Arabesk

'Mr Aksoy may well have done, but the police cannot.' Avedykian lit up a large Cuban cigar. 'The calculated use of cyanide in a sweet plus the clever timing of the event does however work in our favour.'

'How?' Kenan, his eyes red from lack of sleep, temporarily rose from his stupor.

'Well, Cengiz couldn't possibly have planned such a thing!' his wife exploded.

'Unless his actions came about by chance,' the lawyer added, 'although what his motive might have been I cannot imagine. But we must wait now for the forensic evidence to be assessed and for the pathologist to finish his work.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well…' This was not easy. Avedykian knew that Kenan and Semahat Temiz never spoke of the time, twenty years before, when Cengiz had been arrested for exposing himself to a young girl. 'Although time and mode of death have been established, the pathologist must now look for other evidence – injuries, signs of, er, abuse, er.

Painfully aware of what her lawyer was attempting to say, Semahat changed the subject. 'So who are we seeing now then, Mr Avedykian?'

'Sergeant Çöktin is coming to meet us. He will ask you some questions you are not obliged to answer.'

'Will we be able to see our son?' Kenan asked.

Sevan Avedykian sighed. 'That I don't know,' he said.

'I mean, they could have beaten him or anything,' Kenan went on, tears filling his eyes. 'You know how it can be.'

Avedykian had opened his mouth to tactfully respond when a red-haired man appeared in front of them and said, 'I think you'll find your son is all right, sir.'

'How can you be sure?'

'Your son, Mr Temiz,' Çöktin said, 'is the responsibility of the investigating officer, Inspector Suleyman. If anything were to happen to Cengiz he would personally rip the offender apart.' He smiled.

'He sounds,' Kenan remarked, 'like quite a violent man.'

'He did have lovely manners,' his wife recalled, with just a tinge of affection.

'If violent,' said Kenan drily.

Çöktin smiled. 'The inspector is both the perfect gentleman and a very frightening person too.' With an evil grin he added, 'His kindness frightens me to death.'

Avedykian sniffed a little contemptuously at all of this Suleyman talk. When Avram had been killed he had seen rather more of the haughty Ottoman than he liked. But he turned his mind away from that now, focusing his attention on the present. Though so much shorter than Cdktin, the lawyer looked down his nose at the officer and asked, 'So I take it we can now see Mr Temiz, Sergeant?'

'Yes, Mr Avedykian.' With a sweeping gesture he pointed to a badly stained door at the end of the corridor. 'Shall we go, madam, sir, Mr Avedykian?'

Chapter 5

Ali Mardin had been very reluctant to discuss his friend Erol Urfa. As various groups of tall Australians either took or replaced their keys on the board behind Mardin's desk he responded to Suleyman's requests in monosyllables.

'So, if you didn't watch the match or any other television, what did you do the night before last, Mr Mardin?'

'Talked.' His accent, like Urfa's, was rough with country tones. 'About?'

Mardin shrugged. 'This and that'

Mardin was comfortably seated behind his desk but there was nowhere for Suleyman to sit, forcing him to shuffle restlessly from foot to foot The extreme heat of the summer was debilitating enough without this.

'And were you alone, yourself and Erol Urfa?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure?'

Ali Mardin lifted his heavily lined, element-worn face to look at the policeman. He could be, Suleyman thought, anything from thirty to fifty-five years old. 'I am sure. I am not a madman.'

Suleyman sighed and then wiped his wet brow with his handkerchief. Middays in August had to be the closet thing to hell. 'At what time did Erol Urfa leave your premises?'

'In the morning when he went home.'

'Did you see him go?'

'No.' And then curling his Up into a sneer he said, 'What you want? That I should sleep with him?' He waved one hand dismissively to the side. 'I don't screw men.'

'I didn't say that you did.'

Mardin first burped and then grunted his grudging agreement. His lack of manners enraged an already unhappy Suleyman.

'Well, Mr Mardin,' he said through now tightly clenched teeth, 'your contribution to this investigation has been so fascinating that I fear I will have to go now before I become totally entranced.'

'Eh?'

'So if you will just allow me to look at your identity card I will be on my way.'

A very strange moment followed during which Mardin appeared to become frozen both mentally and biologically. As the blood raced from his face, rendering his walnut-hued cheeks ashen grey, it was as if this very simple request of Suleyman's had temporarily robbed him of the will to exist.

'Is there a problem?' Suleyman asked as he leaned, fascinated, across the desk towards Mardin. 'I do hope not.'

Inside his jacket pocket, Suleyman's mobile made its presence felt He took it out and, turning aside from the traumatised Mardin, pressed the receive button.

'Suleyman.'

'Hello, Inspector,' Çöktin said. 'I thought I'd better let you know that Erol Urfa is going to be on television tonight.'

'What?'

'TRT are going to broadcast a plea by him for the safe return of his daughter.'

Suleyman sighed deeply. 'I dislike these things, especially in view of the fact that we don't have any idea who we are dealing with in respect of the child. Have TRT approached the commissioner regarding involvement from ourselves?'

'No. As I understand it they, or perhaps Mr Aksoy, want Erol to be filmed in a domestic setting, soft focus and that sort of thing. They intend to build a programme of sorts around the plea.'

'We'll need to know what he intends to say,' Suleyman replied. 'Is he still at Aksoy's place?'

'No. He's with Tansu Hanim at her house.'

'I'll have to get out there to see him then.' Suleyman wiped his hand across his brow. Blast this interminable heat! 'How are Mr and Mrs Temiz?'

Çöktin groaned. 'Hostile.'

'No word from forensic?'

'Not yet. Although a Mr Ertürk has returned your call. It was a bit garbled but it would seem that he's speaking at some sort of conference. He says, if this means anything to you, that you can keep "them" until he's finished.'

Suleyman raised his eyes up to heaven in despair. 'I don't believe it!' He turned round to face Mardin who, once he became aware that Suleyman was watching him, started frantically to turn out the drawers in his desk.

'So will you go out to see Mr Urfa then, sir?' 'Yes. Perhaps you'd like to contact forensic and inject a little urgency into their investigations.' 'OK.'

'Well, keep in touch then, Çöktin,' Suleyman said. 'I'll see you later.' 'Goodbye, sir.'

Suleyman terminated the call and then turned his attention back to Ali Mardin.

'So has that identity card turned up yet, Mr Mardin?' he asked.

For the first time since the policeman had arrived, Mardin smiled. It was a limp, sheepish sort of thing, but it was a smile nevertheless. 'No, I'm afraid that it hasn't. It-'

'You do know that it is a serious offence not to show your card to an officer when he requests it?' 'Er, yes, er-'

'If I had the time, I would pursue this further now, but…' What was important here was the fact that the missing child seemed to be getting somewhat lost in all the activity around the murder. 'I will send one of my men round in the morning to view your card,' and then looking up rather fiercely he added, 'That will give you ample time, will it not?'

'Oh, yes, yes!' Mardin agreed as he bowed down in a way that Suleyman felt was not entirely natural to him. All this obsequiousness had, he thought, come about rather too rapidly. It made Suleyman wonder just what lay behind it all. Was his card simply missing or did he not possess one? Was his card in fact someone else's or was there something on it of which he was ashamed? There were lots of possibilities, none of which he had time to explore now.