Hamdi Bey wrote that he had inquired through some trusted friends in the antiquities business in London about the firm of Rettingate and Sons. It was owned by Lionel Rettingate and a silent partner whose name no one appeared to know and whom no one had ever seen. Although nothing had ever been proved, the shop was suspected of selling stolen goods and no reputable dealer would openly buy from them. It was no secret, though, that these same dealers would pass money under the table if Rettingate had something they really wanted.
Kamil was disappointed. He had hoped for a direct link of some kind to Owen.
He sat back and lit a cigarette, then unwrapped the long package containing the cross and carried it over to the window to examine it in the light.
“Good morning, bey.” He heard Avi’s voice behind him. “Would you like me to bring you some tea?”
“Good morning, Avi.” Kamil didn’t turn. He was looking intensely at the cross on top of the long stave. It was made of iron and brass in a flat diamond shape and decorated with a pair of stylized birds, little more than pairs of tiny iron wings. He touched the edge of the diamond and the wings, then held it up to the light and studied the shape from the side and from above.
“Come over here and hold this steady.”
Avi stood beside him and wrapped his hands around the stave of the cross. Kamil noticed the boy’s hands were still scratched and covered in scabs, but they seemed to be healing. He took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and slipped it carefully between the wings of one of the birds. The white linen came away stained a rusty black. He did the same to other parts of the cross.
He examined the stains for a few moments. “Blood,” he announced. “We’ll get the police surgeon to verify it, but I think it’s blood.”
He suddenly had an idea. “You know the bakery behind the stables?”
“Yes, bey?” Avi said, clearly puzzled.
“Run over there and bring me an unbaked loaf of bread, one that’s already risen. Tell them to wrap it up so it doesn’t fall flat before you get back.” He reconsidered. “Bring two, just in case. Run.”
A few minutes later, Avi and Abdullah watched with fascination as Kamil placed a tray on the floor. The yeasty dough wobbled in his hands. He set it on the tray. The imprints of his fingers disappeared as the dough puffed itself up again into a flawless beige mound. Then Kamil took up the cross by its stave, turned it over so the cross was facing downward, and plunged it like a spear into the dough.
In the moments before the dough repaired itself, they could see a pattern of incisions. It was the same as the pattern of cuts on Malik’s body, the sets of tiny bite-like punctures made by the miniature wings.
When the bread had risen again, they saw that its beige surface was mottled black in a pattern that echoed the cuts. Kamil had Abdullah record what he had done, then gave him his handkerchief to send to the police surgeon for analysis.
And he added murder to the charges against Magnus Owen.
“Does that mean Amida didn’t kill Malik?” Omar asked, looking disappointed.
Kamil had ridden to Fatih station to fill Omar in on the news, and was eating a portion of stuffed mussels he had purchased from a vendor. He swallowed and said, “It appears that way. I don’t understand, though, how he got hold of Malik’s pin.”
“I think it’s time to ask him.” Omar buckled on his revolver and threw on his jacket. “By the way, the watchman found a body behind the Fatih Mosque this morning, with that mark carved into his back. So either Owen or his henchmen are still around. Probably that testicle Remzi,” he added darkly.
“Owen will stick around to see if he can get the Proof of God,” Kamil predicted, wrapping the shells in a piece of newsprint. “He’s probably holed up in his other apartment. I wish I knew where that was. Who was the victim?”
“Dark-skinned boy in his early teens, naked. Might be Habesh. He looked familiar. Probably from Sunken Village. While we’re there, we can ask if anyone’s missing.”
As soon as Saba saw the cross in Kamil’s hand, she exclaimed, “It can’t be. Where did you get that?” She went to a long box in the corner of the room and opened it, then turned to her mother. “It’s empty. Did you know the scepter was missing, mother?”
Balkis was propped on the divan and covered with a quilt, one of her wrists bound in a thick yellow-stained bandage.
“Missing?” Balkis exclaimed. “That’s not possible. I used it on Friday.”
Kamil and Omar stood just inside the door. Kamil trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from Saba. He couldn’t quite grasp that this was his sister. She wore a brown charshaf that covered everything but her face, which was pale and drawn, her pallor accentuated by the dark frame of the veil. She no longer looked like a child.
“It’s the scepter we use for our ceremonies,” Saba explained to Kamil. He noticed she avoided looking at him. She reached out for the cross. “I’ll put it back in the box.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t give it to you just yet. It’s evidence. We thought you might help us identify it.” He gave the cross to Omar, who wrapped it in a piece of oiled cloth. “We’re actually here to see your son,” Kamil told Balkis.
It was late afternoon. He and Omar had searched Amida’s house and looked for him in his usual haunts in Charshamba. Kamil didn’t think he had gone far. He was sure Amida still hoped to pluck the golden apple, to sell Owen the Proof of God Kamil had dangled before him. Four thousand gold liras was almost a minister’s salary. It would buy Amida travel and a life far away from here. Four thousand liras would make a modern man of him. He was probably out looking for the manuscript right now. Kamil was certain that had been Amida’s reason for coming to Malik’s house two nights ago. He had probably planned to break in and hoped to find the Proof before his meeting with Kubalou. By now it was safely locked up in Hamdi Bey’s museum.
“Did he take the scepter?” Saba asked.
Kamil remembered that Saba had wanted him to arrest Amida and thought she’d be pleased to know they were here to do just that.
“We don’t know,” Kamil said in a neutral voice. “That’s one of several things we’d like to ask him.”
“I’ll take you to him,” Saba offered.
“Don’t,” Balkis croaked.
“Mama, Amida is a man, so let him take responsibility like a man.”
Saba slipped on her shoes and told Kamil and Omar to follow her.
When they reached the path that led to Amida’s cottage, Kamil stopped and said, “He’s not home. We were just there.”
Saba didn’t answer, but continued along the path. Pushing open Amida’s door without knocking, she went inside. Kamil shrugged and followed. Omar took up a position inside the door.
Saba strode to the piano in the sitting room, lifted the lid and brought her hands down several times on the keys, creating an explosion of noise.
She crossed her arms and they stood waiting in the dying echo.
Amida appeared blinking in the corridor. He seemed surprised to see Kamil.
Kamil and Omar exchanged glances and Omar gave an imperceptible nod.
Kamil was shocked at the change in Amida since last night. His face was unshaven, his eyes bloodshot and swollen and shaded with circles as dark as bruises. He looked shaken and, Kamil thought, anguished.
“Brother, Kamil Pasha has some business with you,” Saba said, her voice taking on a note of concern. She too looked surprised at Amida’s state.
Kamil took Amida by the arm. “Let’s go next door.”
Amida tried to shake him loose, only to find Omar hoisting him by his other arm.
“So where were you?” Omar asked him in the tone he reserved for naughty children. “Hiding in your rabbit warren?”
Amida struggled. “You have no right.”