The realities of life demanded that I call Cihad2000. I complied.
“What’s going on?” he roared excitedly. “You start digging around for information about some guy and now he’s dead. Boy have you got some explaining to do.”
First I’d been named a suspect and now I was apparently being openly accused of murder. That was going too far.
“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped.
“We both know you’ve been poking around. I’m sure you’re not telling me everything. You’re hiding something. Even worse, you’re getting me mixed up in your dirty work.”
“Believe me, I don’t even know how he died. I found out about it on TV, same as you.”
“You’d better listen in on some phone calls then. All hell broke loose. Everyone who’s had dealings with that loan shark is in a panic. The lines are crackling. You’d break out in cold sores if you heard some of the names being mentioned.”
“You don’t mean you eavesdrop on phone conversations, too?”
I really hadn’t expected that.
“If I need to, yes,” he said. “How do you think I manage to rustle up so much business?”
If Money-counter Ali ever heard about this he’d never pick up a phone again. So that was how Cihad2000 managed to steal so much of our work.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“I was thinking,” I said.
“Therefore you are!”
If it weren’t for his silly sense of humor, Cihad2000 would be unbearable. He always catches me by surprise. I even laugh.
“Stop laughing!” he shouted. “The situation’s serious. Never mind that I’m laughing, too. Now that he’s dead, those phone records we destroyed will become even more important. The police and everyone else will be hunting for clues. And where’s the first place they’ll look? The phone records. And what will they find? Surprise! Gone. Deleted. How did that happen? And guess who’s responsible?”
“Us,” I responded automatically.
“Bravo!”
I hadn’t thought about that. I’d already felt as though I was being drawn into a complicated maelstrom of events outside my control. I didn’t even want to consider the implications of this new information.
“Well then, were you able to find anything among the bits you managed to copy?”
“Who do you think I was listening in on? Did you think I was picking phone numbers at random? That would have been a waste of time. And like I told you, his list of clients is a real who’s who of movers and shakers. You won’t believe it: politicians, businessmen, singers, high-society types, the usual underworld figures…”
I really was surprised at the names he reeled off. And astonished that Kemal seemed to recognize so many minor celebrities.
“And I’ve got more than just tapes of their phone calls,” he continued. “There are lots of money transfers arranged over the Internet and by phone. Transfers to domestic and international accounts, numbered and official, taxed and untaxed, in the Cayman Islands, Bahrain, Switzerland, Luxembourg… You name it!”
“Well then,” I repeated, “what does this tell us? I mean, what good is it?”
“What good is it?” he nearly shouted. “Just think of the implications! A loan shark… Shady money transfers… Imagine what you could do with information like that! Of course… as you know, the records are all dated. The new ones are gone. Deleted. That is, a huge chunk of the most recent information is missing. Good on us, we wiped them out together.”
“Don’t be silly, ayol! It’s not as if Telekom would have archived records of every single phone call. Or do you think we’re talking White House here?”
“I see you’re using ayol again! Anyway, I suppose you have a point.”
We’d gone off on a tangent, but we were now back to the central question.
“You say you’ve deciphered the records you copied. What I need to know is this: What’s going on? How did he die?”
“Let’s take things one at a time,” he said. “I don’t think I can answer all your questions in one go.”
“Just tell me everything you know,” I urged him. “In exchange for any useful information, I’ve got a big surprise. A hot little number with your name on her. Just the kind of preop sweetie you love, a real lolly on a stick. And she’s ever so stern!”
I detected an immediate change in the breathing patterns on the other end of the line. For someone unable to escape the watchful eye of a fawning mother, someone unable even to stand up unassisted, the prospect I dangled before him was intoxicating indeed. Gone was the bellowing, replaced by a whisper.
“Who?” he breathed thickly. “Tell me who it is…”
“You tell me first,” I said. “Tell me all you’ve found out. That way you’ll truly deserve my little surprise.”
“Who is it? Tell me and I’ll…”
“You wouldn’t know her,” I said, just to increase his curiosity. “But when you lay eyes on her, she’ll knock your socks off. I swear!”
I’d expected silence on the other end as he weighed my offer, but I hadn’t expected it to be so brief.
“Faruk Hanoğlu fell into the Bosphorus just in front of his house, and drowned.”
“You must be joking,” I said. “A grown man like him didn’t know how to swim? He grew up in a yalı, right on the water…”
“That’s what makes his death a tragicomedy. And a mystery. Apparently, his feet got tangled in some rope, and he couldn’t get his head above water. Despite the strong current, they found him bobbing in the water right in front of his house, a length of rope wound around his ankle. In fact, they say his body was smashing into the dock with each wave. The seagulls had done a real job on the bits of him above water.”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off.
I could visualize the scene all too easily, and felt nauseated. A hairy calf, bloated and bleached in the saltwater, and torn to shreds by voracious screaming seagulls, like the attackers did in Hitchcock’s The Birds. After seeing that film as a child I’d had nightmares for weeks.
“Don’t you think this all sounds suspicious? I don’t know about you, but I smell a rat.”
If even Kemal smelled a rat, my sensitive, highly experienced nose should have been overpowered by the stench of bloody murder, two truly vicious ones, no less! But it wasn’t. I needed a moment to recover from the image of gulls pecking away at a pale leg.
“Can I call you back in a bit?”
“But you haven’t told me who it is! You can’t hang up now!”
“I’ll call you right back. I’ve got to get to the toilet.”
“I’ll crash your system! I’ll show you!”
I had reason to fear Kemal. He meant what he said. And he’d be perfectly capable of making good on his threats.
“ Pamir!” I shouted. “More details soon.”
I slammed down the receiver without waiting for a response.
Dashing off to the bathroom, I threw up. The cold water I splashed on my face did me a world of good, though the retching had left my eyes watery and bloodshot.
The intricate workings of the brain remain a great mystery, and mine is no exception. During the few seconds I spent looking into the mirror, flashing through my mind were: Alfred Hitchcock, The Birds, Tippi Hedren looking like a frigid drag queen, her hunky leading man, Rod Taylor, Hitchcock’s efforts to transform Hedren into the new Grace Kelly in Marnie, her costar in that film, Sean Connery… and then, Haluk Pekerdem.
Yes, I now had the social and moral obligation of paying my respects to one Haluk Pekerdem-and of doing so in person. None other than the Haluk Pekerdem who only last night had completely ignored me as he pulled into the driveway of that ill-starred waterfront mansion! When it comes to collecting one’s thoughts and getting back on one’s feet, a heady brew of rancor and exhilaration is just the ticket.
I was ready to return to my phone conversation with Cihad2000, to arrange the promised tryst with Pamir, and to present myself, in all my glory, to Haluk Pekerdem. An opportunity had arisen, and it would be duly seized. Kismet wouldn’t necessarily come knocking again any time soon.
Cihad2000 had told me that Faruk’s wife herself was fielding all phone calls made to the mansion. However, most of the talking was done by Yalçın, a man with the voice of a butler. As well as by the lawyer of the deceased, brother-in-law Haluk Pekerdem. Despite myself, I couldn’t help sighing at the very mention of the name Haluk Pekerdem.
“I gather the house has been flooded with visitors. Everyone who’s anyone is there. A well-placed bomb would effectively wipe out the Turkish political, business, cultural, and hooker communities. We’d be left empty-handed and destitute,” Cihad2000 continued. “While the phone calls are full of the usual sympathy and commiserations, there’s also a lot of talk of money. Dollars, marks, yen… Turkish lira are even mentioned, if rarely.”
“Ayol, what do you mean ‘marks’? It’d be euros!”
“Look at you, getting hung up on currencies! As if that’s what’s important! I’ll stop now if you’re not interested!” he scolded.
Kemal softened as I elaborated on Pamir ’s special talents. He then repeated, at great length and in full detail, everything he had heard, been told, and discerned. We may be the fiercest of rivals, and at each other’s throats more often than not, but I definitely have a soft spot for geeky Cihad2000. A pervert and a paraplegic he might be, but he was also a goldmine of useful information.
“When are you two coming?”
“She’ll come on her own,” I said. “Not with me. I’ll just give her your address. Make sure your mother’s not around.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he declared proudly. “I’m not doing it at home. I’m going to reserve a nice room at a classy hotel. What’s money for?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Any recommendations? You know more about that kind of stuff than me… But I want the best service. And not too many questions.”
“Would you like a room with a view?” I asked, stifling a giggle.
“I doubt we’d have time to admire the view.”