Every time I thought I’d sorted things out, events took another unexpected turn. Everyone I came across turned out to be a double-dealing trickster of some kind, and I had no idea where their stories were leading me. As if the lies weren’t bad enough, they all had something to conceal. Now I had Okan, who I’d taken for a junkie and a simpleton, declaring with glazed eyes that he, too, had something to hide.
It wouldn’t be easy to get a straight story out of Okan, but it was definitely doable.
First, I would have to silence Refik’s protests and lock him into the bathroom. His cries of “Please don’t wreck my house!” and “Don’t hit my face!” were getting on my nerves.
Ever merciful, I promised to spare his house and his face. Then I added, “If possible.”
Okan was made of sterner stuff. All it had taken to put Refik out of action was a swift chop to the back of the neck, from which it would take him considerable time to regain consciousness. I intended to honor my promise to Refik, but had no choice but to empty a bucket of cold water over Okan’s head, drenching a precious carpet in the process. Well, I had mentally crossed my fingers, and the living room had escaped serious damage.
When it came to Okan, now dripping wet, I’m afraid I had to resort to physical violence. As various bits of the boy’s anatomy were twisted and wrenched, he became most cooperative, chatty even; backhanded slaps and flying kicks of medium severity were less effective, as often as not provoking nothing but drugged slurring, weeping, and snatches of village folk songs. All too often he’d retract what he’d just said, contradict himself, or blurt out utter nonsense.
By the time I’d extracted the information I required, it was getting dark.
Much of what I’d learned was confusing to the point of incomprehensibility. According to Okan, everyone from the money-lender mafia to antiquities smugglers was in on the action. And as for our brothers, they were smack dab in the middle of it all. Okan was not the dolt he appeared to be. He had comprehended and deduced all he needed to cover his own ass and remain a step ahead. Under considerable duress, he’d kindly pulled the key to Volkan’s safe-deposit box out of his pocket and handed it over to me.
It was too late to go to the bank. In any case, I wasn’t certain I’d be able to access the safe-deposit box without being cross-examined. I didn’t even know if possession of a key was sufficient, or if identification of some kind had to be produced. Years ago, when I was a child, my mother had taken me with her to the bank. All I could remember was that she kept her more valuable jewels in a box there, believing it to be more secure than our home. When she visited the bank to retrieve her special necklace and rings for the wedding of my doe-eyed cousin, Seher Abla, she took me along. Every time we ran into Seher Abla’s fiancé, Oktay, he’d cry out, “What a cute kid,” and spend the longest time hugging me, jiggling me on his lap, sniffing at my neck and under my ears, and kissing my cheeks. At the wedding, I was so jealous I refused to talk to anyone. Most of the guests tactfully blamed it on too much rich food, but my mother was embarrassed and my father furious.
However Volkan had reached the decision to stash away some potentially explosive documents, he’d been wise to do so. The man I’d considered to be nothing but a well-hung, handsome, part-time gigolo deserved a second appraisal. Having the presence of mind, right from the beginning, to store in a secure place all kinds of papers, private phone numbers, hotel invoices, and even documents of a more official nature indicated a calculating intelligence and a well-developed sense of organization, if nothing else. I was as curious as can be but would have to wait until tomorrow. And if it turned out that Okan had been lying about the contents of the safe-deposit box, he would live to regret it. The police were still after him, and he had nowhere to go, couldn’t even leave Refik’s flat. He was a wanted man. Unless the police got to him first, he would be all mine.
I called Cihad2000 the moment I stepped out onto the street.
“I think I’m onto something important,” he began.
“Tell me quick. I’m dying to know what it is.”
“Have you arranged the hotel room?”
“Believe me, I haven’t had a chance,” I said.
“Forget it!” he said. “I’ve been here all day working like a donkey for you and you couldn’t find the time to reserve a hotel room. Forget it.”
“I think I’ve stumbled onto something important, too,” I said. “I won’t know for sure until tomorrow morning. Come on, tell me what you found out.”
“It’s not fair! I’m expected to tell you everything, but you haven’t got anything for me. You owe me big time. We’ll talk later. I’m fed up with the whole business. I mean it, I’ve had it. Get me Pamir Hanım. Tonight. It’ll be a good deed in God’s eyes…”
“I’ll call you back later,” I said, hanging up. I was focused on a case involving two murders, and all he could think about was hanky-panky. If whatever he’d found out was so important, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it from me. It couldn’t be all that valuable.
I was stuck in commuter traffic. The taxi barely inched forward. Once again, I considered and rejected the idea of getting out and walking home.
I was tired. And confused. I imagined how nice it would be to arrange a house call by a masseur. How nice to be kneaded and pummeled, then to fall into a deep sleep.
But I had work to do. First I’d call Pamir and arrange a hotel, then I’d have to contact Ponpon to organize a visit to Faruk Bey’s house, even if it was just to pay my respects along with hordes of others. Next on the list was a little chat with Ziya Göktaş. I’d hurt my hands beating up Okan. How amateurish, I thought. Or was I just getting old and careless? I immediately banished the thought. It was unthinkable!
As we drove past the Conrad Hotel, I remembered its wonderful views and cake shop, and decided to reserve the room myself, in person. Ignoring the grumblings of the driver, I insisted he turn around and drop me off in front of the hotel.
A room with a whirlpool looking out on the Bosphorus would cost a small fortune, but Cihad2000 could afford to splurge. It was better than making a donation to some frivolous charitable foundation.
I ordered a slice of the divine pear cake, along with a cup of weak tea.
As the smiling waitress served me, I began placing phone calls. Pamir was hard to reach. I had to call several times before I got through.
“Ay, I was dyeing my hair. That’s why I couldn’t answer,” she said. “Red, just like the flag!”
I broke the news of her evening rendezvous with Cihad2000.
“But what if the dye doesn’t take? I mean, what if it turns out bright orange or something? I’m not setting foot outside the house if that happens, I swear it!”
“He’ll still want you,” I said. “And even if he doesn’t like it, so what? It’s a favor after all.”
“Don’t say that. You’re taking out all the passion.”
“Look, darling Pamir. It’s got nothing to do with passion. Just be yourself. And be strict with him!”
“Alright then. I’ll wear leather.”
“Good choice,” I commended her. “I’ll call you later to let you know the exact time.”
I dug into my pear cake, light as a feather. As I raised my shoulders and tilted my head back to heighten the heavenly experience, I realized my eyes were half closed. I may even have moaned. It was that good.
Recharged, I called Cihad2000 to fill him in on Pamir. His breathing grew heavier as he listened.
“Now,” he croaked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s dyeing her hair. It’ll take at least another couple of hours.”
“Fine then,” he said. I gave him the reservation number. He’d have to confirm his credit card by telephone or e-mail.
“Now tell me what you’ve found out,” I said, leaning back and taking a swallow of warm tea.
“I forwarded it all to your computer,” he said. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise when you got home. It’ll take too long to explain now. A lot of bank account transfers. Lists of names from around the world, some of them familiar. Large sums, small sums… Nonstop money traffic. International accounts and local banks… I haven’t deciphered all the information yet, but I’ve got more than enough to give us a good idea. You’ll see.”
“But what good will any of that do? What are we supposed to do with these Telekom lists?”
“We’ve got access to the private records of almost anyone you can think of. A long list of names. It’ll be child’s play to hack any bank.”
“It already is,” I said, lightly pressing the last forkful of pastry against my palate with my tongue.
“Good luck to you then, bacı.”
“Since when have you addressed me as ‘elder sister’?”
“God willing, you’re now a big sister to me. No one has ever done me a favor like this. No one.”
I still planned to call Ponpon, but I’d do it when I got home. Brother-in-law Ziya could wait, too. I’d been tired even before dessert; now I was about to be overcome with drowsiness. Even a massage seemed like too much trouble. I paid the cheerful waitress and got into a taxi waved over by the doorman, tall and well built in his cape and top hat. As he closed the door for me, he shot me a smile that, though courteous, let me know that he was on to me. I was too exhausted to flirt, and simply nodded my appreciation.
I nearly dozed off in the taxi. It was all I could do to stay awake.
When I got home, there in front of the apartment building was a police car waiting to take me to the station.