The Prophet Murders (16 page)

“I’ll wash you,” I offered.

I wasn’t sure how the thought popped into my head, but I was willing to go through with it. If things got out of hand, I could always hold his head under the water.

His eyes sparkled with excitement.

“There’s no way my mother would allow that.”

Without giving me a chance to respond he quickly wheeled himself over to the door, where he called for his mother. She appeared instantly. They disappeared into the bathroom together.

They had provided me with an unexpected opportunity. I quickly sat down at the computer. I calculated it would take more than just a few minutes to bathe a cripple. In the meantime, I intended to conduct a thorough investigation of the contents of Kemal’s computer.

He used a broadband internet connection. If I wished, I could transfer the entire contents of his computer to my computer.

First I checked the security system. It was flawless. The security programs he had installed would also serve to cover my tracks. In other words, Jihad2000 himself had in effect enabled me to snoop on him undetected.

The connection was fast and powerful. First I mailed all Frechen-related files to myself. I was guilty of industrial espionage, but it sure beat having to hack the company later. I’d have a good look at all the files in the comfort of my own home. For now, I just copied what I found. There was an enormous dossier in which he’d filed all the information he had on me. I, of course, sent them all to myself. Then deleted them. I then made it impossible for him to download any of the files again.

Sounds of running water continued to come from the bathroom. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but systematically scanned whatever I found. My eye was caught by some copied porn. Just as I expected: rough-looking men, women with enormous breasts and leather outfits, whips, high-heeled boots . . . There was no point in wasting more time on these images. I’d have to find whatever I was looking for before the bath was finished.

A bit of excitement is a wonderful thing. It increases the flow of adrenalin. I felt beads of sweat on my forehead. It was the first time I’d done anything like this. And it was so exhilarating!

There were hundreds of files and dossiers with numerical codes, rather than names. I would have to open each one to find out what they contained. The desk was also littered with dozens of CD-Roms. The overwhelming amount of material I needed to investigate just excited me more.

The water was turned off in the bathroom. How long would the drying process take? That’s all the time I would have. I tapped away at the keyboard as fast as possible. Dossiers opened and closed. I couldn’t keep up with the number of new windows popping up on the screen. And all of a sudden the name Adem Yildiz appeared before me. I sent off the entire dossier.

It was a bigger file than I’d expected. It was taking a long time to mail. I’d be caught red-handed if it didn’t finish soon. The last thing I needed was to make a mortal enemy of a crazed hacker like Jihad2000 Kemal.

The sound of running water started up again. He was probably getting a shave. His mother came out of the bathroom. I identified her from the sound of her footsteps. She couldn’t see me from the hall, but she might poke her head into the room.

I concealed all signs of my activities. And, as expected, his mother suddenly arrived carrying two cups of tea.

“Kemal is shaving. He’ll be back in a second.”

No, I didn’t take sugar. She stirred two cubes into his tea and left it on the desk I’d just vacated.

“I’m fixing breakfast. You’ll join us, won’t you?”

“I ate before I came,” I told her. “Thank you. Tea will be all for me.”

Kemal entered as his mother left. He’d nicked his chin. The cut was covered with a large piece of cotton wool.

“I hope you haven’t been bored,” he said. “There’s plenty here to keep you busy.”

He winked as he said this. His wet hair looked as though it had been doused with grease.

I didn’t know what exactly I had stumbled across, but I’d certainly found something. I regretted having destroyed the files he kept on me. He would be sure to catch on. And then he’d become a true foe. It wasn’t a clever thing to do. The time had come for a confession.

“I came across my name. You’ve certainly gathered a lot of information about me.”

The mother arrived with a tray, interrupting me. I couldn’t exactly keep confessing with her there.

“It took me quite some time,” said Kemal with a laugh.

“Such a long time to gather it all.”

Kemal’s mother deposited the tray next to her son. Switching into classic Turkish hospitality mode, she began pestering me.

“My son, you really should eat something.” I was full, but the smell of freshly toasted bread was appetising.

Jihad2000 was unlikely to continue grinning when he realised that all those painstakingly collected files had disappeared.

Fortunately, his mother left.

“I destroyed them all,” I continued.

The smile froze on his lips.

“I mean, it wasn’t very nice of you to access all of that information without my knowledge. It’s like being spied on. It’s a horrible feeling. I felt terrible. So I just deleted them all.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

He was right. I’d been a fool. I smiled weakly. I tried to look as seductive as possible, but probably resembled Woody Allen.

He suddenly burst into laughter.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “I’m not angry. I’ve got copies of everything in any case. It’s all on discs. It’ll take me ten seconds to reload them.”

The scene had been set. I would have to give another performance in order to win his forgiveness. And my leather costume had whetted his appetite even further. What was my unconscious mind thinking when I selected this outfit?

As he ate his breakfast, he began telling me what he’d learned.

“I traced all those nicknames you gave me to the same place,” he said. “I mean, Starman and *adam are the same person. They’re both Adem Yildiz!”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Of the Yildiz markets?”

“That’s it,” he continued. “And not just the markets, the whole huge group of companies.”

“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help resorting to theatricality. I hadn’t wanted to be the one to bring up the name of Adem Yildiz.

“Everything is connected to him,” he continued. “I didn’t even bother tracking it all. They hired me as a consultant when they set up their system. I know it all like the back of my hand. It doesn’t matter where he gets online or the nick he chooses, I recognize him immediately from the tracking codes I installed.”

“Unbelievable,” I said, true to my role.

He was good. I also did consulting for computer systems, but I’d never even considered engaging in such tricks. I’ve never been particularly eager to figure out who gets online, and where.

“The system is a basic one,” he said. “You give each user an invisible tail. They can’t access anything without going through the main computer. It’s then easy enough to trace them by locating the tail. Easy for me, anyway, not for anyone else.”

“What about ‘red star’,” I asked. “Who is that?”

“Ah, that’s a funny one,” he said. “It might be Adem Yildiz, but I’m not sure. Whoever it is gets online using different passwords and market systems. I was going to track him down last night, but I had other work to do.”

He winked again.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Frechen approached you first, then they found me.”

“Fine,” I responded.

“I arranged for them to find me,” he said triumphantly.

“When you hesitated to make them a proposal I approached them directly. I introduced myself. And I got the job.”

“Ali won’t be happy about that,” I informed him.

“You mean that money-grubbing slime-ball of yours,” he asked.

“I wouldn’t say ‘slime-ball’,” I corrected him.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“That’s none of your business,” I said. “Now, what were you saying about Adem Yildiz?”

“You’re sleeping with him all right,” he concluded. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said that.”

He was baiting me. That was obvious. He’d finished eating and had moved on to his sexual hunger, hoping I’d get angry enough to smack him around.

“Adem Yildiz?’’ I persisted.

“Both nicks are definitely his,” he said. “I know him. He’s a real piece of filth. His father struggled to make a man of him, but it didn’t do much good. Whenever daddy’s around he’s just as good as can be. Obeys orders, tags along to Friday prayers. He’s even been to Mecca once. But when daddy’s away, it’s time to play. And he’s as degenerate as they come.”

It was all I could do not to reveal Adem Yildiz’s tricks in bed.

“You seem to know an awful lot about him,” I prodded.

“I saw him at work. He treated me like scum. When he paid my fee he acted like I was some charity case. That’s partly why I decided to trace him.”

“What about the other nicks?” I asked. “I told you, ‘kizil yildiz’ is someone from the market chain.”

“And the others?” I continued. “What about ‘Adam Star’?”

“He’s one of them. But it’s not Adem Yildiz. Someone from a subsidiary company is using that nick. He gets online from all over the place. Someone who travels a lot.”

“I’m impressed,” I told him. The subsidiary companies he referred to could well be Astro Shipping or Star Air. Which meant it could be Fehmi
enyürek. There’s also a chance that Adem used that nick when he visited those companies.

It was clear from his expectant expression that all of his attention was now focused on me, waiting for the reward we’d agreed on. I was considering the best way to either get started or to make an escape.

The snoop of a mother came to the rescue. “Kemal, I’m off to the shops. You’re with your friend. He’ll give you a hand if you need anything. You will help him, won’t you, my son?”

“Of course,” I said.

“I won’t be long.” The minute his mother stepped out the door the glint returned to Kemal’s eyes.

“That’s not all I’ve learned.”

“Go on, tell me the rest,” I urged him.

In order to enhance the mood, I leaned back on the bed, stretching slightly. I was fully aware that this also had the effect of thrusting my crotch close to his face.

He bent nearly double, leaning out of his wheelchair to fondle it.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said.

I shifted positions instantly, to avoid his lunging onto the bed and on top of me.

“But it’s still so early,” I demurred. “Mornings just aren’t my thing.”

“Come on . . . ”

“Just tell me a bit more,” I coaxed. “Then I’ll think about it . . . ”

“No,” he snapped. He was worse than an obstinate child.

There was no getting around it. We were off and running. I rose to my feet and delivered a sharp smack across his chops.

As expected, he was thrilled.

“Yes,” he moaned.

“Look,” I scolded him. “Tell me everything I want to know; then, I’ll give you a little surprise.”

I had no idea what my surprise would be, but I’d wing it.

“Who wants a surprise,” he said. “It’s better like this.”

“You won’t tell me anything after you come,” I said.

“You still don’t trust me.”

“Give me a good reason to trust you,” I said. “What’s with all those silly floats in the chat room? Every other line is a sermon or a bit of Koranic verse. And you won’t tell me a thing without bargaining first.”

“Just put it down to life’s lessons,” he said. “You know how cruel life can be. Everyone made fun of me all my life. I learned not to give anything without getting something in exchange.”

That’s all I needed. So far we’d avoided sociology. So far.

“Don’t make such a big deal of it,” I said.

“I’m not,” he said. “How many people have you seen like me? How many have you really got to know? And what’s more, you went snooping through my computer files.”

“That’s no more than what you did to me,” I reminded him. “Stalking me on the internet like that . . . lurking like a thief.”

“You’re a real smooth operator,” he said. “And a bad actor. I’d expected more from you. If that’s the way you want it, so be it.”

He rolled his wheelchair back to the desk, and took an olive from his breakfast tray, popping it into his mouth. As he spat out the stone, he began talking.

“Adem Yildiz was at the crime scene for all the murders outside Istanbul. The dates for the opening of a store in Van coincide with Iranian Muhammet’s death; StarAir Charter started flights from Antalya at the same time stuttering Musa was killed.”

He took a manila envelope from the table and handed it to me.

“Here are the dates. I’ve even taken the trouble to record them for you.”

I opened the envelope. It was stuffed with newspaper clippings and internet articles about the opening ceremony for the Yildiz Market in Van. There was also news about the contribution made to Turkish tourism by Star Air, which had begun flights to and from Germany.

“This will be useful, but it doesn’t help me prove anything,” I said.