Arabesk (32 page)

'And Erol? Would he have spoken to her about you?'

Çöktin twisted nervously in his chair, knotting and unknotting his fingers as he moved. 'Well, not about my religion, obviously. Why would he, being what he is, want to speak to a Muslim woman about a Muslim man she barely knows?'

Ìkmen smiled. 'Well, that's all right then, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Suleyman agreed also with a smile, if forced, upon his face. 'I should, I imagine, let you go home and get some rest now. You must be exhausted.'

'Yes. Thank you, sir.' Çöktin rose quickly to his feet. It was obvious to all concerned that he was anxious to leave.

'I'll see you tomorrow, then,' Suleyman said as he watched ~!oktin move towards the door. 'Yes, sir.'

'Goodbye, Mickey Çöktin,' Ìkmen called out as the young man closed the door behind him.

And men there was silence, Ìkmen looked across at Suleyman who; although seemingly busy shuffling papers, was actually waiting for his colleague to open up some sort of debate on what had just passed, Ìkmen obliged.

He wiped the sweat from his brow onto the stained cuff of his shirt and said, 'Do you believe him?'

'I don't know,' Suleyman replied. 'Do you?'

'No. But men in view of the fact that Erol never actually told Latife Emin what he was, it is highly unlikely he would have mentioned Çöktin to her. And anyway, with aged parents and an unmarried sister to support, Mickey Çöktin probably made a rational decision when he came in here and lied to us. I mean, how would you feel if people thought you ran around naked at midnight and ate the flesh of newborn infants?'

Suleyman smiled. 'I wouldn't be very happy about it.'

'Mmm. Especially considering that the more lurid stories about the Yezidis are, in all probability, complete nonsense.'

'But prejudices against them still exist,' Suleyman said, throwing a cigarette across at Ìkmen and then lighting up himself. 'And I must admit that it does feel odd to actually have one on the force.'

'No stranger than having someone whose mother could see into the future,' Ìkmen said, wryly smiling at this dig at himself. 'Which reminds me, I must get away from here if I'm to see the last of my mother's clients bid farewell to this world.'

'Any idea how Madame might have killed the eunuch yet?' Suleyman asked.

'Dr Sarkissian thinks he may have been stabbed.' Ìkmen moved slowly to his feet and then stretched his arms above his head and yawned. 'Although quite why she would want to do such a thing to that poor emasculated creature we shall probably never know.'

'Perhaps the eunuch had some other woman in his sights,' Suleyman said with a smile.

'Well, I can't imagine why
that
would have bothered Kleopatra,' Ìkmen replied tartly.

Spreading his long fingers out across his desk in what appeared to be an attempt to distract himself from the topic, Suleyman said, 'You know that in the old households it was always said that a eunuch could often satisfy a woman like no normal man?'

'What?' Ìkmen, his face creased into sharp lines of confusion, attempted but failed to look into his colleagues now shifting gaze. 'What do . ..'

'To say anything more would cause me tremendous embarrassment, Çetin,' the younger man said as he moved uncomfortably in his seat 'If you think about it for a while I'm sure that the light of truth will eventually dawn:' .

'Oh, will it?' Ìkmen said. And then, as things did indeed come into focus, he reddened just a little and mumbled, 'Ah, yes, but of course, um . . .'

'So shall I see you later?' Suleyman inquired as he watched Ìkmen remove his jacket somewhat timidly from the back of Çöktin's chair.

'Yes, this afternoon.'

'Good,' Suleyman smiled. 'I couldn't have finished this case without you, you know.'

'Yes, you could,' Ìkmen said, moving towards the door of his colleague's office. 'It would have taken you longer, but you would have done it'

And then with a smile he was gone.

***

The Hippodrome Tea Garden was almost completely full when Zelfa Halman arrived for her, albeit flexible, appointment with Mehmet Suleyman. Dressed in a very eye-catching dress of red and black, the psychiatrist looked, to Orhan Tepe at least, like a woman who had been home and chosen her ensemble very carefully. He did not imagine she could have had very much sleep, and as she came towards him in response to his shout of recognition, he could see that her eyes were heavy with fatigue.

'I hate it when it's as hot as this,' she said as she slumped down opposite Tepe who was seated at a table facing the Hippodrome itself. 'I wonder where it's all going to end - when my blood's going to start to boil in my veins.'

'Miss Emin must be very uncomfortable down in the cells,' Tepe said as he beckoned one of the waiters towards him. 'What would you like to drink, Doctor?'

'Coke would be good.'

He ordered her drink plus another peach tea for himself before launching once again into the subject of Latife Emin. 'So, I mean, er, will you, um, have to see Miss Emin, professionally, Doctor, or . . .' Although he liked her, Tepe's memories of various of his dubious relatives always made him rather uncomfortable around Zelfa Halman.

'No.' She put a cigarette between her lips and lit it. 'Not from what I've seen of her. You don't have to be crazy to perform an act of spite.'

Tepe frowned. 'Yes, but most people don't usually kill innocent people out of spite, do they?'

'No, but I expect some of us would like to,' she said with a smile. 'And besides, I think she showed amazing restraint to have left it so long.'

'What do you mean?'

'I think that I would probably have stabbed the lovely Tansu and then hurled her into the Bosphorus years ago.'

'Oh.' Tepe laughed briefly before becoming grave once again. 'Well, yes, that I could understand. But to kill Ruya Urfa just to get at her sister .. .'

'Latife Emin is a clever woman,' the doctor said. She smiled up at the waiter who had arrived with their drinks. 'Erol is, was, whatever, probably Tansu's last chance with a younger man. So if Latife set her sister's mind against him then that might well have hurt Tansu for the rest of her life. After all, had Latife's crime gone undetected, then Tansu would never have understood why Erol couldn't marry her and that would have really stung.’

'She's still not going to be able to marry him though, is she? I mean,' he leaned forward in order to whisper, 'if he's one of those then .. .'

'No. Yezidis don't marry out This won't do a lot for Erol's career either.'

Orhan Tepe sniffed. 'Well, if he's one of those he doesn't deserve a career. They do disgusting things, those people.'

'Oh, bollocks,' Zelfa Halman exploded, briefly slipping back into her native tongue. 'Yezidis don't really rape everything in sight and eat their own young, you know! They're not evil or—'

'But they worship Shaitan!'

Zelfa Halman took a long gulp from her glass before she said, 'Their own conception of him, yes. But in their canon Shaitan has been restored to goodness by God and so the idea that they are evil is preposterous. Anyway, we don't
know
that people will hold it against him. I like to think the Turkish public are more intelligent than that.'

‘I still don't like it,' Tepe said darkly. 'It makes me feel uncomfortable.'

'Well, that's your problem,' the doctor replied. She leaned back in order to fan her hot face and caught sight of Suleyman. She waved to him.

As he walked towards the table, the tired young inspector smiled. ‘I hadn't realised it was quite so hot,' he said farming his body with the edges of his jacket.

Zelfa Halman passed her glass of Coke over to him with a ghost of a smile.

Tepe who like so many of his fellows possessed more than a sneaking suspicion as to what existed between this pair, started to move up and away from his chair.

'Oh, are you going?' Zelfa asked.

'I'd better,' Tepe said looking across at Suleyman. 'Sir.'

'You don't have to go, Tepe.' 'I think I'd better,' the younger man replied. 'Reports and...'

'Well, don't bother to pay when you go,' Zelfa said with a smile. 'I'll pay for your tea.' 'Oh, well, er, thank you, er . . .' 'It's OK.'

As Tepe threaded his way out of the tea garden, Suleyman slipped into what had been his seat. 'Hello,' he said to Zelfa sitting opposite him.

'Hello.'

Although weary, her face was set in an expression not without humour. Suleyman, consequently, smiled.

'I haven't come to beg,' he said, placing her glass carefully back in front of her, 'but if you have decided not to return to Ireland ...'

Zelfa Halman leaned forward, a quizzical expression crossing her face. 'Yes?'

Suleyman sighed with what appeared to be some effort. 'Well, I would quite like to, sort of, well. . .'

'I'm not going to help you with this, Mehmet,' she said, just the tinge of a twinkle beginning in her eyes. 'If you want something from me, you're going to have to ask for it.'

'Well

'Yes?'

He leaned forward across the table and took one of her hands in his. She did not resist which, he thought, was a good sign.

‘Now that Cengiz Temiz has been returned to his family and—'

With, to Suleyman, quite frightening rapidity, Zelfa's expression changed and she pulled her hand roughly from his. 'If this is about that report—'

'No, no, no! No!' he said, almost desperately, 'this is about, well, it's about you and me and about how now that I, er . . .'

'Mehmet,' she said as she replaced her fingers slowly under his, 'if this is about your wanting to take me out for a meal accompanied by large amounts of alcohol and dancing . . .'

'Yes.'

She smiled, 'Well, I might think about it.'

'Oh.' As the register of his voice dropped, so did his gaze. Suleyman stared at the top of the table with deep and obvious disappointment.

Zelfa Halman viewed him wryly. What a child her dashing young prince could be at times. And how delicious it would be to string out her torture of him for just a little bit longer. But then, possibly because her name was Zelfa and not Latife, she could not allow her spite to have rein over her any longer.

'Oh, OK then, yes,' she said with a dismissive wave of one hand.

His head literally sprang up from his musings. 'You mean it?' he said, looking even more like a little boy than he had before.

She laughed. 'Yes, I mean it, I do!'

He reached over and, despite the crowds all around them, Mehmet Suleyman pulled Zelfa Halman's face towards his and kissed her hard upon the lips. When he did finally release her from his embrace he saw that she was smiling.

'So’ she said, after a somewhat breathless pause.

'To return to Cengiz Temiz . . .'

'Well, he's back with his family again, as I said. But he'll have to give evidence when the case comes to court,' Suleyman replied, a small frown now disrupting his previously ecstatic features. 'After all, he did technically take the Urfa baby unlawfully.'

'But then surely his lack of capacity to reason in the normal way will protect him from actual charges, won't it?' Zelfa asked.

Suleyman sighed. 'It should do, after all he didn't hurt Merih, did he? And with Sevan Avedykian on his side he shouldn't have any trouble. Although, as to whether his parents will ever let him out alone again, I think the future there may be less certain.'

Zelfa looked down at the table and murmured. 'Poor Cengiz. All he ever really wanted was a little love.' She looked up at him and smiled.

Suleyman smiled back. 'Lucky, aren't we?' he said softly.

She took one of his hands and squeezed it tight. 'Are you saying . . .'

'That I love you? Yes,' he said simply. 'Yes, I think I do. And you? What do you feel?'

Zelfa looked briefly at the other people around them before she said, 'Well, I think I've a lot more passion in my soul than any of this lot, don't you?'

'Yes, but that doesn't answer my question, does it, Zelfa?'

'No.'

Frowning now, he asked again, 'And you, your feelings? Well?'

She sighed and then, once again, slowly smiled. 'Oh, I love you right enough, Mehmet,' she said. 'Even though it scares me to death.'

And then, with uncharacteristic urgency, she took a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and dabbed at the moisture that was collecting at the corners of her eyes.

Although Cohen left the confines of the Aya Triyada Kilisesi as soon as Kleopatra Polycarpou's funeral was at an end, Ìkmen, who was indeed accompanied by a moodily awkward Bulent, remained behind to talk to the old woman's priest, Father Yiannis.

'Kleopatra was never an easy woman, Mr Ìkmen,' the cleric said as he walked with the Turk and his son towards the front gate. 'And, in all honesty, I did know that she was having difficulties with Murad Aga prior to his disappearance all those years ago. Not, of course, that I ever imagined she might have killed him.'

'What sort of difficulties?' Ìkmen said, as he lit the cigarette that was dangling from his hps.

Father Yiannis sighed. 'Well, apparently, the eunuch or so she told me, was being unfaithful to her. I know that sounds extraordinary but—

Ìkmen smiled. 'Not quite as odd as you might think, Father.' And then lowering his voice in order to prevent his son from hearing, he said, 'A friend of mine who comes from an old Ottoman family assures me that some of these creatures were not unskilled, shall we say, in the bedroom.'

'Oh,' the priest reddened. 'Oh, I see, er .. . That would, I suppose, explain, in part—'

'Precisely.'

'Ah, well. But tragic anyway. And what with the poor man being so far from his native lands.' He sighed. 'There will not be a soul to claim his corpse now.'

Ìkmen frowned. 'But I thought that Murad was Turkish. At least I always took if for granted.

'No, actually,' the priest said gravely, 'he was of your mother's race. An Albanian. When he "left" all those years ago, I assumed it was to return to Albania.' And then he added, slightly bitterly, 'The old empire never emasculated its own, you know. Your Ottoman friend, at least, should know that.'