Arabesk

'You shouldn't listen when I'm on the telephone,' Ìkmen said with an expression of what could have been mock sternness on his face.

Fatma, who was accustomed to such looks, simply carried on, 'But is she or-'

'Yes, it would seem so,' Ìkmen said with a sigh as he watched a piece of film showing Tansu and Erol on the beach at Bodrum. 'Cohen went to say goodbye.'

'And phoned you up to tell you?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because there is a problem with…' Suddenly realising what he was being drawn into, he stopped, looked at Fatma and said, 'And you know Kleopatra Polycarpou how, Fatma?'

'Oh, I've never known her myself, Cretin;' she said with a smile. ‘I know of her because I've heard you speak of her and because Mrs Onat kept house for her for a while before she took on that,' she sniffed as if she had a bad smell under her nose, 'that woman.'

Ìkmen frowned. 'Nothing was ever proven against Semra Arda.'

'Only because that girl was dead by the time she got to hospital!'

'Well, nobody else came forward to say she'd been doing abortions on them too!' Ìkmen said with some heat in his voice. 'If there's no proof there's no case!'

'Unless it's pol-'

'I don't want to even begin to talk about areas of law enforcement that I do not,understand!' he shouted. ‘I deal with straight criminal homicide, Fatma, as well you know. I don't do political stuff. I do what happens when some greedy son decides to put rat poison into his father's Ayran. Along the way some of my suspects are actually exonerated, one of those being Semra Arda.' He held up one finger to silence Fatma and then said, 'Who is, by the way, not a subject you or Sibel Onat or anyone else should be discussing in terms of guilt!'

Before Fatma could answer, a child's voice floated in from the bathroom. 'Mummy!'

'I don't know how that child gets so filthy!' Fatma said as she turned to move away, her rising temper now moving in a different direction. 'She's like a boy, that one!'

'Which one?' Ìkmen asked.

'Gul,' she answered, and then added spitefully, 'You should learn the children's names sometime, Çetin!'

Before she left the room, she stopped briefly to listen to a very mournful song that seemed to be wrenching itself painfully from Tansu's unnaturally white throat.

'So which one is this, then?' Ìkmen asked, tipping his head towards the television set. 'Seeing as you are some sort of expert on this stuff.'

'"Hate is My Only Friend". One of the bitter ones I told you about,' Fatma replied and then with a toss of her head she added, 'I can sympathise with this sometimes.'

And then she was gone, leaving only her husband's scowl in her wake.

Turning back to the television, Ìkmen listened with what became, eventually, interest. This was, as Fatma had said before, very bitter stuff indeed.

You have taken him from me

My peacock one

Now hate is my only friend

One day I will leave here

I'll come to you then

With a knife as my only love

I will cut out your heart

When you are alone

Because hate is my only friend

Although Tansu smiled sadly as she sang, the message within the song was as clear as it was homicidal. It was really very unpleasant.With a frown, Ìkmen leaned forward and grabbed hold of the stack of tapes underneath the television.

Over in Karaköy somebody else was watching, if with rather less interest this account of how Erol Urfa had found fame and now tragedy. Not that Cohen was really taking any of it in. His mind had become stuck several hours ago at the house of Madame Kleopatra and, as he looked at his watch for what had to be the tenth time that hour, he wondered if the old woman was dead yet Mehmet Suleyman, who was quietly sipping tea in the chair opposite his friend, was engrossed, however. Td be prepared to wager that this programme is what TRT have prepared should Erol die suddenly,' he said. 'It's so comprehensive. I almost expect to see a photograph of him at the end with his dates of birth and death underneath.' 'Mmm.'

'I just hope that when he does actually make his plea, Erol keeps to the script we agreed. Çöktin met him at the studios so he should be all right.'

'Why didn't you go?' Cohen asked, looking at his watch yet again.

'I had to see a man about his deluded sisters and anyway Urfa asked for him. Why do you keep looking at your watch?'

Cohen shrugged. 'No reason.' Then creasing his brow he said, 'Why would Urfa want Çöktin? I mean, you're the big man in this one, aren't you?'

'Perhaps it's something to do with their similar origins. Perhaps he trusts him more than me. I don't know.'

'Yes, well, you high-born boys can be a bit-' 'Sssh!'

As Erol's devastated face came into focus on the television, Suleyman leaned forward in order to turn up the volume.

'I don't have much to say,' the star, his voice obviously labouring under tranquillising drugs, drawled, 'except that I would like my Merih back now please.

There are certain foods she must not have, chicken and beans – she has allergies. You could, without meaning to, harm her in this way. Whoever you are, understand that this child is my whole life. If you have a soul then please return her to me. I don't care how you do this.'

. 'Don't mention locations, Erol, there's a good boy,' ¹ Suleyman muttered.

'If whoever has my Merih loves my music then please see from my face how dead I am now.' Tears rose unbidden to Erol's eyes. 'And if you hate me, think of Merih. I am her father, her only family now. Please, everyone, look at this photograph of my daughter and if you see her then contact the police. Telephone and fax numbers will appear at the end of this broadcast Thank you.'

'No "Insallah she will be returned to me" stuff then?' Cohen said as he turned aside to reach for his coffee.

'No. What you heard is what we agreed.'

'I thought you lot always appealed to God.'

'I thought you lot always made a lot of money until I came to live here,' Suleyman snapped back.

Cohen resumed looking at the now frozen image of a baby on the TV screen with a smile on his face which then rapidly and strangely faded.

Suleyman, thinking that perhaps he had gone too far with his remark, apologised. 'Sorry.'

But Cohen was not listening. With a sharp move forward he went in close to the screen and peered myopically at the image.

'Mehmet,' he said as his fingers traced the edges of what appeared to be a shawl the baby was wearing. ‘I’ve seen this before.'

'What?'

'This shawl,' he looked up, his face now ashen, 'I've seen it today.'

Suleyman dropped down onto the floor to join his friend. 'Where? Where have you seen it?'

'At Madame Kleopatra's hamam. With Mina.'

Chapter 6

'And Mina is who?' Suleyman asked as he turned round to look at a very winded Cohen behind him. Because his colleague had shot out of his apartment so quickly after the Urfa broadcast, Suleyman was still missing certain vital details.

'She's a prostitute.' Cohen paused briefly in order to take in a bit more oxygen. Living on a hill did not, as Cohen knew, mean that one could necessarily deal with steep slopes. 'Her mother is Semra Arda who works for Madame at the hamam. I saw the baby with the shawl there.'

Suleyman stepped lightly to one side in order to avoid a large pothole in the road. It was full of old Coke bottles and newspaper. 'So Madame Kleopatra's is where we are going now?'

'Yes. And no.'

'Eh?'

'It was Mina who had the baby, Mehmet. I can't go back to Madame's now, she's dying and besides…' 'Besides what?'

Cohen shrugged. 'I promised Madame that I…

. Look, Mehmet, there are some problems around Madame. There are… things.'

Suleyman stopped in front of what looked like a tiny, deserted Greek church and then pulled Cohen into the overgrown garden that had once been a graveyard.