Like Ìkmen, Cohen was not overly fond of physical exertion and so as a group of younger officers began digging up Madame Kleopatra's rig tree, both the inspector and the perennial constable sat in comfortable wicker chairs with the old woman's doctor. The undertaker who had called to collect Madame's body some hours ago had lingered in order to reminisce about the glory days of the Ìskender Hamam, but now he had gone, leaving only those who needed to be in the garden for the purposes of what could be grim work ahead. One of the neighbour women had occasionally looked out of her window and into the garden, but a couple of sharp ripostes from Ìkmen had, seemingly, brought her inquisitiveness to a halt.
'So did you know Madame's husband, Doctor?' Ìkmen asked after he had taken a deep draught from his water bottle.
'Yes,' Katsoulis replied, 'I did. He was a miserable bastard.'
'I only ever remember her being alone,' Cohen observed as through half-closed eyes he watched the young men dig.
'Well, you're both somewhat younger than myself,’ the doctor said, 'although Mr Kleopatra must have taken his leave during your lifetimes.'
Ìkmen turned and faced the doctor with a frown upon his face. 'Do you remember my mother, Doctor? She used to see a lot of Madame when I was a child. Ayse Ìkmen?'
Katsoulis laughed. 'As if I could forget!' Then leaning forward towards Ìkmen, he said, 'Forgive me, Inspector, but your mother was a most notable woman. Everybody knew that the gift of sorcery was most finely perfected in her. If one wanted to know one's fate in life one had only to go to Ayse Ìkmen and it would all become clear. There were many said she was in league with Shaitan, she was so accurate!'
'Perhaps she was,' Ìkmen said as the cloud that was the manner of his mother's early death passed across his face.
'Oh, don't say that!' Katsoulis cried, crossing himself several times as he spoke.
Ìkmen laughed. 'I'm only joking. Besides, she was always far too fond of chicken to be a true believer.'
'Oh, that is appalling!' Katsoulis laughed. 'She was Albanian, wasn't she, your mother?'
'Yes.'
The doctor mopped his brow with his handkerchief. 'She'd be in good company now with all these Kosovans in the country.'
Cohen, who had been puzzling over an earlier remark of Ìkmen's, said, 'What do you mean, she was far too fond of chicken to be a true believer?'
'The so-called Shaitan worshippers, or Yezidis-'
'A sect from the east somewhere, I believe,' the doctor put in.
'Yes,' Ìkmen said, 'well, they have some strange habits which accord, apparently, with their beliefs, one of which is not eating chicken.'
‘Oh, I see,' Cohen said. 'I didn't know that.'
'Yes, it is one of those-' Suddenly Ìkmen stopped mid-sentence, as if a thought of some sort had occurred to him. But just at that moment he was unable to articulate it because with a loud whoop of victory, one of the young diggers signalled that the party had indeed found something.
'Is it what we're looking for?' Cohen asked as he rose out of both his stupor and his chair.
'Looks like it,' the young man said as he leaned heavily across the handle of his spade.
'Come on, let's go and have a look,' Ìkmen said. He took hold of Katsoulis's arm and pulled the elderly man to his feet.
The thing the young officers had exposed was not directly under the tree but just in front of it As they approached, Ìkmen, Katsoulis and Cohen could see what appeared to be a very stained and rotted piece of cloth which, as they drew nearer, seemed to be caught under something long and thin. One of the youngsters had jumped down into the hole containing what was, presumably, a skeleton and, as the three men reached the site, he was bending down to examine it more closely.
'This'll have to go to forensics now, I suppose’ he said as Ìkmen staggered down to join him in the pit.
'If you'll help me down, I should be able to give you a positive identification,' the doctor said as he wavered nervously on the side of the pit.
Ìkmen frowned. 'Well, I know you knew him, Doctor, but he is a bit, well, desiccated.'
'That's all right,' Katsoulis said with some confidence, 'I will know.'
With Ìkmen and the young officer pulling from below and Cohen pushing from up top, it was slow work manoeuvring the elderly man into position but after a bit of effort and a lot of sweating they eventually managed to achieve their aim. Once in the hole, Katsoulis looked down at the long, stick-like things before him and then sucked thoughtfully on his lip.
'Now the head is…'
'It's there, sir,' the young officer said as he pointed to a round protuberance at the far end of the pit 'Ah.'
As the doctor made his way shakily towards his goal, some of the tired young men up above shared amused glances, Ìkmen, who declined to comment on their behaviour, consoled himself with the grim thought that one day these well-muscled young men would be as Katsoulis was now. It made him smile.
The doctor bent down low in order to look at the dirt-caked skull. Had he been younger and fitter he would probably have got down on his haunches to examine the remains, but as it was he could only peer down at something that looked more like a clod of earth than a face.
'Would you be kind enough to clear some of the dirt away from the face, please, Inspector,' he said. 'I would do it myself, but…'
'Yes, of course,' Ìkmen replied. 'You know I'm not practised in this, don't you, Doctor?' he said. 'I wouldn't want to damage anything.'
'If you move the soil out of the mouth that will be sufficient,' Katsoulis said as he placed a pair of half-moon spectacles on his nose.
Quite why the mouth was of such great significance, Ìkmen didn't know. However, when he saw the first small glints of metal, he realised, or at least he thought he did.
'There are gold teeth here, lots of them,' he said. 'I do believe Madame was playing us for fools.'
'If there's gold teeth, then that's Murad Aga, the old eunuch,' Cohen, who had been observing proceedings from above, said with a laugh in his voice. 'Well, the old witch!'
Dr Katsoulis, who was now moving various items around on the face with the end of his cigarette holder, frowned. 'What do you mean, Inspector, playing us for fools?' he asked.
'Well, Doctor, it could mean that Madame killed Murad Aga and not her husband. Or she killed Murad and her husband and then buried her husband somewhere else in this garden. Or she killed nobody and the eunuch just wanted to be put here when he died. Or maybe the morphine had sent her quite mad.' He shrugged helplessly as he stood up in order to relieve the strain on his calves. 'I'm hoping you can enlighten us.'
'Well, I can,' Katsoulis said as he, too, straightened his back for comfort, 'although I find it hard to believe you don't know.'
'Don't know what?' Cohen asked.
Katsoulis sighed. 'That the discovery of this body means that Madame buried both her husband and Murad Aga beside this tree.'
'Eh?'
'Murad and Madame's husband were one and the same. Kleopatra was joined in matrimony to a eunuch.'
Sevan Avedykian looked across at the heavily swearing heap that was his client and said, 'Mr Temiz would, I believe, appreciate a glass of water.'
Wordlessly, Suleyman signalled to Çöktin that he should comply with this request As the younger man left the room in order to get the water Suleyman settled back to take a long, hard look at Temiz.
At forty-five, Cengiz Temiz was both more and less well-preserved than the average man of that age. Although grotesquely overweight his face was quite free from lines and wrinkles. But then the thick, open mouth rarely moved and his eyes which were small and markedly slanted gave no emotion back to the world beyond the occasional flashes of fear. When Çöktin returned with his water, Cengiz Temiz gave no indication that he was pleased or relieved by this. He simply, as he had done for nearly half an hour now, sat in a shroud of self-contained silence.
For Suleyman, however, things were different There was too much going on in his head, some of which had little to do with Cengiz Temiz. Mr Ertürk had, it seemed, been most scathing with regard to the treatment of his little sisters. How, he'd said to Ardiç, this ridiculous inspector could have been taken in by two silly girls who had hit upon the word cyanide because it was, probably, the only poison they knew, and then detained them under suspicion of murder, was beyond him. True, the gardener did use, amongst other poisons, cyanide to kill certain pests, but Resat hadn't reported any substances missing and besides, even if he had, there were other families he gardened for besides the Erturks.
All right, Ertürk had told Suleyman to 'hang on' to his sisters until his conference was over, but he had not expected them to be detained in a filthy cell! These were girls of quality! Born and bred in stylish Yeniköy! But Suleyman had treated them no better than common streetwalkers! That the pair were both manipulative and frighteningly obsessive had not been mentioned. So now Suleyman was in disgrace and that was without the report from Dr Halman that he knew was coming. Some days were like this. Some days suspending oneself from a high place looked attractive.
With a sigh, Suleyman started his questioning once again. 'Miss Arda has told us,' he said, yet again, 'that, knowing as you do that she cannot have children, you presented her with the Urfa baby in order to win her affections and to protect the child from an "evil demon". What I want to know, Mr Temiz, is whether this is correct.'
'My client has already told you that he doesn't know this woman’ Avedykian said, 'and so this line of questioning-'.
'Is necessary because of the testimony of Miss Arda. And as far as I am concerned, Mr Avedykian, your client has told me nothing as yet. It is you, if you recall, who has said that Mr Temiz has no knowledge of Miss Arda. What he thinks or knows I cannot tell’ Then turning to face Cengiz directly, he said, 'Both Mina and yourself are in a lot of trouble here, Cengiz. It is trouble that I feel you don't need to be in but only the truth can confirm that. Now-'
'Inspector Suleyman, I feel I must-'
'If I tell you, will my mum and dad have to know?'
Both the two policemen and the lawyer gazed, for different reasons, at what had now become a rather more animated interviewee.
Suleyman cleared his throat 'That does depend on what you have to tell us, Cengiz,' he said.
'You don't have to tell them anything,' Avedykian put in hurriedly, fearing, so Suleyman felt that his client was on the verge of galloping irrevocably away from him.
Cengiz Temiz, however, after only a brief glance at his lawyer, went his own way. 'It's about dirty things,' he said as he bent his head low in shame.
Suleyman, confused, looked at Çöktin, who said, 'Do you mean sex, Cengiz?'
'Yes.'
‘I really do think that I would like some time alone with my client before-'
'It's all right, Mr Avedykian,' Cengiz said and laid one pudgy hand on his lawyer's slim arm. 'It's naughty but it's not killing.'
Avedykian looked hard into what he could see of his client's eyes and then sighed. 'Well, Cengiz, if you must'
'So What about sex, Cengiz?' Suleyman asked as he lit a cigarette and then leaned forward towards the downcast Temiz. 'Have you done it or did you just want to do it or-'
'I have sex with Mina.' He turned his face round so that none of the other men in the room could see his eyes. 'Mum gives me money for cigarettes and food but I spend it on Mina.'
'She makes you feel good?'
'Yes. Dirty things do that. Good boys shouldn't and Mum will punish me if she knows, but…'He turned back to face them, his eyes wet with tears. 'You won't tell them that I'm dirty, will you, sir?'
Suleyman smiled. 'I won't tell anyone you're dirty, Cengiz. But you must tell me where Mrs Ruya and the baby come into all this. I know that you took the baby to give to Mina but I have to know how you did that You do understand, don't you?'
'Mmm.' Then, rapidly changing tack, Cengiz looked down at the floor, watched a spider bounce on its web underneath the table and laughed.
'Cengiz?'
He rolled his eyes up in the direction of the taller of the policemen and then wiped some wetness away from around his mouth. 'Eh?'
'Cengiz, Mina has told us that you rescued the baby Merih from a,' and here Suleyman once again had to clear his throat in order to enunciate what were, to him, ridiculous words, ‘a demon woman who-'
'Oh, no, no, no, no, no!' He was sideways on now, head down, mouth trembling with anxiety.
Sevan Avedykian placed a comforting arm around his client's shoulders and then said, 'I think you've gone as far as you can go now, Inspector.'
'I would disagree,' Suleyman replied haughtily.
'Besides, if Mr Temiz can tell Mina Arda about the demon then he can tell me. Cengiz?' 'No, no, no!'
Avedykian stood up. 'Inspector!'
'Look, Cengiz,' Suleyman said with more than a little pleading in his voice, 'if you tell me about the demon, I can help you. I…' and then suddenly a thought struck him which had not occurred before. But it made perfect sense and so he went with it 'Look, I can and will, I promise, protect you from her. No harm will come to you or Mina or the baby.'
Cengiz looked up. 'Uh?'
'I give you my word!' Suleyman said with what he perceived as rather unnecessary drama in his voice.
'And the inspector is a gentleman,' Çöktin put in earnestly, 'so his word does mean a lot'
'You don't have to listen to this!' Avedykian said as he took hold of his client's sleeve and tried to pull him to his feet 'I think we should terminate this interview now, Inspector Suleyman. My client is distressed-'
'She had silver hair and a fluffy coat'
Once again, all eyes turned towards Cengiz whose face was now quite white, almost grey.
'Her face was all hissy like a snake,' and here he made an approximation with his own features. The result was, even to Suleyman's horror-accustomed eyes, really quite scary.
'Would you know the demon if you saw her again?' Çöktin asked.
Cengiz, whose face had now reverted to its usual expression, said,'Yes.'
'Are you sure?'
'Mr Temiz has told you so-'
'Will you please sit back down, Mr Avedykian!' Suleyman, suddenly quite out of patience with the lawyer, roared his request which was, surprisingly, complied with immediately.
'So if I put the demon in front of you in a fluffy-'
'White.'
'A fluffy white- coat, then…'
Çöktin leaned in towards Suleyman and whispered something in his ear.
'Right,' Suleyman said in response to this. 'Good. Perhaps the sergeant here can get us some photographs to look at in a moment Now, Cengiz-'
'Mrs Ruya was lying on the floor.' He was crying now, full on, choking sobs. 'She, she never, she never moved when I touched her. Merih was crying-'
'Where was Merih, Cengiz?'
'In her little bed. I love Merih, sir! I-'
'All right, all right Sssh. Now, calm down,' Suleyman smiled. 'You're doing very well, Cengiz. I'm really pleased with you.'
Sevan Avedykian silently passed a very white folded handkerchief to his client and then sat back quietly once again. Cengiz dabbed at his eyes as he attempted to get his sobs under control. He now looked like he had a bad case of hiccups. 'Sorry! Sorry!' he said through gulps of air.
'It's all right, you've no need to be sorry. You're being very, very good.'
'Am I?'
'Yes. Now I just need to know one more thing and then you can take a rest.'
Cengiz leaned forward as if waiting to catch the words physically from Suleyman's lips.
'And that is,' Suleyman said, 'how you got into Mrs Ruya's apartment Was the demon woman there when you went in? Did she let you in? Did you arrive with her for some reason? What, Cengiz? What?'
Orhan Tepe knocked once on Inspector Suleyman's door and then went straight in. Well, his news, though not earth-shattering, was required by Suleyman and besides it wasn't his particular custom to be subservient. This proud Ottoman prince might think himself somebody but to Tepe he was just as other men. If nothing else, seeing Suleyman in the act of procuring a prostitute, albeit in the line of duty, had proved that.
Although Suleyman's desk was occupied when Tepe entered the room, it was not by the inspector himself. With a loud bang as her fist hit wood, Zelfa Halman slammed a cardboard file shut before looking up sharply.
'Well?' she asked before she realised that she was quite out of context here.
'Oh, er, I was looking for the inspector’ Tepe said as he watched her hurriedly slip something underneath the cover of the file she had just closed.
'Well, he isn't here,' she said sharply.
'Yes.'
She stood up, smoothing her skirt down as she did so. She was, Tepe thought, a not unattractive woman for her age. Although quite why the inspector should be so taken with her when he could, surely, have almost any woman he wanted was a mystery. Perhaps it had something to do with her being a foreigner.
'Well,' she said as she moved round the desk towards Tepe, 'seeing as he isn't here then perhaps we should leave.'
'Yes.' But he didn't move. Quite why, he didn't really know. But then he always felt a little on edge in the presence of this woman. The word 'psychiatrist' loomed large and menacing in his head.
'Well, come on then, out!' she said as she literally shooed him ahead of her.
He moved quickly now. She was, for some reason, quite agitated and he didn't want to tangle with her in such a mood. To do so, Tepe felt, might invite all sorts of strange interpretations on her part. His grandfather had been, as his mother was accustomed to say in muted tones, 'taken somewhere' when he became, in the family parlance, 'rather vague'. Psychiatrists could do things like that. One didn't need to be exactly insane in order to attract their attentions. As he watched Dr Halman disappear down the corridor, Orhan Tepe let out a long sigh of relief. There were some who believed that mental confusion could be hereditary and-
'Inspector Suleyman is out, I take it?' The voice was familiar if unexpected.
'Oh, er, yes, sir. He is,' Tepe said as he looked down into the sharp eyes of Çetin Ìkmen.
'I saw you leaving his office,' Ìkmen said, 'in the furious wake of Dr Halman.'
'Yes.' And then feeling the need to change the subject he said, 'I wanted to see the inspector about something.'
'Oh?'
'Yes.' There was a strong feeling of curiosity emanating from Ìkmen that Tepe felt was not quite appropriate. 'I thought that you were sick, sir.'
Ìkmen smiled. 'like all of us, Tepe, I am slowly but inexorably dying. What was it you wanted to see Inspector Suleyman about?'
'Oh, it was just an identity card thing. Some man who needed checking up on.'
Almost without his noticing, Ìkmen took Tepe's elbow in his hand and led him down the corridor. 'Oh? What man?'
'Well…'
'I ask only because, as you say, it is just an identity card thing.' He laughed. 'I like to remain in touch, as you know. And if it's not important…'
Tepe shrugged. 'Just a friend of Erol Urfa's, as I understand it The inspector asked him for his card yesterday but he couldn't find it'
'So did he find it today when you went round?'
'No. He wasn't there.' He looked down at the floor which, just very slightly, moved, Ìkmen, he felt subtly increased the pressure on his elbow. But as soon as the faint tremor had ceased, the pressure eased.
Ìkmen smiled. 'So where had he gone, this man? Do you know?'
'No, no one knew, or would say. That's what I was coming to tell the inspector. I don't know what he might do about it I mean, it is rather minor in comparison to the investigation into Mrs Urfa's death.'
'Oh, indeed.' Ìkmen started moving a little faster. 'Not of course that we must forget details like this, Tepe. Men's lives can often be circumscribed within such trivia, in my experience. Things like identity cards, the words of songs, the syndromes people may suffer from…' And then suddenly he stopped and turned to face Tepe. 'By the way, the doctor who examined the Urfa baby, was it Akkale, do you know?'
'Yes.' Tepe frowned. 'Why?'
'Oh, no reason,' Ìkmen said as he reached out to knock on the door of the medical examination room. 'Just a detail for the organic computer,' he whispered as he tapped the side of his head with his finger.
'Oh.'
'Goodbye, Tepe,' Ìkmen said as the examination room door opened to reveal the dark figure of Dr Ìrfan Akkale.
It is better this way, Erol thought as he folded the last of Merih's little dresses into the bag. Were he to give Tansu time to argue she would become hurt and then he would do what he knew he shouldn't. Stay. Not that he wanted to go. To wake up every morning to the sound of one's name on a woman's lips, to then have one's sexual desires fulfilled without even having to say what they are to that woman – mat is seductive. And had he been a different man, there would have been nothing wrong with that But there was also honour to consider and Tansu, for all her wild rages and bizarre behaviour, deserved respect Besides, if he gave in now it would only make things worse later when, inevitably, he would leave the city for his village for a time or forever or for whatever may come to pass.
What is written cannot be unwritten.
As he passed the dining table, he looked at the book that lay on top of one of the place mats. The woman on the cover was very beautiful, she had short blonde hair and thick red lips. Had her eyes not been downcast, one hand held painfully up to her head, it would have been an image of some sexual power. But this woman appeared devastated, as if she had just looked upon the face of death. He made to slowly, as was his custom, spell out the words on the front cover but then found that he couldn't The letters were different, not greatly but enough to make him realise that this was a foreign book.
'It's about Marilyn Monroe,' Latife said as she walked over to him and gently took the tome from his hands. She smiled. 'It's in English.'
'Oh.' Until he had registered a heavy footfall Erol had, for a moment, thought it was Tansu. Now, although his heart was still beating very loudly, he felt waves of relief break across him. 'I didn't know…'
'Oh, I don't speak it very well,' Latife said with a laugh behind her voice. 'I've never had lessons. I learned only from the radio.' Then looking up sharply she said, 'Do you know of Marilyn Monroe, Erol?'
He shrugged. 'No. She's very beautiful, if that is her on the cover.'
'Yes, she was,' Latife said. 'But that was taken many years ago. She's dead now.'
'Oh.' Quite why Latife hadn't yet said anything about the large bag at Eroi's feet or the sleeping form of Merih, dressed for the street and already in her car seat, he didn't know. But he felt, knowing Latife, that she soon would.
Looking, Erol imagined, into a past of which he could not even conceive, Latife said, 'Marilyn was an American film star. She was beautiful, successful, every man wanted her, but all she ever wanted was to be taken seriously.' Latife placed the book back down upon the table. 'She was, you know, a very intelligent woman, hungry for knowledge. It was her passion. Are you planning on leaving my sister, Erol?'
It came suddenly, but as no surprise. Latife was, if nothing else, 'observant'.
'Yes,' he said, his head now slightly bowed. 'I have to. It's not right that I stay with my child at the house of a single woman. It is disrespectful to Ruya and not good for Merih.'
'Tansu is going to be very hurt.'
'I know. And I want her to understand that I do still care for her. It's just that, at the moment, we cannot be together.'
Latife sat down on one of the dining chairs and looked across at the sleeping baby. 'So perhaps when you've taken Ruya home…'
'I will visit, as always,' he said as he stooped down to pick up his bag. 'But as for anything else, I don't know. If you would tell Tansu I'll telephone her tonight'
'Of course.'
He heaved the bag up onto his shoulder and then picked up the car seat Merih was still soundly asleep and as Erol looked down at her he couldn't help smiling. Despite everything, if he had her he still had hope.
Latife walked with Erol out to his car and helped him load the luggage onto the back seat They kissed each other lightly on the cheek and then Latife, with a wave, walked back into the house. Erol turned the ignition and then began punching a number into his mobile telephone. Latife watched him with a smile on her face.
'The trouble, you know, with doctors,' Ìkmen said as he placed his now empty tea glass down on Suleyman's desk, 'is that they never know anything for certain. Oh, they have ideas, theories and thoughts and when one is either almost or completely dead, they can tell you what the problem might be. But as for actually making a judgement on a living being…' He paused in order to rap his knuckles on the desk. 'Are you with me, Mehmet?'
'Oh.' Suleyman looked up from the paper he had been reading so intently and smiled. 'What were you saying?'
'I asked Dr Akkale about the possibility of Merih Urfa having an allergy to chicken and beans. If you remember, her father was very forceful on this point in his television broadcast. I mean the child is very young and I wondered how or even if this might be known.'
'And?'
'And Akkale could neither confirm nor deny it The child possessed no obvious rashes or wheals but then if she hadn't had any chicken or beans she wouldn't have any. But Akkale also said that given the child's age she would in all likelihood be on a milk-only diet anyway. I mean, I take his point that a person may be allergic to almost anything, but in one so young…'
Suleyman rubbed the sides of his face with his hands and frowned. 'Um, I know I may be a little slow here,' he said, 'but why are you taking such an interest in this?'
'Oh, it's just something old Kostas Katsoulis happened to say when we were at Madame Kleopatra's, about the dietary mores of one of the eastern sects.'
'Oh?'
'The Yezidis forbid the eating of chicken. I don't know why. I know nothing about them beyond the chicken thing and the fact that they revere Shaitan.'
'You think that Urfa might be one of them?'
Ìkmen shrugged. 'I don't know.'
Suleyman turned to his computer and spent a few seconds typing in what Ìkmen imagined was some relevant data. As various pieces of information flashed up onto the screen, Suleyman leaned back and lit a cigarette. Then after some moments' scanning, he sighed and said, 'Well, his identity card quite plainly gives his religion as Muslim.'
'It was just a thought,' Ìkmen said.
'Mmm.'
They sat in silence for a few moments as Ìkmen lit up yet again and Suleyman attempted to tear his eyes away from Dr Halman's report which was lying right in front of him on the desk. As far as he could tell; she had not so far been complimentary about his treatment of Cengiz Temiz. But then he had not expected her to be.
'Before I go’ Ìkmen said, 'and not wishing to interfere with your investigation, may I just ask a question about Tansu Hanim?'
Although Suleyman replied in the affirmative, his brow was wrinkled with doubt. 'You may, though I don't know whether I will be able to answer or even if I should.'
'Can she read?'
'I should imagine so, yes.'
Ìkmen shook his head as if trying to loosen a more cogent question from his brain. 'No, I mean really read, Turkish that is. With understanding or even enjoyment?'
'I honestly don't know’ Suleyman said. 'When I went to the house, there were no books around the place as far as I could see. Why?'
'Well, I've been listening to her music' At this point Ìkmen and Suleyman exchanged a look.
'Just out of academic interest, you understand,' Ìkmen continued and then warming to his subject he said, 'And, guided by my dear wife, I have discovered that Tansu specialises in two types of song – the depressed, morbid variety and the venomous, bitter sort.'
‘I thought they were all morbid,' Suleyman replied with a shrug. 'But do go on. What is your point?'
'My point is,' Ìkmen said, 'that she sings the venomous stuff in exactly the same way as the depressed sort She talks of murder and mayhem with the same sad little smile on her lips and the same downbeat tone as she uses when she speaks of sadness and loss. If you really listen to it, it's totally inappropriate.'
'So?'
'So, my dear Mehmet, if as we are led to believe by the cassette sleeves, those songs of a homicidal nature were actually penned by Tansu, why does she not interpret them correctly? It's almost as if she doesn't really understand the words.'
Suleyman put his cigarette out in the ashtray and then cleared his throat It was both interesting and opportune that Ìkmen should bring up the subject of Tansu Hanim now, but not because of anything to do with her songs. What he wanted to know was whether the description Cengiz Temiz had given him of the 'devil woman' was consistent with Tansu's appearance – if indeed the testimony of a frightened and damaged man, who had not, it had to be faced, recognised Tansu as his nemesis from a photograph, could be relied upon. He also needed to discover whether or not Tansu possessed a blonde mink. As Çöktin had whispered to him during his interview with Cengiz Temiz, hairs from just such a fur had been found on both Temiz's clothes and those of Ruya Urfa. What a strange garment, he could not help thinking, to be wearing at the height of the summer. But then they, the Arabesk people as a group, were given to excessive and often inappropriate dress, he knew. And Tansu, undeniably, had very good motive.
At that moment, Ìsak Çöktin knocked and entered the room.
'Oh, Inspector Ìkmen,' he said as he noticed his superior's guest, 'it's good to see you.'
'Hello, Mickey Çöktin,' Ìkmen replied with a smile. 'I see the inspector here is keeping you busy.'
'Yes.' He dragged a chair over from underneath the window and sat down. 'I hear you spent some time over at the Ìskender Hamam, sir. Are you well enough?'
'I find that when I work I begin to feel better,' then turning back to Suleyman he said, 'Oh, and we did find a body, you know.'
'Oh.' Suleyman was sitting forward now. It was good to talk to Ìkmen but he did really need to get on. There were places he had to go.
'Yes,' Ìkmen replied as he, heedless of his fellows, launched into a story. 'Madame's husband, according to Kostas Katsoulis. He was in fact the man I always thought was her servant, the eunuch Murad Aga.'
Caught, despite himself, by the word, Suleyman said, 'Eunuch? But I thought they all died out years ago.'
'Oh, no,' Ìkmen said. 'I knew one in the sixties. Imran Aga. He was very black and monstrously fat'
'Eunuch's still serve their purposes in some Arab countries,' Çöktin put in.
'Do they?' Ìkmen said. 'Where?'
For just a moment Çöktin appeared a little flustered. 'Well’ he said, his pale skin turning slightly pink, 'I don't actually know where.'
'Ah.' From the look on Ìkmen's face none of Çöktin's discomfort had eluded him as it had the obviously distracted Suleyman. 'But to marry one is very queer, is it not?' he continued. 'I mean what can have been the pleasure…'
'There is more to marriage than just sex’ Çöktin said, his head bowed now.
'Yes, Mr Urfa said as much when I spoke to him.' Suleyman rose to his feet. 'But for now we must-'
Çöktin's mobile telephone which was currently residing in his pocket bleeped loudly. 'Oh, sorry, sir’ he apologised to Suleyman as he pressed the receive button. 'Hello?'
'Make it quick, Cdktin’ Suleyman said sternly and moved around the side of his desk towards Ìkmen.
'My cue to leave, I suppose’ Ìkmen said as he cast half an eye in Çöktin's direction.
Suleyman shrugged. 'Sorry, but now that Çöktin is here, we must progress.'
'Of course.'
After just a brief embrace, Suleyman led his guest towards the door of his office and opened it for him.
'I hope I'll see you very soon’ he said as he placed one slightly shy hand on Ìkmen's shoulder.
'Oh, you will’ and then leaning in close to Suleyman, Ìkmen, still with half an eye on the quietly talking Çöktin, added, 'You do know that he's not speaking Turkish into that phone, don't you?'
Suleyman turned his head to listen and caught the guttural edge of Kurdish tones.