Arabesk

'Oh, and if you do think of anything else you would like to tell me about your evening with Mr Urfa, you will contact me, won't you, Mr Mardin?'

A little more guardedly, the man said, 'Yes.'

'So I expect we will meet again.' Suleyman held his hand out to Mardin.

The man shrugged as his dry palm touched Suleyman's hand. 'Maybe. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye.'

As he walked out into the searing midday sunlight, Suleyman took his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and put them on. Then, as casually as he could, he briefly glanced across at the rather stylish Japanese car that was parked outside the carpet shop opposite Mr Mardin's hotel. So, still there then. Still containing the same amiable-looking married couple. He sighed. Following him to Mardin's place was one thing but now that he was going back to Tansu's ghastly housed he did not need this. As it was, he would probably have to fight his way through the gang of press vultures who were, apparently, camped around the singer's property. But how to deal with his tail?

If Ìkmen had taught his protege’ anything it was that meeting certain, usually unimportant but troublesome people head on was much better than ignoring their irritating behaviour. The 'doing it with humour' bit did sometimes elude him, not being a natural like his old boss, but he was prepared to give it a try.

He crossed the road and, with a smile, knocked on the window of the car. With a smooth swooshing sound, the window descended to reveal a widely smiling young man and his equally youthful female passenger.

'I just thought I'd let you know,' Suleyman said, 'that I'm not going to drive like a lunatic in order to get away from you. The late Princess Diana's driver made that mistake when attempting to get away from the French press. I'm certainly not going to die for the sake of their Turkish counterparts.'

'Ah…'

'So, by all means follow me if you must. But the drive will be slow and boring and could, quite possibly, involve a hold-up courtesy of my friends in the traffic division. Do I make myself clear?'

The man's over-friendly expression resolved into a scowl.

'I suppose so,' he said, but then brightening just a little he added, 'May I quote you on that then, Inspector?'

She'd just managed to get the child down for an afternoon nap when there was a knock at the door.

I'll go,' she said to her mother. Madame Kleopatra had been restless for the last few hours and Semra, now seated quietly in the little back yard, was exhausted.

'Oh, it's you,' Mina said as she opened the door to a small, middle-aged policeman with attitude.

Cohen shrugged. 'I heard that Madame is really dying now. I've come to say my goodbyes.'

‘I didn't know you knew her that well,' Mina said as she moved aside to let him in. 'I thought maybe you'd come to see me.'

He put his hand gently under her chin and pulled her face close to his. But he didn't kiss her as she thought he might. 'Not this time, my little soul,' he said. This time is for Madame alone.'

She took his small dry hand in hers and, with only a quick glance back to ensure that the child's door was shut, she led him up the creaking wooden staircase to the strange eyrie that clung to the side of the old baths' caldarium. The story was that Madame's husband had built this bedroom because he had poor circulation and was therefore always cold. The heat from the caldarium had, so the tale went, made his life much easier. Given the present scorching conditions, Cohen was glad that the baths were no longer in use.

Although it was obvious from the rattling sounds that emanated from the rickety wooden bed that they were in the presence of one who was dying, the pattern of light from the delicate filigreed shutters made Madame Kleopatra, if not lovely, not unpleasant to look upon.

Mina motioned Cohen into one of the chairs beside the bed and then sat down herself. With a smile the policeman took one of the old woman's hands in his and then kissed it.

'You know,' he said looking at Madame but addressing Mina, 'when I was a child Madame used to let me and my brothers bathe here for free.'

'Why did she do that?'

He looked away from Madame just briefly in order to smile at Mina and then he said, 'We were poor, you know. My mother died when we were very small and Dad was just a useless drunk. We moved here from Balat so that the old man didn't have to go so far to get to Cicek Pasaj.'

'A Karaköy story.'

'You have it,' he sighed. 'Well, Dad didn't exactly have a lot of control over us and so, as young boys will do, we went around pretty filthy most of the time. At school we were looked down upon, scruffy uniforms.' He laughed as he looked down at his less than perfect police uniform. 'Until, that is, Madame happened to see us one day. "Bring those poor Jewish boys to me," she said to that skinny old eunuch with the gold teeth she'd taken in God alone knows how long before.' 'A eunuch? What-'

'It's a long story,' he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'But anyway she led us in, directed us to the men's section and we had a bath. Then before we left she told the eunuch, in front of us, "You are to let the Jewish boys in whenever they wish and you are to charge them nothing.'' She said it very haughtily, which is what she was like.'

'So when did you last see Madame then?' Mina asked.

'Oh, it has to be thirty years ago now,' Cohen said. 'I know that the baths were closed by then and everyone said Madame was dying.'

'So why are you here now?'

'I was passing and she just stuck her head out of this window.' His gaze drifted across the filigree shutter. 'I raised my cap to greet her and she smiled one of her haughty ones. "So they made you a policeman, did they, Jew?" she said, and I replied, "They wouldn't have done if you hadn't cleaned me up, Madame." Then she scowled. "Oh rubbish," she said, or something like that "They would have had you anyway. You're a clever little man, I could see the brightness in you and your brothers always. And if your police friends should ever say otherwise, you send them to me." And then she slammed the shutter closed and was gone.'

'Did you ever know Madame's husband?'

'No. Why?'

'Well,' Mina said, 'my mum says Madame had no family of her own but her husband's people should probably be told that she's dying.'

'I have no idea who they are,' Cohen said. He turned back to look at Madame just as she opened her eyes. 'God!'

'No,' the old woman rasped, 'not God.' She lifted up one papery hand and patted the side of his face. 'Come close, Jew.'

Her breath was both laboured and rank and although he knew logically that she was just an old, dying woman, Cohen felt repelled. As she began to whisper, he winced. By the end of her little speech his expression was, however, one of shock rather than repulsion. At first Mina thought it was the rapidity with which the old woman sank back into coma that so disturbed him. But as soon as she saw the policeman whisper inaudibly into the old woman's insensible ears and then jump up from his seat as if scalded, she thought that perhaps Madame had said something shocking.

'What did she want?' Mina asked as she followed his rapidly retreating figure out of the room.

'Nothing,' he said shortly, hurrying down the stairs. 'Yes, but

Just as Cohen drew level with the door to the child's room, the baby began to cry. For a moment, possibly because his head was still full of whatever it was Madame had said, Mina thought that he hadn't noticed.

But she was wrong.

'Is that a baby?' he asked as, uninvited, he pulled the door open.

'Yes,' Mina said, 'it's a friend's. I'm looking after it for her.' Then, pushing past Cohen, she went over to the bed upon which the baby lay wrapped in a pretty gold brocade cover.

'I didn't think you lot often had children,' Cohen observed as he let his eyes drift distractedly around the room. Then, as if to himself alone, he added, 'What a terrible place to house a baby.'

'It's not so bad,' Mina said and held the child protectively against her chest.