Arabesk

Erol Urfa's features flushed, forcing him to turn back to face the front of the car. But then the truth, he knew, could provoke many emotions, including anger. Of course Ibrahim Aksoy was right, there would be no peace until the business of his wife's death was concluded. Her killer, sooner or later and whether or not it turned out to be that odd neighbour, had to be nailed. Until then, suspicion and rumour would abound, not least about himself. If nothing else, his appointment with Inspector Suleyman tomorrow morning was testament to the fact that he was hardly out of the frame yet. After all, with Tansu sitting extravagantly at his side, he didn't exactly fit the traditional model of an ideal husband.

As the car passed in front of the heavily guarded Dolmabahce Palace, the driver no doubt noticing Erol's sweat-swamped face said, 'Would you like me to turn the air conditioning up, Mr Urfa?'

'Yes,' Erol said as he smiled into the sleeping face of his child, 'that would be nice.'

Chapter 8

At first the thing in front of his face was no more than a vague blur. Given his current assignment plus the rather disordered state of his thoughts, Suleyman thought that it might be a pool of blood, possibly even his own. Well, the thing was red and so a pool of blood was not such a crazy idea. But as he raised his head slowly from the surface of his desk, he began to see certain details he had not focused on before – petals, stems, a vaguely sweet perfume.

'A sprig of bougainvillea,' Ìkmen said as he picked it up and sniffed at its flowers, 'from the garden of the Ìskender Hamam.'

Suleyman's eyes which were sore and small from lack of sleep blinked as the harsh light from the rising sun outside assaulted them. 'Sir?' he said huskily. 'What…'

'Madame Kleopatra died almost exactly an hour ago,' Ìkmen said as he slipped down wearily into the chair in front of Suleyman's desk. 'I left Dr Katsoulis to make the arrangements. After all, she was a Greek and so is he. It's fitting. When he's done I'll send

Cohen, if that's all right with you, and a few of the youngsters over to dig up the fig tree.'

Suleyman, who had by this time pulled himself up in his chair, put his hand up to his head and groaned. 'Why a fig tree?'

Ìkmen smiled. 'Ah, but of course you don't know, do you?'

'Know?'

'Cohen, for all his unsavoury habits, is at centre a good man. Strictly speaking he has broken the law, but…' He pushed his cigarettes and lighter across to Suleyman who had been distracting him by searching for his own. 'When he first went to see Madame, she told him something, you see.'

'I knew that,' Suleyman said as he lit up and then relaxed back into his chair. 'But he wouldn't tell me what.'

'She told him,' Ìkmen said with a strangely inappropriate smile upon his face, 'that the body of her late husband is buried beneath the fig tree in her garden. She also told him that she killed him.'

'So how was Cohen breaking the law?'

'He should have opened an investigation immediately. That garden should have been dug up while the old woman lay dying upstairs. After all, homicide is homicide whatever the condition of the perpetrator. But,' he sighed and then smiled again, 'she wanted him to promise that he wouldn't do anything until after her death, which he agreed to.'

'He told you, sir.'

'Only because she asked him to. Madame Kleopatra is, or was, one of those characters I came to know through my mother. Probably quite insane. But she was always very interested in my brother and myself when we were young, perhaps because she didn't have any children of her own. I believe she was very good to Cohen and his family too although I don't know how or why. When I make my report I will say that Madame confessed to me on her last gasp.'

Suleyman rubbed his head again and then smiled weakly. "That would seem to be the best course of action.'

'Good.' Standing up quickly, Ìkmen said, 'And now I'm going to take you to breakfast.'

'Oh, but I've got Erol Urfa at nine and I have to get back to Cengiz Temiz.' With nervous rapidity, Suleyman moved various papers around on his desk as if searching for something. 'I must draft a report for the commissioner and then there is the issue of Dr Halman.

Ìkmen kindly but firmly placed his hand across Suleyman's, effectively bringing his manic searching to a close. 'If you were to look at yourself from the outside, Suleyman,' he said, 'you would see a man staggering under too many issues. You would see, as I do, confusion and rising anxiety. Now I'm going to take you to that very expensive tourist cafe' across the road and I am going to buy you lots of coffee, some eggs and replenish your cigarette supply. The place has a balcony from which we can view all of our beautiful if polluted waterways. There’ he said as he slipped one arm around Suleyman's shoulders and pulled him to his feet, 'you will offload some of your worries onto me and we will talk.'

'But you're not well, sir,' Suleyman said as he shakily achieved verticality.

'Yes, that's right,' Ìkmen replied with a smile, 'I'm not well, so I'm not involved, so I'm not interfering in your work. Oh, and by the way, my name is Çetin from now on,' he said with a twinkle in his eye as he proffered his hand to his colleague. 'Hello.'

Suleyman took the hand with a small bow and, smiling, said, 'Mehmet Mehmet Suleyman.'

Although still early, the streets of the old city were already alive with activity. A horse-drawn cart carrying a huge pile of fruit eased its way down the narrow street, only just avoiding collision with an eccentrically parked BMW. Two little girls resplendent with vast hair ribbons both laughed as the horse appeared to do a last-minute double take. The shaven-headed simitci boy behind them sneered at what he perceived to be the irrationality of such an ancient form of transport. In the shops on the periphery of this scene, the carpet and leather goods men were putting their wares out onto the pavement for display. Occasionally a little competitive, if cheerful, banter would pass between them- stuff about prices and the scandalous degree to which one's rivals over-inflated their charges. From various, and numerous, directions, the sound of Arabesk music floated up towards the two men talking and drinking coffee on the balcony of the Marmara Türist Restaurant

'Now that you've found the baby and are, therefore, officially heroic, you'll have to deal with the press again,' Ìkmen said as he drained his coffee cup and then signalled to the waiter that he would like some more.

'Yes,' Suleyman replied with a scowl, 'although I think that the details of the arrest of Mina and company are best left unsaid.'

Ìkmen laughed. 'I would have paid good money to see you negotiating for a prostitute. Mina Arda must have thought her business had taken a turn for the better when she saw you.'

'You know mat her mother performed an abortion on her when she was seventeen,' Suleyman said, lowering his voice as he recounted this scandalous fact. 'She claims she has been unable to conceive since.'

'Semra Arda has been suspected of such practices for years’ Ìkmen said with a sigh. 'I arrested her on suspicion of just such an offence involving another girl about ten years ago. But there was no proof.'

'But to give your own daughter an abortion!'

Ìkmen shrugged. 'It's quicker and cheaper than going to a doctor, plus you don't have to explain anything…These are very poor people, Mehmet, ordinary standards do not apply.' He lit another cigarette and leaned back in his chair. 'So the man with Down's syndrome gave the baby to Mina presumably because he knew she either liked or wanted a baby?'

Suleyman waited until the waiter had taken their empty coffee cups away and replaced them with full ones before answering.

'Yes,' he said, 'although until he speaks to us we won't know how he got hold of the child. Mina says that Cengiz Temiz rescued the baby from the Urfas' apartment after seeing what he describes as a female demon in there. At least that is what she claims he told her.'