Deadline (22 page)

‘Look up the name of the managing
director,’ Ardıç said. ‘I need a telephone number or an address or both.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The young man began to do those things on the computer that Ardıç was in the habit of describing as ‘arcane’ and so the commissioner stood up and walked away.

Ay
ş
e Farsako
ğ
lu left
İ
zzet Melik to stand beside Ardıç. She said, ‘Sir, this samovar thing could be meaningless.’

He looked at her with red, watery eyes and said, ‘If it was meaningful enough to make you walk back to the Pera Palas and look through the windows then it is not something I intend to leave uninvestigated. And anyway, it concerns Ersoy. You and I both remember that, don’t we, Sergeant?’ Then he waved her away. ‘I must try and explain this to Commander
İ
pek. I do believe he thinks we may all have gone mad.’

Ay
ş
e returned to
İ
zzet who was staring at her with unusually emotionless eyes. ‘But you didn’t just go back because of the samovar, did you?’ he said.

She didn’t reply. She made an attempt to walk past him but
İ
zzet caught her arm. ‘It was to see
him
, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘Because
he’s
still in your head.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me that it isn’t so, Ay
ş
e.’

She raised her head and looked
at him but she couldn’t speak. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she felt a tenderness for him that made her put a hand up to his cheek. But he pushed her away.

‘You can’t tell me that I’m wrong, can you?’
İ
zzet whispered. ‘Because I’m not. Are you still in love with him or is he just a fantasy that you can’t get over?’

Again, Ay
ş
e had nothing to say. She didn’t know. Mehmet Süleyman was not a man she liked, but did she love him? Or did she just obsess about him because of who he was and what he looked like? Or was it perhaps that he represented all the aspirations she’d had as a girl about being loved by a tall, dark, exciting man?

‘I won’t stand for it,’
İ
zzet said into her ear. Some of their fellow officers as well as a few of the Special Forces men were looking at them now. It wasn’t comfortable.

‘
İ
zzet, I—’

‘Commissioner, I’ve got a name and a district,’ the constable at the computer said.

Ardıç lumbered over and stood behind the young man. Ay
ş
e and
İ
zzet separated, both trying to concentrate on things other than their own feelings.

‘The managing director of Fener Maritime lives in Yeniköy,’ the constable said. ‘His name is Yiannis Istefanopoulos.’

The name meant nothing to
anyone. But Ardıç told
İ
zzet Melik to get in his car and drive to Yeniköy while officers back at the station identified his actual address and telephone number. If nothing else, Mr Istefanopoulos would need to check and see whether his gold samovar was where he usually kept it.

Even though it was cold, Nar felt
so much better wearing her thin, satin dress than she had done in that heavy jumpsuit. It was the dead time of night, almost 4 a.m., and she was with a Special Forces officer who looked about half her age. They kept low as they ran underneath the hotel’s windows, Nar scanning the area continuously for her discarded shoes. They were fake Jimmy Choos and she loved them. What she wasn’t quite so keen on was the idea of being ‘debriefed’. The officer who had changed places with her in the kitchen had passed her on to this kid who had told her that she had to be debriefed about her time in the hotel.

There was a lot to tell but really Nar had to get back to work. Even at 4 a.m. there were still punters on the streets and, apart from anything else, the other girls would be wondering where she’d got to. But she had no choice in the matter. This kid was taking her to Sergeant Farsako
ğ
lu and her superiors and that was that. As they passed underneath the windows of the bar, she was tempted to look
in and see if that dead body that had started this whole adventure off was still there. But she resisted the urge. She still looked for her shoes but she didn’t find them. Nar eventually came to the conclusion that some thieving bastard must have picked them up and taken them home.

When she finally reached the pub opposite the Pera Palas (where she sometimes took the odd drink or two) Nar immediately recognised the man they all knew as Hüseyin Hikmet. Not that he recognised her. He just looked horrified. Nar said to him, ‘Oh, grow up. You know that given half a chance you would.’

‘So you are Nar.’

She turned and saw a fat man smoking a cigar standing behind her.

‘I am Commissioner Ardıç,’ he said. ‘We have a lot to thank you for and, I am afraid, a lot of questions to ask you.’

Over Ardıç’s shoulder, Nar saw Ay
ş
e Farsako
ğ
lu and smiled, but the policewoman did not smile back. In fact she looked as if she was about to cry. Nar extended her hand to Ardıç, which he, rather haltingly, shook. ‘No problem,’ Nar said. ‘Only two conditions.’

‘Conditions?’

‘This is a bar, so I’d like a vodka and Fanta, and I want to be able to smoke in here,’ she said.

Ardıç put his cigar into his mouth and puffed. Then he took it out and said to
one of the police officers across the room, ‘Yıldız, will you get this lady a vodka and Fanta now.’

Nar smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome.’ Ardıç guided Nar over to a table by one of the windows overlooking the Pera Palas and introduced her to a thin, fit-looking man in his fifties. This was Commander
İ
pek. He looked more than a little stunned, but Nar smiled at him anyway, even though he visibly cringed.

Once her vodka and Fanta had arrived, Nar took a very long slug, lit up a cigarette and then said, ‘So what do you want to know?’

‘Firstly, Nar,’ Ardıç said, ‘I’d like to know whether at any time while you were in the hotel you heard anyone say the name Muhammed Ersoy?’

Nar thought. It was a name she knew, although she didn’t know where from. She was pretty sure it wasn’t from the Pera Palas. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mmm. Not important at the moment,’ Ardıç said. ‘Now what about this fake blood?’

‘Those people, the . . . the gunmen, and woman, were supposed to have killed some of the guests when they first arrived,’ Nar said. ‘Before I got in there. But then later your Inspector
İ
kmen got really angry with the leader about the fact that the
blood that was supposed to have come from the victims was fake.’

‘Do you know how Inspector
İ
kmen knew about this?’

‘There’s a couple of doctors with him. One of them told him.’

‘And did you see the gunman’s response?’ Commander
İ
pek asked.

‘Yes.’

‘What was it?’

Nar took another gulp from her glass, dragged on her cigarette and said, ‘Nothing. Didn’t say a thing. Although I can tell you that the Kalashnikov I had was loaded with real ammunition, not blanks. I did my military service. I know these things.’

‘But the gunman wasn’t disturbed.’

‘Nah! But then they’re all the same, aren’t they, that type?’ Nar said.

‘What type?’

‘Puritans,’ she said.

‘What do you mean by puritans?’ Ardıç asked. ‘Do you mean religious fundamentalists?’ Hüseyin Hikmet seemed to be one of those.

It was a question that Nar had been asking herself the whole time she was with the gunmen. On the one hand they had discouraged the guests from drinking alcohol. With the exception of one young man she’d seen in the kitchen when she and Ay
ş
e had first got in there, they didn’t smoke, and none of the gang
had, while she had been looking at them, eaten or drunk anything. On the other hand, they hadn’t made any religious or nationalistic pronouncements and the woman she had shared guard duty with in the ballroom had actively admired some of the female guests’ clothes. She had also said that a woman should only wear diamonds.

‘To be honest, I don’t know,’ Nar said. She relayed her thoughts and observations.

There was a pause.

Then Commander
İ
pek turned to Commissioner Ardıç and said, ‘Do you know what this reminds me of?’

‘No. What does it remind you of?’

Commander
İ
pek bit his bottom lip and then he said, ‘That film. The one where people in an office block are taken hostage but what it is really all about is a robbery. It’s American, quite old—’

‘Die Hard,’
Nar said. ‘I loved that film! Although I didn’t like the bit where Bruce Willis cut his feet open on all that glass, that was horrible.’

‘It was based upon a misdirection, a crime committed to cover another crime.’

‘A robbery,’ Ardıç said. ‘Mmm.’ Then he looked at Nar again and said, ‘Did you, during your travels around that hotel, ever see a golden samovar?’

Nar frowned. ‘A golden samovar? What, you mean made of actual gold?’

‘Yes.’

She shook
her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d remember that if I’d seen it.’ Then she laughed. ‘I might even have had it away myself!’

Mehmet Süleyman watched Lale Aktar go with one of the gunmen. Down to the toilets again. The stress was making her feel sick. He turned to
İ
kmen. ‘We need some sort of break,’ he said.

Usually during the course of an investigation they had access to a range of media, forensic evidence and the benefit of being able to converse freely. They also had time. But not here.

‘The only person we can definitively place at the scene is Lale Aktar,’
İ
kmen said. ‘But I am extremely wary of pointing the finger at her because she is far too obvious a choice. This is, after all, a game to these people. And besides, if Lale Aktar did kill Söner Erkan, we have to accept that she is one of these people.’

‘You don’t think she is?’

‘I didn’t say that. She’s not being entirely straight with us, I feel,’
İ
kmen said. ‘But I don’t think she killed the boy.’

‘Unless it’s a double bluff.’ Süleyman turned away briefly and then said to the cameraman whose head was almost in his face, ‘Can you back off!’

The man
pulled away. Süleyman shook his head in frustration.

‘I’m going to interview all those people who were out of the ballroom when Mrs Aktar found the body,’
İ
kmen said.

‘The actors.’

‘No, not the actors,’
İ
kmen said. He picked up Krikor Sarkissian’s guest list from the table and looked at it. ‘Anyone who isn’t an actor.’

‘Hoping to find what?’ Arto Sarkissian said.

‘I don’t know,’
İ
kmen replied.

‘But if Lale Aktar didn’t kill Söner Erkan and she didn’t see anyone else in her room . . .’ Arto continued.

‘The room was dark,’ Süleyman said.

‘And we only have Mrs Aktar’s word that she didn’t see anyone in her room,’
İ
kmen said.

‘I still can’t work out how she got blood on her shoes,’ Arto said.

‘Yes, blood does seem to be a bit of a problem for Mrs Aktar all round.’

Everyone except Hovsep Pars looked at
İ
kmen.

Süleyman frowned. ‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that I need to talk to quite a few people in a short space of time and then I need to speak to Mrs Aktar,’
İ
kmen answered obscurely.

İ
zzet
Melik got back into his car and picked up his mobile phone. The pretty Bosphorus village of Yeniköy was peaceful and most of the houses were dark, with the exception of the massive yalı he had just been inside.

He called Ardıç. ‘Yiannis Istefanopoulos is not at home in Yeniköy,’ he said. ‘I’ve just spoken to his housekeeper and I’ve had a look around the place too.’

‘Do you know where he is?’ Ardıç asked.

‘According to the housekeeper, he’s at a function at the Pera Palas Hotel,’
İ
zzet said.

He heard Ardıç draw in a deep breath. ‘So both Istefanopoulos and his samovar are in the hotel.’

‘Potentially, yes.’

‘All right.’ Ardıç cut the connection.

İ
zzet turned the key in the ignition and put the car into first gear. Then he stopped. He couldn’t really see to drive properly because his eyes were so full of tears. He had so wanted to marry Ay
ş
e! He had so looked forward to it! But if she was still in love with Mehmet Süleyman then it was all over. It had to be. He couldn’t share Ay
ş
e with anyone.

The Pera Palas Hotel concierge, Saffet Güler, had been behind his desk in reception when Söner Erkan was murdered. The first thing he’d known about it was when he saw Lale Aktar running down the stairs into the Kubbeli Saloon covered in blood. He’d taken over from the previous concierge at 10 p.m. But he didn’t know anything about any golden samovar.

‘Do
you keep records of deliveries made to guests?’
İ
kmen asked.

‘Of course,’ Saffet Güler said. ‘And whenever I come on shift I always check to see whether there are any outstanding deliveries either to guests or to hotel staff.’

‘You check on computer?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘I need to see your system,’
İ
kmen said.

The leader of the gunmen approached them. ‘I’ll take you out to the lobby,’ he said.

İ
kmen, Güler and the gunman left the Kubbeli Saloon.

Having questioned and then dispensed with Rauf Özal, the car dealer from Ni
ş
anta
ş
ı, who had been having an unauthorised cigarette in the Patisserie de Pera – from where he claimed to have seen Saffet Güler the concierge – Süleyman and the Sarkissians were now interrogating a friend. David Bonomo was a secretary at the office of the Chief Rabbi of
İ
stanbul. He was someone they had all known for many years.

‘There’s no polite way of putting this,’ David said as he looked up at the man with the camera on his helmet. ‘I have irritable bowel syndrome. Usually I take a dose of anti-diarrhoea medication before I go out to eat, but this time . . .’ He shrugged. ‘While that poor boy was dying upstairs, I was down in the toilet thinking I was dying.’