Fevzi Ahmet, coming into the guardroom. Pulling off a pair of gloves.
He spits.
“Nothing. A time waster.”
“Perhaps I could talk to him? I’ve been wondering-perhaps he doesn’t realize what he knows?”
Fevzi pours himself a glass of tea. “No. There’s no point, Yashim.”
“Never give up-you say that yourself, Fevzi efendi.”
The bloodshot eyes. “There’s no point. He’s already dead.”