Harem (12 page)

‘Allah?’ Hulya shook her head. ‘You know I think that religion is awful, Dad. Dr Halman once told me that when she was a girl in Ireland, women couldn’t have abortions even if they were very sick, because of religion. I don’t know how Mum can go along with religion. She’s not stupid, is she?’

İkmen laughed. ‘No, she isn’t,’ he said, ‘which is why she only pays attention to the bits of Islam that she likes. Turkish women are, on the whole, very sensible, Hulya. Like your mother, many of them pray, stay indoors to care for their families and rule their homes like empresses. If you notice, I challenge your mother only on very big issues concerning our children, and that is all. She rules me and she can vote just like I do too.’

‘Yes, but Dad, if the Republic doesn’t have a religion, which we’re told that it doesn’t—’

‘Look, Hulya,’ İkmen said gravely, ‘somehow we’re moving into politics here. I didn’t want to, but . . . Democracies only strive towards the ideals inherent in that word. Nowhere is, I believe, truly democratic. But one thing that the nominally democratic have to do is they have to listen to and accommodate lots of differing views. Religious people, secular moralists, myself, we all have our view.’

‘Yes, but what if I don’t like a certain view?’

‘Then when the time comes you vote for a party that opposes that view,’ İkmen said.

‘Yes, but what if—’

‘Look, if you don’t like something, then you oppose it in whatever way you feel is right. I oppose what some people may think about Hatice and I will fight, within the law, to prove that her attackers are dangerous and deserving of punishment. What I can’t do is change what others think or prevent whatever effect that might have on my investigation.’

‘But—’

‘But if anyone does try to convince me that this case is not worth pursuing, I will fight and if I can’t go on, I will pursue Hatice’s attackers in my own time.’ İkmen put out his cigarette, and took another swig from his bottle. Hulya, who had been watching her father’s face harden with the force of his conviction, reached across and took his free hand in hers.

Something big was happening – something quite separate from the investigation into Hatice İpek’s death. Tepe was glad. He hadn’t needed Constable Yıldız questioning him first thing in the morning. Especially in view of the fact that the questions involved recent events at the Sultanahmet pastane.

‘So you saw Ekrem and Celal Müren and one of their boys at the pastane. So what?’

‘They were talking to Şeker’s wife,’ Yıldız said.

Tepe shrugged. ‘So? Did you hear what they were saying to her? Were they threatening her?’

‘Well I didn’t actually hear . . .’

‘Then don’t worry about it,’ Tepe said.

He had then left Yıldız, who still looked very unsure. Now, however, both he and Yıldız had other things to think about. Ardıç had summoned them all to talk about the fact that the Beyazıt district had been practically disassembled during the night. Or so rumour had it. Why this had happened nobody knew or was prepared to say, except that it was about something ‘big’.

When Tepe entered the squad room both the level of activity and noise told him that Ardıç hadn’t yet appeared. Neither, as far as he could see, had İkmen. After just a brief nod at Ayşe Farsakoǧlu, Tepe picked up a stray newspaper and settled himself down in a corner of the room.

People didn’t usually sit in Commissioner Ardıç’s office – not unless he invited them to do so. On this occasion, however, he was prepared to make an exception. And so when a pale and drawn-looking Metin İskender entered his office and sat down without being invited, Ardıç made no comment. The man had, after all, been up all night, shouting and threatening his way through the illegal brothels, lower level gangster dens and drug operations of Beyazıt district. He had singularly failed to locate Kaycee Sivas or even acquire any information about a beautiful unnamed American woman. But he and his men had arrested several people wanted for other offences plus they had taken possession of a quantity of cocaine. İskender had, as ever, thrown himself into his work with a will.

Almost immediately after İskender arrived, İkmen appeared. He looked troubled, and Ardıç suspected that before their meeting was over he was going to look even more concerned. As İkmen, following İskender’s example, sat down in the commissioner’s presence, Ardıç considered how he might avoid a confrontation with his most experienced and successful detective. Basically he couldn’t, but he would need to bring İkmen up to speed with events first and so he opted to do this before entering into any uncomfortable specifics.

‘As you know, İkmen,’ he said, ‘I have ordered all available officers to a briefing downstairs.’

‘Presumably it’s about what happened in Beyazıt last night,’ İkmen responded and then turning to İskender he said, ‘Quite an event, I understand.’

İskender sniffed and turned his head away. He was only too aware of İkmen’s dislike for big, violent operations which, the older man felt, only served to drive the most seasoned criminals further underground.

Ardıç, ignoring the tension between his two officers, continued, ‘Last night, İkmen, was all about our attempting to locate a kidnap victim.’ He passed a photograph of a young, willowy blonde across the desk. ‘Kaycee Sivas was abducted from her brother-in-law’s car at approximately four forty-five yesterday afternoon. It happened outside the Antik Leather Boutique on Fetihbey Caddesi.’

‘Which is in Beyazıt.’

‘Which is in Beyazıt.’ Ardıç paused to light a cigar. ‘An area not unfamiliar with criminal activity, including kidnap. However, what makes this kidnap a little different is that the woman involved is an American. She is also the wife of the Hollywood movie star, Hikmet Sivas, or Ali Bey as was. Her husband was in the car, together with his brother, when Mrs Sivas was dragged from the vehicle. According to Sivas two, maybe three, men were involved. They dragged Mrs Sivas from the car and disappeared into the crowd.’

İskender turned to face İkmen. ‘You won’t be surprised to learn that nobody saw or heard anything,’ he said.

İkmen grimaced.

Ardıç cleared his throat. ‘Now as you can imagine, İkmen, this is big news,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t broken yet, but it will soon and when it does we need to be ready. Beyazıt, as you know, received considerable attention from us during the night but so far we’ve come up with nothing. I, not to mention our masters in the capital, want this woman found. I want no excuses, no expense spared and I want every available officer working on this.’

‘But I’m already working on a case, sir. Hatice İpek—’

‘Who Dr Sarkissian tells me died of natural causes,’ Ardıç countered. ‘Yes, İkmen, I do know. I telephoned him this morning in order to find out whether the girl had been murdered. I needed to discover whether you were free to lead this new investigation alongside Inspector İskender.’

İkmen opened his mouth to speak but was silenced when Ardıç held up one of his large hands.

‘The girl died naturally, İkmen, there was no murder. You are therefore free to assist in the hunt for Kaycee Sivas.’

‘But sir, murder or no murder, the girl was brutally raped, cut and buggered and her body concealed after her death. A crime has been committed.’

‘Yes, but not a murder!’ Ardıç shifted his large behind agitatedly in his seat. Why couldn’t İkmen just get on and do as he was told without all this argument! Why, come to that, did he himself argue with İkmen?

‘Look, İkmen,’ he said, ‘the İpek girl was not, we know, a nice girl. Young as she was, she was not a virgin. For all we know, she liked it rough.’

‘Dr Sarkissian believes there were several men.’

‘Some men will pay good money for brutal sex. It went wrong. The desecration of the corpse and its concealment tell us that. Of course I believe that whoever did this needs to be caught and punished, but if the girl was having sex anyway—’

‘Sir, I don’t believe she consented to it. The place she was found, the clothes she was wearing—’

‘You will join Inspector İskender in the search for Kaycee Sivas and that is final!’ Ardıç yelled, now finally roused to fury.

İkmen sprang to his feet. ‘Oh, I see. And what am I to tell Mrs İpek? What am I to tell the bereaved family and friends of Hatice? Your girl was a whore and she deserved everything she got?’

‘When he returns to duty Inspector Süleyman will be assigned to the İpek case, such as it is.’

İkmen shook his head in disbelief. ‘Inspector Süleyman won’t be back this week, sir.’

‘I am aware of that, İkmen.’

‘By which time—’

‘Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you! This case is my priority now! This case involves somebody who might, if we are very fortunate, still be alive!’ Up on his feet now, Ardıç pointed his smouldering cigar directly at İkmen’s face. ‘You will do your duty as I dictate and you will support me when we go downstairs and talk to my men.’ And then shifting his gaze from İkmen’s furious face to İskender’s passive features. ‘If you would like to go and tell them that we are on our way, please, Inspector.’

Wearily İskender pulled himself upright. ‘Yes, sir.’

When he had left the office and shut the door behind him, Ardıç moved towards İkmen. Taking İkmen’s thin shoulders roughly in his meaty hands he held him firmly as he said, ‘Of course the truth is that I don’t think İskender can do this without you, İkmen.’

Çetin İkmen was not a man easily taken in by flattery and just snorted by way of reply.

‘He’s very young, he can be impulsive and his manner is not attractive.’

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with this particular line of argument, Ardıç sat down once again and looked at the floor. It was at this point that he assumed his most casual tone.

‘What İskender does know, however, is that Hikmet Sivas is hiding something. He doesn’t know what it is—’

‘Then how does he know he’s hiding something?’ İkmen said. ‘Does he have a feeling, an intuition?’

‘I don’t know, İkmen,’ Ardıç said as he gathered up everything he needed for the meeting, ‘It is a fact that Mr Sivas’ brother did try to stop him talking to our officer at the scene. A little strange, I feel. Perhaps if you were to talk to Mr Sivas and his brother yourself . . .’

İkmen knew exactly what his superior was trying to do – piquing his interest – which Ardıç had done. İkmen knew that İskender was not one to give in easily to gut feelings like this, but he had to have them, as all officers did, from time to time. Not that that was relevant; İkmen knew he had to involve himself in this case whether he wanted to or not. It was probably best to pretend he had fallen for Ardıç’s clumsy ruse. Then when he was off duty he could do as he pleased, hopefully without questions from Ardıç. In this way it might be possible to continue to investigate Hatice’s death and find Kaycee Sivas too. When he would sleep he didn’t know, but he’d sort that out some other time. The important thing was to discover who had assaulted Hatice and why. He had made a promise to both Hürrem İpek and his own daughter, and rich American or no rich American, he was going to honour it.

So İkmen smiled at Ardıç and said that he would go and talk to the Sivas family as soon as the briefing was over. He’d had an argument, calmed down and been mollified by a man who thought that he was under his control. And as Ardıç left the room with İkmen respectfully at his heels, the commissioner did indeed feel that he had won. But then this, or rather events like this had happened before – events after which İkmen had gone off and done what he wanted to do anyway. Therefore in order to cover just such an eventuality, Ardıç did take the precaution of turning on İkmen yet again, just before they reached their destination.

Zelfa looked down at the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms and felt nothing except despair. Yes, she could see that he was beautiful and, yes, she was amazed that she could have produced such a perfect late baby. But she didn’t feel anything for him. He was there in much the same way as the tube that drained fluid from the site of her operation – something produced by and part of the hospital. When she left she knew that little Yusuf İzzeddin would, unlike the tube, go with her. But she didn’t really want him to. Her stomach, which had never in truth been exactly flat, now looked like an enormous deflated bladder, saggy and wrinkled. On the few occasions they had allowed her to get out of bed – they were old-fashioned about bed rest here – she had felt it flop against the tops of her legs, all limp and slimy with sweat.

And he, Yusuf İzzeddin, her baby, had done this. Of course the logical part of her knew that he hadn’t. Both as a doctor and as a woman she knew that she and her husband had actually done this to her. But she couldn’t blame Mehmet because she loved him, and as for blaming herself, well, that was just faulty thinking, wasn’t it? Self blame was pointless, useless – she always told her patients they should have no time for it. It crossed her mind that perhaps this was post-natal depression, but as quickly as the thought came, Zelfa dismissed it. To dignify her feelings with the status of a clinical condition this early on in motherhood was absurd. And yet there was no doubt that she was miserable. Although she managed to keep herself together whenever her husband was with her, as soon as he left she descended into often uncontrollable weeping. Her father was aware of her feelings but, strangely for him, he wasn’t much use. But then the aunts were probably to blame for that.

Babur Halman had two sisters, Alev and Zehra, both older and far more outspoken than their brother. Governed by tradition and religious customs that Babur had largely either lost or forgotten during the years he had lived and worked in Ireland, Alev and Zehra had been quick to advise Zelfa about the ‘right way’ to look after babies. Despite temperatures in excess of forty-five degrees, the child needed to be kept away from draughts and swaddled as tightly as was safe. This, without any reference to Zelfa, the two sisters did while at the same time reminding their niece that when she did finally leave hospital she would have to stay indoors with little Yusuf İzzeddin for at least a month. Babies were susceptible to all sorts of evil forces during the first forty days of life.