced by someone with hunched shoulders, gaunt cheeks, and sunken eyes.
“What’s that mongrel looking for here?” he said, pointing to Okan.
“Patience please, beyefendi,” interjected Nimet. “We’ll explain in a moment. We have our reasons for inviting you.”
Unaccustomed to being addressed so formally, Ziya hung his head and said nothing.
Next in line was Canan Hanoğlu Pekerdem. Ever chic; ever elegant. Still smelling sexily of Vera Wang. In short, as irritating as the night I’d met her. We made a show of briefly clasping frosty hands. I was cold to her out of jealousy; but what was her problem with me?
Finally, there was Haluk. I clung to his hand for as long as possible. After all, physical contact is physical contact. It was perfectly clear that he affected me; equally clear that I affected him not at all.
“I’m so happy to see you again,” I said.
“Yes” was his terse reply. Even worse, his eyes were blank. Did the man have no feelings, no soul?
Nimet and I took our places. Placed in the middle of the huge room were two high-backed chairs. A fire had been lit, its reflection refracted into ruby and topaz droplets by the heavy crystal chandelier hanging overhead.
We exchanged glances. Yes, everything was ready. We
could begin. The lady of the house, Nimet Hanım, would start.
“The reason we have so suddenly requested that you all join us here this evening is that we have an important announcement to make. As you know, Faruk was accused of having murdered Volkan Bey. He was then found dead, under suspicious circumstances, in front of the pier.”
At the mention of Volkan’s name, Ziya moaned softly. Refik squeezed Okan’s hand. Otherwise, there was dead silence, disturbed only by the crackling of the fire. Everyone held their breath, all eyes were on me and Nimet.
It was my turn.
“Nimet and I met just today, but it has been a long and eventful day. We exchanged all we knew. We thought long and hard. And we believe we have made a terrible discovery.”
Temperatures were rising. Sami, who was sitting on a sofa next to Hikmet, pulled a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead.
Cihad2000 looked slightly indignant, so I quickly mentioned him, and outlined our adventure with Türk Telekom. A voice told me to tell them all about his hotel fling with Pamir the previous night. I ignored it.
“Ayol, you said it would be over in a minute and you’re still getting warmed up,” Ponpon burst out. “Look, I’ll spell it out for you. I’ve got to clear out in twenty minutes, at the latest. I’ve got a show to get to. You can’t keep an audience waiting. It’d be the end of my career. I’ve still got to get ready. I hate rushing.”
“Getting ready” would consist of little more than repowdering her jowls. Some of the girls fall apart at the slightest sign of facial hair. It had been a mistake to invite Ponpon. It didn’t matter that she’d read all the English murder mysteries in the world, she’d never get the knack of behaving like a cold-blooded aristocrat. Impatient, testy, and determined to be the center of attention—that was Ponpon. Perhaps that’s what’s meant by “star quality”: the burning desire to hog the floor no matter what!
“A little patience, dear Ponpon!” I said.
“I’m trying to go along with you, sweetie, but you just don’t seem to get it. I’ve got a show. No one cares! I’ve still got makeup and costume to get through . . . Don’t you get it!”
She anxiously rubbed her chin, confirming my suspicions.
“Now, now, dear,” I said.
I turned to Nimet to make it clear that she was up next.
She sat up straight and turned an appraising glance on each of the guests. That was a critical part of the plan. As her eyes met those of each guest, I carefully did my own appraisal of their reactions.
“We found some important papers among Faruk’s documents. At first we didn’t know what they were. Then, a note in Volkan Bey’s safe-deposit box and a detail found among the phone and computer records compiled by Kemal Bey helped us connect the dots. We’d overlooked a certain detail for quite some time. But now we’re sure.”
Silence!
She turned to me. We were both certain now.
“Someone had been extorting money from Faruk Bey for a considerable time,” I said.
It was important here to note the reaction of each and every guest. We’d decided beforehand who would observe who.
Impatient Ponpon jumped straight in, of course: “Gigolo Volkan!”
“No, not him,” I said. “He was an intermediary. In fact, he was just a tool.”
“What?” reacted Sami Bey, wiping his misty eyes with his handkerchief. “That couldn’t have happened without my knowledge. We kept meticulous accounts.”
“Correct, Sami Bey,” said Nimet. “It happened without your knowledge. You, too, were used.”
Sami waved his large handkerchief, avoiding eye contact.
“Well I never, hanımefendi!” he objected.
“But why?” insisted Nimet Hanım. “You knew Volkan better than anyone. You may have availed yourself of his services more than anyone else . . . Which is why you’re sweating now.”
Nimet fixed her honey eyes on his. “I had no knowledge of your preferences. Nor was I interested in them. That is, until today. The bedroom is private. I don’t care who does what. Nor do I have the right to . . . But someone turned your head.”
“Those are baseless insinuations!” Sami shouted.
So he was a hothead, just as I’d thought. I’m never wrong when it comes to men.
Now it was Refik’s turn to kick up a fuss. The suggestion of a relationship between Sami and Volkan had been too much for him.
“Slandering the dead like this! How dare you . . .” he began, before Okan deliberately cut him off.
“Leave my brother out of this!”
“No one knew him or loved him like me. Don’t you see?” mumbled Ziya from the back. Then came the sound of choked sobbing.
“The murder of Volkan Bey is another matter entirely,” Nimet said evenly and calmly. “Everyone had a motive for killing him. Wouldn’t you all agree?”
I picked up where she’d left off.
“Ziya Bey, you were in love with him,” I began. “You’d do anything to keep him with you always. When he left you, you threatened him with a knife. How are we to believe that you didn’t kill him?”
“How could I bring myself to harm someone I loved? Could this hand have stabbed him? I swear, I’d cut it off first!” he sobbed.
“But you were the one who got him mixed up in all this. Admit it. It was you!” cried Okan, beginning to lunge at Ziya. Refik and Selçuk forced him down into his chair.
“What about you, Okan?” I asked. “You adored your brother, but he couldn’t keep up with your demands for drugs and cash. After he died, you went through his things, hoping to find someone to shake down. Why did you come here before the body was even cold? It wasn’t over grief for your brother; it was to demand money from Faruk and Nimet.”
“That’s a lie!” he snarled.
“I’m still here,” Nimet quietened him. “You said you had damaging evidence and tried to bargain with us. Don’t deny it. There’s no point.”
Selçuk winked at me to indicate that he was ready to step in. I winked back, as we’d agreed beforehand, to let him know that it was still too early and that everything was going as planned.
Ziya was dumbfounded. He’d even stopped crying, and was staring at Okan.
“You bloodsucking leech!” he said. “You did it. It’d be just like you . . .”
For some reason Refik was the most affected. Tears streamed down his cheeks. I wondered why. What was it to him?
Nimet continued playing her role to perfection in a flat voice devoid of emotion, hands folded in her lap. She’d pause from time to time to look over our guests, then look directly into the eyes of the person concerned as she resumed her speech. There wasn’t a hint of malice, hatred, pity, or condemnation in her voice or words. She was enviably austere and unpretentious. She turned to Okan.
“It was through you that we learned about the blackmail of your brother’s clients, the money that was extorted. His death would have meant a new life for you. Only your brother stood between you and what you would have considered to be a fortune.”
“And your income from the minibus wasn’t half bad either,” I added.
“What do you mean? Are you accusing me now?” asked Okan, in a panic.
Refik had frozen. Mouth open, jaw slack, tears halted midway down his cheeks, he stared at Nimet.
“No,” said Nimet. “We’re not accusing you. We only point out that you had motives of your own. That doesn’t necessarily mean you did it. And it would also, in a sense, have meant killing the goose that lays the golden egg. You’re too smart for that.”
“It wasn’t him then, was it?” asked Refik. At a sign from me, he contentedly returned to loud sniffing and crying.
“This thing is dragging on longer and longer. And the longer it goes on, the more disagreeable and messy it’s becoming,” said Ponpon.
“Shut up and listen,” said Hikmet, surprising everyone with his beautiful baritone. He had huge fingers and big hands. Turning to Nimet, he added, �
�Please, go on.”
Nimet looked at me. It was my turn.
“If I may continue,” I said, clearing my throat. “It gets a little confusing at this point, because we haven’t yet put all the pieces together. But it involves Canan Hanım.”
There was no special reason for my voice to crack when I mentioned her name. I wasn’t used to sitting near an open fire. Or it may have been the smoke, those fumes.
Canan Hanoğlu Pekerdem’s cold eyes latched onto mine like a lethal weapon.
“Nonsense,” she said, tossing her head. “You can’t prove a thing.”
Reaching into her jeweled evening bag, she pulled out a cigarette. Her hands didn’t tremble once as she lit it with a Dupont lighter. Crossing her legs, she looked at Nimet. What perfect legs!
“We can prove it,” said Nimet, sounding a bit excited for the first time. “The telephone records tell us a lot. You arranged everything. You had your eye on your brother’s—my husband’s—money. Faruk had to bail you out after all your failed business schemes. Just to protect the family name, our name. The slightest whiff of scandal and it would have been over for us all. You were always the darling of the family, and Faruk may have had a soft spot for you, too. I don’t know. You tell me. Faruk gave you free rein. Never held you to account. But you kept sinking one business after another. You took on too much, more than you could handle. And it always ended in catastrophe. It’s all been recorded in Faruk’s ledgers and notebooks. Hard facts and cold sums. How much Faruk spent to bail you out . . . I’ve got it all upstairs.”
Unfolding before my eyes was a regular family feud, one that had probably been brewing for years.
“Like you said, we’re a family and he bore responsibility for the family name. Of course he backed me up,” said Canan.
“But then things changed,” said Nimet, who was now looking directly at Canan. “Sami, in his capacity as junior partner, noticed what was going on. Capital that could have been bringing in high returns was being used to bankroll you. Someone had to stop it. He confronted you. But you knew all about his weakness for gambling and for strapping young men! You set him up by arranging gambling partners, and drove him into debt. He couldn’t play openly because he had a reputation and a business to protect. And as he got in deeper and deeper, he became your plaything. As for the young men, we don’t know how you met Volkan, or who slept with him first. But we have receipts for the hotel rooms you both shared with him.”
The Gigolo Murder Page 23
