Arabesk

Chapter 10

By the time he reached Haydarpasa railway station, Ali Mardin had convinced himself that he was simply going home for a social visit That this was patently not the case had been graphically demonstrated by the action of gently slipping his identity card over the side of the ferry that had taken him to the Asian train station. There was, he knew, nothing usual about the wilful destruction of official documents. But what choice had he had? If the police had seen it they would have hauled him in for sure. Once in their unforgiving clutches he would, he knew, roll out the whole saga, which, although not exactly criminal, was not going to help his friend. When he got home there were many things he would have to tell Erol's parents – and Ruya's.

But for now, in the twenty minutes before the train arrived, Ali Mardin had other concerns. It was unlikely he would be able to get home without being asked to show his identity card. Soldiers or police or gendarmes could demand to see it and grave consequences could follow upon not producing it. What he needed, therefore, was a lot of luck both in procuring a replacement and in not being too closely looked at if subsequently required to produce it. Getting hold of one was not going to be easy, however. The tall, smart businessmen, distracted by their mobile telephones and portable computers, were probably the easiest targets but they bore so little resemblance to a short, rather scruffy peasant that those viewing such a card would have to be insane to detect any resemblance. Another peasant would be better. But peasants were cautious, as was Ali himself; they kept their possessions close. And Ali Mardin, though no saint, was no thief either.

Perhaps in the closer confines of the train he would have more opportunity. Ah bit his bottom lip nervously as a small group of heavily-armed policemen passed by. He would have to do something quickly. He knew that he could not help looking shifty. Very soon someone would stop him and demand to see his documents. Ah wiped the sweat from his brow on the cuff of his sleeve and then looked around him once again. If only someone would leave a bag or a jacket for just a moment…

As the departure for Ankara was announced over the tannoy, nothing immediately presented itself. He had a choice. To get onto the train and take his chances there or continue to scan for possible victims here. How could one know which was the right course of action to take? The policemen were getting onto the train, he could see them What he could also see was that the station was emptying wholesale into the Ankara Express. Opportunities were disappearing by the second. He had to act and fast

Dodging from foot to indecisive foot, Ali wavered for a few seconds – until he saw some of his fellow passengers were looking at him. Ah, well. He moved, head down, towards the barrier. Someone, somewhere had once said that with movement came freedom. Ali Mardin hoped against hope that this was the case.

Ever since he had received that phone call in Suleyman's office, Ìsak Çöktin had been unusually preoccupied. He had assured the inspector that the call was of no great import but Suleyman wasn't convinced. He didn't like secrets and that included telephone calls he couldn't understand and unauthorised appearances at the homes of suspects. This latter, as he had discussed with Ìkmen earlier, had to be tackled. The few kilometres that separated the car from Tansu Hanim's home would, he felt, give him an opportunity to broach the subject

'I was quite surprised to see that you were still with Mr Urfa when we found his daughter,' he said as he edged slowly into the appropriate traffic lane.

'He was very distressed after the broadcast' Çöktin replied, somewhat baldly, Suleyman thought

'What do you mean?'

Çöktin shrugged. 'He wanted to talk.'

'About?'

'Is there something wrong with my talking to a victim of crime?' His tone was really quite challenging and, though not exactly out of character, it was more confrontational than Suleyman had expected.

'It is when that person could be a suspect himself,' he said. 'What you have to remember, Çöktin, is that if we look at the situation from a romantic, for want of a better word, perspective, Urfa does stand to gain by the death of his wife.'

'What do you mean?'

As the traffic queue came to a grinding halt, Suleyman turned to his sergeant 'To free him for Tansu Hanim.'

Çöktin, quite unexpectedly, laughed. 'What, you mean marry her?'

'Not necessarily but-’

'She's old enough to be his mother, sir!'

Suleyman bristled. 'So?'

The two men shared a look that informed Çöktin that he should not really continue with this line of argument. He looked down at the floor and cleared his throat 'Well, I suppose he might marry her, but… Did he tell you that, sir? That he might marry Tansu?'

Suleyman opened the window of the car and lit a cigarette before answering. 'No,' he said, 'quite the reverse, in fact He said it was his intention to marry another girl from his village, though he said he would still carry on seeing Tansu. But people do lie,

Çöktin, and aside from the initial shock that his wife's death gave him I can see very little of the desperately grieving husband in him.'

'Doesn't mean that he killed his wife though, does it? If Cengiz Temiz is to be believed, the assailant was a woman anyway, though I'm not sure we can necessarily believe Cengiz Temiz, can we, sir? I mean, you must admit to being a little wary about his story. There have to be a lot of questions, don't there? I mean, why did he leave his apartment when his parents were out? Why did the "devil woman" only hiss as opposed to attacking him when he saw her standing over the body of Ruya Urfa? Why was the door left open in the first place? It's too fantastic. We can't take it as absolute truth, can we?'

'No,' Suleyman smiled, 'but nor can we necessarily believe Erol Urfa either. The point I'm trying to make, Çöktin,' he said as he gently eased the car forward a few millimetres, 'is that one must always keep an open mind.'

'Well, yes.

'Even when that openness is extended to people of one's own type,' he looked intently at the car in front, 'if you know what I mean.'

He felt, rather than saw, Çöktin's anger.

'Oh, so people have been saying that just because Urfa and myself-'

'People have been saying nothing.' Suleyman flicked the ash from his cigarette out of the window. 'But that issue will arise unless you are very careful. The slightest hint of partisanship will be both noted and commented upon. Staying with Mr Urfa in your own time and turning up at the station with him and his entourage later are just examples of this.' Then turning to look at Çöktin, he added, 'We must all be totally correct in this matter. If Inspector Ìkmen taught me nothing else, he taught me that that is the only way to arrive at an honest solution to a crime.'

'Yes, but you come from wealthy-'

‘I know exactly where I come from, Çöktin,' Suleyman said with a hard edge to his voice, 'and I know you know I have not always been popular because of it'

'Yes, but-'

'Every time someone of high birth is either arrested or implicated in a criminal act to which I am assigned, people nudge each other knowingly. I know this.' Then leaning towards Çöktin he said, 'But I also know that the only reason I have survived is because I have never given in to partisanship, bribery or the lure of informal little talks with suspects. There are several prominent – families in this city who will no longer talk to me because of my attitude. But I don't care. We are here to ensure that the innocent are protected and the guilty are punished. That is our job.'

'Police work is not always like this,' Çöktin said as he lit up a cigarette of his own. He then added bitterly. 'There are people who are completely innocent who-'

'I do not intend to get into a discussion about anything that occurs east of Ankara,' Suleyman snapped. 'Until today I have never even so much as alluded to the differences between you and myself. But you must be careful with regard to Urfa. He is a high-profile person who is watched, followed and regarded by everyone.' With just a quick, sharp look, he added, 'I'm actually looking out for you, you know!'

Çöktin mumbled something that could have been thanks but then he moved miserably down into his seat and stared malevolently at the car in front 'You must know that things are different for the poor, whether out in the country or here in the city,' he said. Where my parents come from people burn working in the intense heat of the summer for just a few lira, virtual slaves to corrupt village headmen.'

Suleyman sighed. Although accustomed to being told that he couldn't possibly empathise with the common man, he always felt that the resentment frequently levelled at him personally was misplaced. After all, the last of his parents' servants had been given notice (due to lack of Suleyman family funds) when he was four. And besides, the way Ìkmen had always trained him to see things was that if a person were guilty of a crime, that guilt stood regardless of that person's status in life. And the law, if at times only theoretically, agreed. But he knew, sadly, that there was no way of telling this to Çöktin right now. He had things in common with Erol Urfa – nationality, age, possibly philosophy of life too.

Çöktin didn't want Erol to be a murderer and, in truth, Suleyman felt that it was not really likely. However, as the lead officer in this case, he had to be rational. Çöktin, though an excellent policeman, was exhibiting a blind spot with regard to Urfa that was disturbing. It seemed not to extend to Tansu but then that was perhaps to do with her being a woman or, rather more specifically, a very unpleasant woman. In respect of Erol Urfa, however, Çöktin would have to be guided most carefully. Either that or watched.

As Suleyman regarded his deputy's sulky face out of the corner of his eye, he decided that the latter option might just be the best course to follow.

Ferhat Göktepe, though well-accustomed to Tansu's frequent rages, found himself completely at a loss with regard to her grief. Earlier, in his capacity as her caring manager, he had taken her to an audition for a part in a new film. Although the production company involved were in fact French, the casting of Tansu was only a formality. Göktepe had sent them enough publicity material to convince them that Tansu was 'big' in her own country, which is what the French had wanted. Big, Turkish, a peasant – all that was fine. But the producer, one Marcel Saint Denis, wanted Tansu not for the love interest in what was essentially a soft porn movie but as the scheming elderly mother of the depraved Sultan. Göktepe hadn't yet told Tansu this. And with her behaving the way she was, he couldn't imagine he would be breaking the news to her for some time.

Göktepe looked from the screaming mass of Tansu on the sofa towards the large unopened bottle of champagne on the table and back again. Ever patient, Tansu's sister Latife and two brothers, Galip and Yilmaz, stood silently behind their sibling's writhing form, looking concerned.

'I'm going to have to speak to Ibrahim Aksoy about this,' Göktepe said as he took his mobile telephone out of his jacket pocket 'Erol must be made to see reason.'

‘I’ll bring him back myself if I have to,' Galip said darkly and placed a protective hand on Tansu's shoulder. 'No one uses my sister and then just throws her away.'

'Exactly,' Göktepe concurred. He punched a number into his telephone. 'Which is why I am going to sort it out' He leaned forward to speak directly to Tansu. 'Don't worry, my brightest star, Ferhat will not let you down.'

But before he could press the send button to make the call, a voice of dissent joined the conversation.

'What you're all forgetting,’ Latife said as she moved round the sofa to sit with her sister, 'is that Erol has gone from here in order both to honour his wife and to preserve the dignity of his child. Whatever we may think, it does not look right for him to reside at the home of an unmarried woman, known to be his lover. I mean, the police could even still be-'

'Shut up! Shut up!' Tansu screamed and took a hard if hopeless swing at her sister. 'I want Erol here and I want him now!'

'I don't think you should have said that,' Galip muttered. He pulled Latife roughly up from the sofa.

The considerably younger Yilmaz looked across at his brother and stuttered, 'D-d-don't you think we sh-sh-should get a d-d doctor?'

Ferhat Göktepe smiled as he finally pressed the send button. 'No need for a doctor to get involved,' he said confidently. 'I'll sort it out with Aksoy so that we'll all be happy and well.'

'I want Erol in my arms now!' Tansu hollered as she leaned forward to grab a cigarette from the table. "Then we will open that champagne!'

Just before Göktepe got through, the distinctive sound of the electronic doorbell floated through from the front of the building. Knowing that the little maid would get it, all those involved in Tansu's latest drama stayed where they were.

As soon as Göktepe. started to speak it was evident that he was communicating only with an answering service. Tansu dissolved into more smoke-wreathed tears.

'Hello, Ibrahim,' Göktepe said with a smile on his lips if hot in his eyes. 'Listen, my brother, I know it will be a trouble but you and I really need to talk urgently. I am right now here with my lady who is, I do not joke, dying for love of your Erol.'

Yilmaz, who was genuinely touched by Göktepe's words, began to join his sister in tears.

'So you see, I must speak to you, Ibrahim,' Göktepe continued. 'Insallah, between us we can find a solution to this problem.' Then he clicked the phone off, muttering 'You prick' under his breath, smiled at the family and sat down.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the maid.

'Come in, Belkis,' Latife called.

The door opened to admit a girl who looked as if she was only about twelve years old. She wore a very plain grey tunic which only served to accentuate the thinness of her figure; plus a loud floral headscarf.

With halting steps she approached the disarrayed figure on the sofa; "There are two gentlemen to see you, madam,' she said as she made a movement that might have been a bow.

Rearing dramatically, Tansu swung round to grab Galip's hand. 'It's him! It's my beloved with Ibrahim Aksoy.'

'Now, Tansu, my soul, let us not get too excited.'

The little maid looked down sadly at the floor. 'Actually it is two policemen,' she said. 'An Inspector Suleyman and another man.'

As quickly as she had taken Galrp's hand, Tansu released it with a disdainful flicking motion. 'What?' she said to the girl violently. 'What did you just say?'

'Your visitors are policemen, madam. An Inspector-'

'Fuck off!' Tansu snarled and waved the little girl away. 'Don't tell me what I don't want to hear! And tell them to fuck off too. I-'

'Tansu!' Latife hissed She moved round in order to attempt to silence her sister. 'You cannot tell the police to go away!'

'I can! I'm a fucking star, I can do whatever I like!'

Göktepe who had, until now, been silent upon this matter, cleared his throat 'Yes, you are a star, my darling, no one can deny that, but where the police are concerned…' He shrugged as if giving in to the inevitable.

Latife was now hunkered down at Tansu's side. She took hold of her sister's hand and kissed it. 'If you don't see them, darling, they will think all sorts of thoughts that are just not true. And besides, as Turkey's only true beloved star, you must lead the way in being a good citizen, mustn't you?'

A strange moment passed during which Tansu's mood, as the rest of the party all knew, could have moved in either direction. But as her breathing began to settle, they started to have hope.

'Mmm.' It was said through sobs and with little enthusiasm, but as Latife gently shifted some stray hairs out of Tansu's eyes, the singer leaned forward and kissed her.

'Now can I ask Bellas to show them in?'

Tansu swung her legs down onto the floor and reached for a tissue from the table. 'Do I look OK?' she asked, much as she must have done when pleading for approval as a child, Ferhat Göktepe thought.

Latife smiled. 'Not even tears can spoil your lovely face,' she soothed as she gently touched that face once again. Turning back to the maid, Latife said, 'Please show the gentlemen in now, Belkis.'

'Yes, madam.'

'And when you've done that,' Tansu said as she ground her cigarette out in the ashtray, 'you can collect your things from your room and go.'

‘Tansu!'

Within a split second the eyes had hardened yet again. "That is my last word on the subject, Latife,' Tansu said imperiously. She surveyed the trembling girl once again with extreme distaste and shouted, 'Go!'

'Now, Tansu,' Göktepe began. 'No!'

The girl began to cry, 'Oh, but beloved lady-' 'With your hateful eyes of blue and the bad news you always seem to bring, you are a devil indeed! Now get out of my sight, bringer of policemen!'

As the girl ran weeping from the room, Tansu took a deep breath and then lit another cigarette. 'I may not be able to control the world,' she said darkly as she surveyed all of those around her, 'but I will rule over my house without question.'

And with that she settled herself against the back of the sofa to await the police.

'Bulent! Bulent!' Ìkmen shouted as the front door slammed shut behind the retreating back of his son. Then with a sigh he let his upraised arms flop to his sides in despair. Zelfa Halman, who had observed all that had passed between father and son from the door to Ìkmen's balcony, walked into the hall and took the inspector gently by the arm.

'Come on,' she said forcefully, 'let's get outside.'

'I'm sorry you had to see that,' Ìkmen said as he allowed himself to be led into the living room and then out into the thick summer air once again, 'but that boy appears so rarely that I feel I must try to make him listen to reason when I do see him.'

'Growing up is never easy,' the doctor said as she flopped down onto the only comfortable chair to be had. 'He's a teenager. What can I say? I mean, we've all done it, haven't we?' She reached across the table for her cigarettes and then lit up.

'Done what?'

Zelfa Halman smiled. 'Rebelled.' She seemed, to Ìkmen, to revel in the sound of the word. 'When I was your son's age my parents had just split up so I was sent to live with my Uncle Frank. Oh, and I'd just started college too. It was rough but do you know what stands out about that time now? Remembering, of course, that Uncle Frank is a priest and therefore very pious.'

Ìkmen shrugged. 'No, I can't imagine.'

'What stands out, Ìkmen, is the way that I and my friends broke both civil and religious laws. Basically, whenever anyone went across to England, he or she would bring back a whole load of condoms for us.' Seeing Ìkmen, or so she thought, blush a little, Zelfa added, 'Not that we ever used the bastard things, we were much too scared and ignorant to do that. But, for myself, I'd make sure that Uncle Frank got a look at them from time to time and I did once blow one up in front of his housekeeper. What your son is doing is quite normal.'

'Mmm.' Ìkmen looked unconvinced, but before the doctor could comment upon this he changed the subject. 'So you were brought up a Catholic then, were you?'

'Yes. Mum was religious and Dad didn't care much so she got her way. And anyway it was Ireland in the nineteen fifties, for God's sake. My father might just as well have been from another planet.'

'So although you are Turkish you would, I assume,' Ìkmen said slowly and with seemingly some difficulty, 'prefer, for the sake of ease, I suppose, to have serious friendships with fellow Roman-'

'Stop digging, Ìkmen! I'll tell you nothing, as well you know.'

– Ìkmen, thoroughly chastised and thwarted in his attempt to review Halman's intentions vis-a-vis Suleyman, looked down at the floor. 'Sorry. That was both clumsy and prurient of me. I keep on doing such things these days. I must be getting old.'

Zelfa Halman took a long drag on her cigarette and then said, ^‘So why did you ask me to come? Not, I hope-'

'No, no.' He sighed. 'No, although connected with Inspector Suleyman, my need to see you doesn't pertain to his private life. It is as a professional that I wish to consult you, Doctor.'

'For yourself? Your own problems?'

'No.' Ìkmen took a cigarette from his packet and lit up. 'Basically something which may or may not be irrational has been bothering me. This thing, which may or may not have a bearing upon Inspector Suleyman's current investigations, could be absolutely irrelevant. But because I feel as I do, I must explore the issue. Do you understand?'

'Yes.'

Down below in the street, some of the shops were beginning to put their lights on, as much a signal to the coming night as the merciful drop in temperature.

'Dr Halman, do you know anything about devil worship? I don't mean your European burning witches type of thing, but the Turkish version of that’

'Oh, you mean like the concept of the night belonging to Shaitan, women who cast fortunes, sorcery, the djinn…'

'No, no,' Ìkmen said and then almost unconsciously dropping his voice, 'No, I mean the devil worshippers, the Yezidis. You as a foreigner, as it were, might have heard…'

'Oh, yes,' she said with a smile, 'you're right that people from this sect might be more willing to speak to me than to yourself. Not, of course,' she added with a twinkle in her eye, 'that I am telling you I have ever had a patient who is a Yezidi.'

'No.'

'No. All the identity cards of my patients have categorically stated their owner's religion as Islam, Judaism or Christianity. And that I can tell you with absolute honesty.'

Ìkmen leaned forward. 'But?'

'But first I need to know why you are interested in this subject,' she said. 'I mean, I know that you're a dreadful old sinner but membership of the Yezidi is only open to Kurds.'

Hearing the front door open and then close behind what sounded like a multitude of feet and voices, Ìkmen moved to shut the door to the balcony. 'Now, Zelfa,' he said as he walked back towards the table and sat down, 'you know that I can't disclose police business.'

'Yes, all right,' she said with a smile, 'but am I right m assuming that you won't use anything I tell you for the wrong reasons?'

'If you mean will I use your knowledge to do harm, then the answer is no. I merely wish to understand something that you who I know has studied our culture more extensively than most might be able to tell me.'

The balcony door swung open to admit a younger version of Ìkmen.

'We're back,' Sinan said with a grin and then seeing Dr Halman sitting beside his father he added, 'Oh, I'm sorry, Dad. I-'

'This is Dr Halman,' his father said as Zelfa rose to take the young man's hand. 'Dr Halman, this is my eldest son Dr Sinan Ìkmen.'

'Oh,' she said with interest as she took his warm hand in hers. 'A doctor of what, may I ask?'

'He's a dermatologist,' Ìkmen said with obvious pride in his voice. 'We're very proud of him.' Turning to his son, he said, 'Dr Halman is one of our leading psychiatrists, Sinan.'

‘Sinan's eyes shone. 'Oh, how interesting.' He moved to sit at the table with his father. 'May I?'

'Perhaps later,' Ìkmen said. 'Dr Halman and I are discussing-'

'Oh, right, it's work,' Sinan sighed. 'Although not too much work, I hope, Dad. You know what Dr Akkale-'

'Yes, yes, yes,' Ìkmen said wearily. 'Just give us a few minutes, will you, son?'

'As long as you don't wear yourself out'

'I promise I will control him,' Zelfa said with a smile, and as the young man moved towards the door she added, 'It was nice to meet you, Dr Ìkmen.'

'And you.' He shut the door behind him.

'You know that he could be part of your problem in relation to Bulent?' Zelfa said. She put her cigarette out in the ashtray and then lit up another.

Ìkmen frowned.

'Well, Sinan is bright, caring, obviously approved by yourself and your wife.'

'You mean Bulent might be jealous of Sinan?'

'I mean he might feel that because his brother is so successful, competing is pointless. It would explain at least some of his behaviour. Think about it'

'Mmm.'

'And I suppose that what with Orhan being at medical school too, and Cicek…'

'You have another son training to be a doctor also?' Zelfa Halman said, surprised.

'Yes.'

'If you don't mind my saying,' the doctor continued, 'I think that's quite an achievement for a humble police officer.'

Ìkmen laughed. 'If you mean am I on the take or…'

'No! No, no! I didn't mean to imply…' Instead of completing her sentence Zelfa Halman shrugged. 'No, I know you didn't mean to cause offence,' Ìkmen said with a conciliatory wave’ of his hand. 'And none is taken. But your point is a good one’ He sighed. 'And if I didn't have the admittedly small amount of money I inherited from my late father plus the considerable support I receive from my brother, well… Well, then perhaps I would be looking at, shall we say, other options. But…' He smiled, the doctor thought a little sadly and then suddenly and far more cheerfully changed tack. 'So, Zelfa, Yezidis…'

She took in a deep lungful of smoke and then let it out slowly as she spoke. 'In order to understand the Yezidis you have to throw out any Christeo-Islamic notions about Shaitan. According to the Yezidi credo, Shaitan did indeed fall from the grace of God, but unlike in our religions he was restored to favour. And, once elevated, he became and remains God's right-hand angel. I've heard that contrary to popular belief they are very peaceful and do not make human sacrifice, but quite how they do worship I don't know. But I'm aware of the fact that they are misunderstood, persecuted and that they sometimes go to great lengths to conceal their true identities.'

'I know they have-dietary laws,' Ìkmen said. 'Is it true they don't eat chicken?'

Zelfa Halman made a wry face. 'Not entirely. They refrain from eating the cock bird out of respect for the peacock angel.'

'The peacock angel?'

'It's what they call Shaitan. I have no idea why.

They have a thing about beans, lettuce and the colour blue for similar reasons. They prefer to avoid them.'

'Mmm.' Ìkmen's face achieved a new gravity as he spoke. 'And so this avoiding cock flesh, would they go to some lengths to prevent, say, their children from eating it? Would they perhaps risk disclosure in order to do so?'

'They might. If they were very religious.' 'Mmm.'

Zelfa Halman leaned back in her chair and looked hard at Ìkmen. 'You intimated that this might have some sort of connection to Suleyman's case. And knowing that Erol Urfa and Tansu Hanim are both Kurdish

‘I wouldn't even start that particular theoretical journey if I were you,’ Ìkmen said sternly. 'We are, as I trust you can appreciate, not having this conversation.’

She shrugged. 'OK.'

The noise of bickering children floated through from the living room, Ìkmen banged hard on the window before continuing.

'So do you know anything else about these people?'

'As you are probably aware, those unwise enough to declare themselves Yezidi receive an X in the space where their religion should be stated on their ID cards. Consequently I don't suppose your lot see many of them.'

'I don't think I ever have,' Ìkmen said.

Zelfa smiled knowingly. 'Precisely,' she said. 'Not that so many of them live here in the city. They come from the east, as you probably know. The headquarters of the religion is actually in Iraq.' 'Oh?'

'Yes. Some shrine which is guarded, apparently, by a eunuch.' She smiled. 'How exotic can you get, eh?'

But Ìkmen did not immediately answer her. His mind, which had until now been filled with the images of small children refusing chicken was now flooded with the words that Ìsak Çöktin had uttered to him only a few hours before. Words about eunuchs – words the young Kurd appeared to have quickly regretted. Despite the heat of the evening, Ìkmen started to experience a cold feeling in his guts. Whether all of this Yezidi stuff had any direct bearing upon Ruya Urfa's death, he didn't know. But little things, like Erol's fear that his daughter might be exposed to chicken, like the rather timely departure of one of his friends in the wake of an identity card request, like Çöktin's reported concern for Urfa, did seem to be at least pointing towards some sort of concealment. But was it, especially in light of the fact that Cengiz Temiz was still very much on the scene, pertinent? To open up such a contentious issue without pertinence was surely an act of madness. And anyway, hadn't Suleyman been totally satisfied with what was written on Urfa's ID card?

Perhaps prompted to movement by Ìkmen's frozen position, Zelfa Halman stood up.

'There is one thing you can be sure about though, Ìkmen,' she said as she retrieved her bag from the back of the chair.

Surfacing from his reverie, he said, 'What?'

'If Erol Urfa is a Yezidi, then so was Ruya. They don't marry out'

'So Tansu…'

'The only way he could marry her, although for the love of God I can't imagine why he would want to, is if she is one of them too. Assuming, of course’ she added as she moved towards the door, 'that he gives a damn about it'

Ìkmen stood up to see his guest out. 'You won't tell Suleyman that, er…'

'And why should I do that?' she answered challengingly.

'Well…'

'I think you assume that I will be seeing the inspector, Inspector,' she laughed, 'which might not necessarily be so.'

Ìkmen sighed. 'You know you shouldn't be too hard on him, Zelfa. Although he seems to have so much, in many ways he's very adrift in this world.'

'Aren't we all,' she replied with some bitterness.

'Yes, but…' Not knowing how much she knew about his colleague's past finally put paid to any further discussion of this topic apart from Ìkmen adding, 'He must succeed with this case, you know.'

She smiled. 'Why? Because you like him? Or because you say so?'

'Because he deserves to,' he said a little sternly. 'And because whoever killed Ruya Urfa should be locked away before they can do any more harm.'

'Insallah that will happen’ she said with more than a littie irony in her voice.

Ìkmen simply lifted his eyes to heaven.

'So what are you going to do now then?' she asked as he opened the door to the living room.

The onslaught of light, colour, noise and odour was stunning as children, adolescents and adults all vied for attention, television time or food and drink.

'I think,' Ìkmen said, eyeing the scene before him with weary familiarity, 'that I might find a quiet place in which to listen to some Arabesk.'

For many and various reasons, sleep was not easily found by any of the actors in the Urfa saga that night. Admittedly, Cohen did, as was his custom, manage unconsciousness although the restless sounds that the wakeful Mehmet Suleyman heard from that quarter indicated that he was nowhere near peaceful. Perhaps, the younger man mused as he wandered out onto the Cohens' darkened balcony, his old friend was wondering why a once beautiful Greek had saddled herself with and then murdered a relic of the old harem system, her eunuch husband. As to why Kleopatra might have married such a person Suleyman, a relic, himself he sometimes felt, could only guess at. Eunuchs, it was said, could please women in ways other men could not. But what forces may have driven her to kill, probably no one would be able to discover. No doubt the thought that passion or jealousy may have inspired this act puzzled Cohen in a most disturbing fashion.

But Suleyman's own thoughts were upon more contemporary events. Tansu Hamm had been in a very distressed state when he had arrived at her home earlier. Why this was, he didn't know. That she had shown him all her coats, including two blonde minks, willingly had been encouraging. She had even allowed him to remove fibres which seemed to indicate a lack of fear vis-a-vis complicity in Ruya Urfa's murder. And to be fair, she didn't really, despite her obvious unpleasantness, exhibit any overt similarity to the woman Cengiz Temiz had described. Not that Cengiz described her very well, but he had failed to identify Tansu from a photograph and so that had, surely, to be significant

Suleyman wiped a thick swathe of sweat from his brow and looked down into the darkened street. There was not much to see out there. The occasional prostitute walking with difficulty across the deeply rutted road – a woman, or perhaps in this part of town a man in inappropriately high-heeled shoes, swinging a large, spangly handbag. Then, even rarer, the appearance of a strangely lonely, almost lost-looking man. Perhaps a simple migrant or a confused tourist – perhaps even a man pounding out his resentment in the hot midnight street. A man, Suleyman thought perhaps not unlike Ìsak Çöktin, that strange, even to Ìsak himself, contradiction in terms – the Kurdish policeman. In bed probably by now, Çöktin, Suleyman thought, was perhaps dreaming dreams that were livid- with the redness of the blood they always mourned, which spilled, so the Kurds said, so liberally upon the ground of the far eastern provinces. Whether or not Çöktin had actually ever been to the east, Suleyman didn't know. If he hadn't then perhaps the fact that Erol Urfa came from there had been the root of the attraction they obviously had for each other. Perhaps the singer had told Çöktin yet more lurid and detailed stories of the hardship and suffering they all seemed to value so highly. Not of course that an Ottoman could even begin to understand such a thing. Suleyman closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair as he contemplated the depth of his own, idiosyncratic, resentments.

But thoughts being, as they often are, quite different to facts, Suleyman was wrong about Çöktin. Far from being home alone in his bed, he was in fact over at the surprisingly modest apartment Ibrahim Aksoy had procured for Erol Urfa in §i§li. With the baby Merih now asleep, both men sat companionably in front of the open patio doors, talking, drinking tea and, occasionally, laughing softly at each other's quietly spoken words. Not once did the name Tansu pass either of their hps. That every light in the house of that lady burned fiercely that night was unknown to either of them.

Less comforting than any of these, admittedly restless, scenes was the one-that was currently assailing the tranquillised eyes of Cengiz Temiz. Although still incarcerated in a police cell, it was not the unpleasantness of his surroundings, or even particularly the heat, that was causing his drug-fuddled brain to remain awake. In his mind, devils and djinn lurked in corners where, in the daylight hours, housewives went about their domestic cleaning business. Red in the mouth and covered with thick white hair, the demons screamed at him with the faces of murderous women. And although they made him quiet, the drugs the woman who now wept alone in her sterile bed had given him did not expunge the hated, fearful images from his mind. Perhaps his precious love, Mina, could have done that had she been with him. But Cengiz had no idea where she might be now. Poor Mina with her frightening English boyfriend and her ruined womb.

In contrast to all mis soporific restlessness, there were some whose thoughts were rather more focused. Tansu's ex-servant was one of these. As she sat alone waiting for the arrival of the laboriously slow Dogu Ekspresi to take her, via Ankara, back to her parents' home in Sivas, her thoughts were not of her relatives. To be dismissed by one's employer for what amounted to no good reason was bad enough, but to be shunned by a woman she had once idolised was intolerable. There had been a time when Belkis would have cheerfully died for her mistress – foolish, foolish girl! The woman obviously loathed the sight of her and, in sharp contrast to one of Bellas's more extravagant dreams which involved being on stage and singing with Tansu, the woman had both abused her and rendered her unemployed. Had Miss Latife not given her a little money just before she left, Bellas wouldn't have even had enough cash to buy her ticket home. But then Miss Latife did most things that Tansu didn't want to or couldn't. She even lied for her. Yes, she did, didn't she… Slowly at first, but then with increasing power, Bellas' s heart started to thump as something extremely interesting came back to her. Something perhaps even those investigating Erol's wife's death might find useful. As the train pulled into the station, Bellas worked hard to remember the name of the policeman she had seen that afternoon, just before she was asked to leave. But search her mind as she did, for the moment she couldn't recall it. When the train stopped and the passengers got out, Bellas looked up at the station clock. Ten minutes to go. Ten minutes to remember the tall, good-looking inspector's name. Ten minutes that would decide where she went and for what reason.

Tansu was very much in Çetin Ìkmen's thoughts too at that moment. Once again he had been listening to both her songs and those of Erol Urfa. And though it had to be said that in the case of the latter, there was nothing unusual in the lyrics, those supposedly written by Tansu were another matter. He looked down at the pad upon which he had jotted the words and frowned. Surely these references to the beloved object as 'my peacock', 'hated, adored peacock', 'peacock of my heart' and 'resplendent bird of blue and green' could not be coincidental? Loving, killing, dying for the peacock… Excessive, like her overblown affection for Erol, but at the same time, if Erol or even Tansu were of the Yezidi faith, surely unwise also. As Dr Halman had said, people just didn't understand them and, as the X in the space for religion on their identity cards proved, things people did not understand they frequently chose to both fear and despise. Not that Erol, or even the strangely knowledgeable Çöktin, had Xs on their cards. But then perhaps Ìkmen was just seeing devil worshippers everywhere now in the early, lonely watches of the night It would not be the first time he had seen the shadow of something that did not, conventionally, exist Ìkmen smiled at the thought and then put his pad down on the floor, the word 'conventional' resounding loudly in his brain.

'Conventionally' all this musing on songs and slightly off-key occurrences was a total waste of time. There was no evidence for any of this and besides, even if Erol Urfa did belong to some sort of odd sect, that didn't necessarily have any bearing upon his wife's death. No. However, just the inkling that there might be a secret of some sort here bothered Ìkmen. He didn't like secrets. Secrets could cause damage or even, in his own case, an unhealthy curiosity now over forty years old. But were the unknown circumstances surrounding his mother's death on the same level as wondering whether people might or might not belong to a minority religion? Yes and no.

If someone, as yet unknown, had killed because of it then it was even more important than his own personal demons.

As the night ravelled up around them, black and thick with closed-in heat, those who saw, in their waking or sleeping dreams, the body of Ruya Urfa lying small and alone in the mortuary stopped for a pause where real sleep should be. All waiting for the unrefreshing and already exhausting dawn.