Dance with Death

Copyright © 2006 Barbara Nadel

The right of Barbara Nadel to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

eISBN: 978 0 7553 7858 6

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Table of Contents

Trained as an actress, Barbara Nadel used to work in mental health services. Born in the East End of London, she now writes full time and has been a regular visitor to Turkey for over twenty years. She received the Crime Writers’ Association Silver Dagger for her novel
Deadly Web
in 2005. She is also the author of the highly acclaimed Francis Hancock series set during World War Two.

Praise for Barbara Nadel:

‘Nadel moves into the elite ranks of Michael Dibden, Donna Leon and Magdalen Nabb when it comes to blending foreign exoticism and impeccable mystery plotting. Exotic and atmospheric, this is superior police procedural sleuthing in which the locale is etched with precision and the city of Istanbul becomes an indispensable character and adjunct to the action’

‘Really refreshing to encounter something as idiosyncratic and evocative among debut novels as Barbara Nadel’s Istanbul-set thriller’

‘The delight of the Nadel book is the sense of being taken beneath the surface of an ancient city which most visitors see for a few days at most. We look into the alleyways and curious dark quarters of Istanbul, full of complex characters and louche atmosphere’

‘Part of its appeal is the exotic settings and characters, especially the colourful little cameos which remain in the memory’

‘One of the most intriguing detectives in contemporary crime fiction . . . The backdrop of Istanbul makes for a fantastic setting’

‘My reader rates this author higher than Donna Leon’

‘The dark, Byzantine plot springs organically from the tensions of race and class in Turkish society, which is treated with a depth and detail unusual in a crime novel’

‘As dark and multi-plotted as Ian Rankin’s tales of Edinburgh . . . Istanbul is the perfect city for Byzantine intrigue and
Harem
makes full use of this’

‘Few can capture the magic mystery of Istanbul like Nadel as she delves once more into its darkened heart with a faithful friend in İkmen as our guide’

‘Superbly written’

‘Intriguing, exotic . . . exciting, accomplished and original’

‘A bewitching style . . . a story that carries the reader forward willingly along until the well-sprung denouement’

‘Barbara Nadel continues to go from strength to strength with her atmospheric and idiosyncratic Istanbul-set thrillers . . . one of the most original crime series currently in progress’

‘As before Nadel presents a gallery of richly created characters along with the superb scene-setting we have come to expect from her’

‘Intelligent and captivating mystery’

This book is dedicated to everyone who so generously shared

their
iftar
meals with me during Ramazan 2003.

This book would never have been written without the help and inspiration provided by the people of Cappadocia. Both locals and incomers were endlessly generous and kind to me and for that I remain most grateful.

I am particularly indebted to Ruth, Faruk, Jeyda, and Hüseyin from Tribal Collections for their wealth of local knowledge and wonderful company. Thanks also to Ruth for taking the time to proof-read
Dance with Death
for me. Other heroic figures include Dawn and family at the Köse Pansiyan and Ali from the Kelebek, my neighbours during my stay in the land of the fairy chimneys.

Very big thanks also go to Pat who, like Ruth, proof-read
Dance with Death
and always made helpful suggestions. Big gratitude goes in addition to Pat for letting me stay in her beautiful house with Baris, Zeytin, Aslan, the ‘one I called Arthur’ and, at times, the mysterious Kismet too.

I had great fun with the lovely Caroline, experienced the grace and charm of Faruk’s wonderful family on several enjoyable occasions and had a marvellous balloon flight courtesy of Kapadokya Balloons. Thanks to Lars and Kaili for making that flight so special for me, and by extension, for Çetin İkmen too.

List of Characters

Çetin İkmen
– middle-aged İstanbul police inspector

Mehmet Süleyman
– İstanbul police inspector, İkmen’s protégé

Commissioner Ardiç
– İkmen and Süleyman’s boss

Sergeant Ayşe Farsakoğlu
– İkmen’s deputy

Sergeant İzzet Melik
– Süleyman’s deputy

Dr Arto Sarkissian
– İstanbul police pathologist

Fatma İkmen
– Çetin’s wife

Hulya İkmen Cohen
– Çetin and Fatma’s daughter

Berekiah Cohen
– Hulya’s husband

Balthazar and Estelle Cohen
– Berekiah’s parents

Zelfa Halman Süleyman
– Mehmet Süleyman’s wife

Abdullah Aydın
– injured victim of the criminal known as the ‘peeper’

Mürsel Bey
– louche habitué of the Saray Hamam

Mensure Tokatlı
– Çetin İkmen’s cousin, hotelier

Captain Altay Salman
– police riding school instructor

Ferhat Salman
– Altay’s nephew, a jandarma

Inspector Erten
– police officer from Nevşehir

Haldun Alkaya
– victim Aysu Alkaya’s father

Kemalettin Senar
– Aysu Alkaya’s old sweetheart

Turgut Senar
– a guide, Kemalettin’s brother

Nalan Senar
– Kemalettin and Turgut’s mother

Nazlı Kahraman
– daughter of the businessman Ziya Kahraman who had been married to Aysu Alkaya

Baha Ermis
– Nazlı Kahraman’s foreman

Dolores Lavell
– American tourist

Tom Chambers
– young English tourist

Rachelle Jones
– Australian resident of Muratpaşa

‘I’m not sure that I should be here with him,’ the prettier of the two girls whispered nervously.

Her friend, accustomed to these – to her – fussy little strictures, said, ‘It’s only Ferhat.’

They both turned to look at a young man in uniform shining a pencil torch up at the ceiling.

‘Mum wouldn’t have let me come out here without him,’ the second girl said. ‘Anyone could be lurking out in a place like this.’

‘Yes, but Hande, he’s also a jandarma. My mum would go mad . . .’

‘Ferhat is my cousin, Türkân,’ Hande said firmly. ‘He wouldn’t do anything to either of us. He is an honourable boy.’

Türkân hung her brightly headscarved head just a little and murmured, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s OK,’ her uncovered friend replied, kindly. ‘I’m not trying to make you do anything against Islam, Türkân, honestly. But if we want to come out here, we do have to be safe, don’t we?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hey, come over and look at this,’ Ferhat said as he shone his torch down into what looked like a deep, black hole.

The two girls walked across the uneven surface of the floor and joined him.

‘What is it?’ Hande asked, placing, just lightly, one hand on her cousin’s arm.

‘I think it might be a fresco,’ Ferhat said. ‘Even now people are still discovering new ones in these things.’

‘How busy those old Christians must have been!’ Hande said.

Ferhat laughed, ‘Busy Christians!’ he said. ‘Just like Mr Dimitri. Do you remember him, Hande? The old Greek who ran the flower shop at the end of my road? Working day and night, all hours.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Hande said, her eyes lighting with excitement as she did so. ‘He always had the most beautiful blooms, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Always such pretty flowers in İstanbul.’

And then for a moment they both became quiet, seemingly lost in their thoughts and memories. Hande and her family had moved from İstanbul to the small Cappadocian village of Muratpaşa just over a year before. Her father, who was an equestrian trainer for the police, had been sent to the area to take charge of a new facility just outside the regional capital of Nevşehir. He was very happy with all his new horses, his eager, if raw, recruits, and his man’s world of flying gallops, football talk and rakı. Hande and her mother were, however, another matter. Unaccustomed to the restrictions of village life they both missed the glittering shops of İstanbul, the music in the streets and the easy access the city affords to entertainment. Until Ferhat had, quite coincidentally, been posted to the local gendarmerie, both Hande and her mother had felt more at home with the tourists who came to the area to see the weird, lunar landscape that Cappadocia is famous for than they did with the ‘locals’. Türkân was a good friend and the only girl Hande could really relate to at High School, but she was very, very different to herself, as this current trip out was demonstrating. Türkân, though interested in the frescos that Ferhat was pointing out, was neither comfortable with him nor with the ancient Christian paintings he was looking at.