Baksheesh (24 page)

“Oh that,” I said. “It was just an idea I had. Next time you talk to Özcan, just slip in a question about what happened to the money.”

Half drunk, I drove to Selim's apartment. I would never do such a thing normally, but I couldn't bear the idea of having to go back to Ä°nci's place the next morning to pick up my car.

Selim met me in the doorway, smiling broadly. I felt as though we were playing out some gimmicky idea promoted by a women's magazine about how to maintain a relationship by keeping a distance or going on separate holidays. Ten ways to spice up your relationship. The sort of recipe that turns my stomach. What would a woman know about an exciting love life or simultaneous “peaking ” if she was such a brainless idiot that she had to resort to magazines like that to spice up her relationship? Do the poor women writing for these magazines have to have all this stuff explained to them? And why don't men's magazines give out the same sort of advice to their readers? Is it purely a woman's responsibility to spice up and prolong a relationship and ensure that simultaneous orgasm is achieved?

Well, if that's what is expected of women in this world, it didn't happen in our relationship. At least, not that night. Selim made a brave attempt at steering us towards simultaneous orgasm by greeting me at the door, placing his hands on my hips, nuzzling my neck and pressing his body against mine. Very gently, so as not to hurt his feelings, I pushed him away. My mind was busy with other things. Sex requires the wholesome attention of mind and body. However, my mind was consumed with matters of murder, at the cost of disregarding my womanly duties.

I went straight to the fridge. Selim had a very imposing fridge. Why, who knows? It probably came from the house he used to share with his ex-wife. I didn't ask. Nor would I. I hate listening to my lovers reminisce about their previous relationships. Who
doesn't? But it's always what gets discussed at the beginning of a relationship. Men do it more than women. A woman is more likely to be trying to convince her new lover that he is the only one for her. Men believe that kind of thing. It's what they want to believe. They certainly don't want to hear about what went on with her previous lovers, yet they love to recount their own suffering in that department.

I opened the fridge door. There was nothing inside, or nothing that I wanted. Just a jar of mustard, the French sort that I love with little seeds in it, two eggs that had been there for who knows how long, an open carton of long-life milk, one blackened banana and a lavish selection of alcohol.

“What did you eat?” I called out towards the sitting room.

Selim was clearly walking towards the kitchen as he spoke, because his voice gradually got louder.

“I'm hungry too. Shall I order in a pizza?” he said, running his fingers up and down my spine.

“Pizza?” I said, screwing up my face. “You mean a wodge of pastry.”

“Or there are kebab places that deliver.”

What a choice! Pizza or kebab. One as bad as the other.

“Pizza,” I said.

The worst thing about ordering food over the phone is the unbearable hunger while you wait for it to arrive. I lit a cigarette to suppress the pangs, thinking how I was really going to age before my time if I carried on like this.

“Could you find the name of a company for me if I gave you the name of one of its partners?” I asked.

Selim was watching some stupid film on TV and clearly didn't want to be disturbed.

“Could do,” he said. “You ordered Cola as well, didn't you?”

That's just what I'd have expected if we'd been married.

I called Selim the following afternoon, because he was at court in the morning and had said he wouldn't be able to look up Osman's company until afterwards.

“What happened? Did you find them?” I asked.

“Did I find what?”

“The other partners of the company Osman Karakaş was in,” I said irritably.

“Oh, I forgot all about it, pet. A good thing you called. Tell me that man's name again. I'll send someone to find out right away. Look, I'll call you back. The place he has to go to in Eminönü is very close by.”

I'd have chewed my nails out of irritation if I'd allowed myself, but made do with chewing the cuticles.

To pass the time, I mulled over the problem of Pelin's lover. She had begun to relent. What else could she do? She didn't want to spend the rest of her life living at my place.

The phone rang and I flew over to it. It was Selim.

“This man isn't a partner in any company, pet. I sent our trainee solicitor to look him up. She's a resourceful girl and would have found anything there was to find. What business did you say he was in?”

I always had to repeat everything I said to Selim because he didn't listen to me.

“He was meant to be in the construction business,” I said.

“Hmmm. Have they started any construction work?”

“I don't know. I think he bought a place in Kasımpaşa…”

“Kasımpaşa?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, that's Beyoğlu Council. He must have obtained a building permit. You don't need to form a company for construction work, but you must have a building permit. I'll send Asu over to the Council to ask at the Department of Technical Works. I have a man there, so they'll find out if a permit was obtained.”

“You mean a man you give baksheesh to?”

He laughed.

“See? The baksheesh I distribute benefits you as well as my clients,” he said.

What could I say? It was true.

About half an hour later, my mobile rang. It was a woman's voice.

“Kati Hanım?”

“Yes, that's me,” I said.

“I work in Selim Bey's office. I'm Asu Ketenci, the trainee solicitor. Selim Bey asked me to phone you. I've just left the Council offices. I understand that it was on your behalf. Can I come and see you to tell you what I found out?”

“Go to the Kaffeehaus at Tünel. It's closer to the Council offices than my shop is. I'll be there in ten minutes,” I said.

I got there as fast as I could.

After London, Tünel is the second oldest metro in the world and was also constructed by the British. Unfortunately it covers a very short distance: just one stop. It runs beneath the steep slope at Kuledibi, linking one end of İstiklal Caddesi, the busy shopping street running from Taksim Square, to the sea. The İstiklal Caddesi entrance to this mini metro is in an area called Tünel. Several bars and cafés had opened up there over the last few years and one of them was called Kaffeehaus.

I identified Asu Hanım the moment I entered. With her neatly bobbed hair and buttoned-up blouse, you couldn't miss her. To me, she looked the over-ambitious sort who might rival Selim as Istanbul's highest-tax-paying lawyer in the future. Asu stood up to shake my hand. She clearly knew how to behave. I was of course the “boss's other half”, and she had to act accordingly.

“The Council has granted a land allocation to Osman Karakaş,” she said.

Personally, I'd have started with a bit of small talk, but she wasted no time in coming straight to the point.

“What does land allocation mean?” I asked.

“A piece of land that is Council property can be allocated at below market price. This has to be agreed by City Hall. A decision over this allocation was made last June.”

“You mean Council land is allocated to an individual?”

“No, madam. Osman Karakaş had set up a residential construction cooperative, or was in the process of doing so. These things can take a long time. You have to wait for approval from the Ministry of Trade and Industry to set up a cooperative. However, the Cooperative Founders' Committee is able to purchase land before the set-up procedures are completed. They can even register members. It's perfectly legal. I don't know the extent of your interest in this, so—”

“How did you find out about this land allocation business?”

“Selim Bey told me to go to the Council's Directorate of Technical Works. We have dealings with that department from time to time because of our clients. That's why we already had connections there. I went to see Ä°rfan Bey. He recognized the name of Osman Karakaş straight away and knew that a land allocation had been granted to a cooperative of which Osman was a member. It's called Neşekent Residential Construction Cooperative. If you want, I could get the file from the Directorate of Trade and Industry.”

“This cooperative has an address, I suppose.”

“Yes, madam. It's at 3/6 Papağan Street, in Kuledibi.”

“Did you find out the names of the other founders?”

“Yes, madam. Just one moment please,” she said.

I was getting fed up with her officious manner.

She rummaged in her briefcase and brought out a handwritten list of names. I glanced at it. Seven of the people were surnamed Karakaş, but Özcan's name wasn't there. However, there was a Temel.

Why wasn't Özcan on it if Temel was?

I called Selim when I got back to the shop.

“The Council hardly ever hands out land allocations,” he said. “And they'd never do it for a bunch of nobodies like them. I've heard of land allocations being granted to cooperatives set up by artisans, lawyers and so on, but not to rogues like these. A great deal of money must have changed hands over this.”

“Does the Greater City Council have to arrange this?”

“It can be arranged through the District Council. The Greater City Council has to give its approval, but that's not difficult to sort out. Anyway, the chairman of Beyoğlu District Council and the chairman of Istanbul Greater City Council belong to the same party. They wouldn't scupper each other's business affairs. That kind of thing happens when councils are run by different parties. I don't know much about Council matters because I don't have many cases that involve the Council. Last year, I obtained a building permit for someone, which was how I made the connection with Ä°rfan. But I know someone who's familiar with all the ins and outs of Beyoğlu District Council. You won't find anyone better than him. Baki knows everything: who to go to for what, how much to pay and how to pay it. He owns about ten restaurants in Beyoğlu, and does the best pickled bonito.”

“I remember eating pickled bonito. It was at bar called Kios, wasn't it?”

“Oh yes, at Balıkpazarı. I forgot I'd taken you there. Kios is the Greek name for Sakız Island. Baki comes from Sakız. I mean his family, of course. They settled in Istanbul years ago. About one tenth of his earnings comes from his restaurants and bars, the rest he gets from chasing up Council matters. I'll give him a call and get him to talk to you. If he has the time, could you go now?”

“Of course,” I said. I wasn't going to miss an opportunity like this, was I?

While I waited helplessly for Selim to call, Pelin went out to eat. A truck was trying to manoeuvre its way down our narrow
street, bumping into things right and left. I lit a cigarette and watched the men's efforts through the window. I'd been smoking an extra light brand for a while, with the result that I was smoking more. Either that or I was smoking more because I was feeling edgy. It suddenly occurred to me that I might be feeling edgy because I was about to start the menopause. That scared me. Or rather, startled me. I hadn't a clue when the menopause normally started. I hadn't been created to have children. In fact, never in my life had I looked at a child and thought, “How lovely”. Yet the idea of starting the menopause wasn't appealing. Even the word was unattractive. Menopause. It conjured up images of a shrivelled, nervous-looking woman with sunken eyes and purple veins in her neck. I took my powder compact out of my bag. Not to powder my nose, but to look at my face. I looked at myself as if for the first time, carefully examining each feature in turn. Was that the face of a woman about to start the menopause? My skin was radiant. As indeed it should be. I'd spent a fortune on creams and serums containing things like DNA, RNA and salmon eggs. I stuck my tongue out at myself. Only a fool would think I was about to start the menopause. It was all because of Selim that I'd become a bag of nerves, nothing to do with the menopause.