Hard Rain

Nineteen

T made it to the rendezvous with ten minutes to spare, enough time to stand around stamping on the spot to keep the blood circulating and watch the floor show. The puddles on the sidewalk were frozen, the procession of folks walking past seeming to breakdance as they slid around on the black ice, their feet suddenly running on the spot before they half fell, grabbing for partners who then broke into similar routines as they tried to stay upright.

A sign said the mosque I was loitering around was called the Aya Sophia, so I had the right one. It was familiar — I’d run here with Masters yesterday morning, approaching from another side. The vast area dedicated to buses indicated that the mosque was a popular attraction. Its many domes and walls were flooded with yellow light, and from across the road in the park, regular flashes pinpointed tourists taking artsy night shots. I couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. To me the place looked like a giant clump of mushrooms.

‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ said a woman’s voice.

I didn’t recognise the triangular shape standing in front of me, on account of the fact that it was dressed all in black, with a black veil over the head, covering most of the face, and a black coat that brushed the ground around the shoes. ‘Who is?’ I replied.

‘Aya Sophia.’

‘That you in there somewhere, doc? I asked.

‘Of course. Who did you think it was?’

‘I wasn’t sure. Not every day I meet a shadow that talks.’

‘Yes, it’s me.’ She pulled the fabric away from her face. ‘See?’

Yep, it was her all right. I hadn’t pegged the doc as a Moslem fundamentalist. In fact, I’d have been less surprised if she’d turned up in a bunny suit with a drink on a tray. ‘So,’ I said, striving for normalcy. ‘Where to? Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, but first I want to show you some of Istanbul’s attractions.’

I’d seen Doc Merkit without the veil and the coat. As far as I was concerned, she headed the attraction list.

‘Have you heard of the Aya Sophia before?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘But it is famous…’

I didn’t need to see her face to know my ignorance took her by surprise. It couldn’t have been that famous, otherwise there’d be an Aya Sophia near the Eiffel Tower in Vegas. I kept this to myself.

She continued: ‘It was built by the Emperor Justinian more than fifteen hundred years ago. When he came inside for the first time, they say he cried out, “Oh, Solomon, I have outdone you!”’

‘Who was Solomon?’

The shadow turned to face me. Again, I didn’t need to see the expression on her face.

‘Just kidding, doc,’ I said.

I heard her give a small laugh. ‘You do not like to be serious.’

‘I guess not.’

‘Why is that?’

I shrugged. We began to walk.

She said, ‘Perhaps you have too much to be serious about.’

‘Maybe,’ I agreed.

‘People say I am too serious. Would you like to hear a Turkish joke?’

‘That depends. Is it funny?’

‘Yes, very.’

‘Okay, let’s hear it.’

‘Temal and Akasma are newly married. On the wedding night, Akasma says, “Temal, if I gather up my hair, it means I don’t desire whoopee. If I gather my hair up halfway, it means if whoopee happens that’s okay, and if it doesn’t happen that’s also okay. But if my hair is completely down, that means I definitely desire whoopee.”

‘Temal thinks about this and says to Akasma, “Akasma, if I drink one glass of raki, I don’t desire whoopee. If I drink two glasses, then it’s okay if whoopee happens, and if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. But if I drink three glasses, I don’t really care which way you wear your hair.”

The doc was laughing, even though the joke flew like a three-bedroom house. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’

‘A rib-tickler, doc.’

‘So, we can go inside if you like. I have a cousin who runs the security here.’

‘Do you have a cousin who could sell me a rug?’

‘Do you want to buy a Turkish rug?’

I was about to say that I was only fooling around, but then I thought, What the hell… Perhaps it was the thing to do in Turkey after all. ‘I’ve been thinking I might,’ I replied.

‘Yes, when visiting Turkey you should buy a rug. I can arrange it,’ she said. ‘Everyone in Istanbul knows someone who sells Turkish rugs.’

‘Really? I never would have known.’

‘Shall we go to see inside?’

‘Perhaps some other time, doc.’

‘Yes, in the daytime would be best. You can miss much in the dark.’

I had to agree there. I was almost missing her in the dark. We crossed the road where the buses parked, and walked towards another mosque, a newer one lit up like night roadworks.

‘Looks like Sophia’s younger, prettier sister,’ I ventured, gesturing at the building.

‘It is much newer, built only five hundred years ago. Tourist books call it the Blue Mosque.’

It looked white to me. ‘Why is that?’

‘Inside it is covered in many beautiful blue tiles.’

‘Like a giant bathroom.’

‘No, nothing like a bathroom!’ The doctor gave a sound like she didn’t know whether to gasp or giggle.

‘Sorry, doc,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to give offence.’

‘Your humour… sometimes it makes me want to run away.’

‘I’ll try to keep a lid on it.’

‘No, it’s okay. I like it… I think.’

I became aware of the ache in my fingers, the ones encased in fibreglass. ‘We should find someplace to eat and talk,’ I suggested. ‘I think it’s going to snow.’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so. It is too cold for the snow. But yes, let’s go. I know a restaurant near here.’

Around ten minutes later we were sitting at a table in a tourist joint half a block from the Hotel Charisma. Doc Merkit had removed the veil so that I could see her face. I left the ordering to her. After she was done, I got things rolling. ‘So, doc, these two killers…’

‘Yes. As I said on the phone, I’ve been going over Captain Cain’s reports, and having two killers makes more sense than one, but —’

‘But you don’t think that’s what we’ve got,’ I said.

‘No.’

‘I agree with you. I’ve been thinking about those patterns. The only consistent element seems to be the use of chloroform to disable the victims. But it’s noted in the medical examiner’s report that the amount of chloroform used to knock Bremmel out was much less than Portman had pushed down his throat. At first I thought this wasn’t significant, that the accomplice with the anaesthetic would have been the same person involved in both crimes. But now I’m thinking it’s possible that two different people administered the stuff — someone who knew what they were doing with Bremmel, and someone who didn’t with Portman.’

Doc Merkit was agreeing, peppering this monologue with, ‘Hmm… hmm…’

I continued: ‘I’d thought perhaps the person who did the cutting and the person who splashed around the anaesthetic simply traded places, but, as you rightly pointed out, the MO of each murder was so different.’

‘Yes, you and I have been having similar thoughts,’ she said. ‘Re-examining the little evidence we have, I am starting to believe that there were not two killers. Yes, the Portman murder and the Bremmel murder were both bizarre and ritualistic, but the manner of each murder and the nature of each ritual were so different… I am now thinking it is more likely there were two teams of killers — four or even five murderers.’

Was it so hard to grasp? The more I thought about it, the more I thought the doc was on to something. The mists surrounding these cases seemed to part a little. ‘It’s possible.’

‘Whatever is going on here, it is something I have no experience with,’ she added.

I informed her about the items pulled from the Bosphorus — the blast blankets and the two pairs of disposable coveralls.

‘What size were the coveralls?’

‘I know where you’re going with that question. The suit size was large, which doesn’t mean a hell of a lot. Gives us no real clue to body type. As you know, we believe the killers wore them over Gore-Tex drysuits and they could have worn them tight or loose, or maybe one wore it tight and the other loose — or any combination like that. They also could have chosen the same size so as not to give us any leads. Forensics couldn’t narrow the description on the suspects from the Hilton surveillance footage either — “a couple of adult males” was all they were prepared to say. The Fiat the killers used has also turned up but, like everything so far in this case, it’s taking us nowhere. The vehicle was thoroughly torched, which made it useless for forensics purposes.’

The waiter arrived with dinner. We both picked at it. I noticed a table of tourists sitting at the window pointing at the street outside, excited. It was snowing.

‘See?’ I said to Doc Merkit when she turned to observe what the commotion was about, gesturing at the window. ‘My fingers are never wrong.’

‘How did you break your arm?’ she asked.

‘My knuckles, actually.’

‘What happened?’

‘A friendly reminder from my last case,’ I replied.

‘Do you always get injured on these investigations?’

‘Lately, I’ve been unlucky.’ Or lucky, depending on how you looked at being cut out of a parachute and surviving the fall.

‘Oh,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘So, you are going to Incirlik tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wish you better fortune there.’

‘Thanks, I hope you get your wish.’

‘Where is Special Agent Masters tonight? Nasor was disappointed.’

‘Her fiancé’s in town.’

‘She is getting married?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Please give her my congratulations.’

‘I take it you’re married, doc?’

‘No. In this country the husband must provide a dowry. I could not find one with enough goats and camels to satisfy my father.’ The doctor laughed. ‘Why do you think I am married?’

‘The veil. Isn’t it something married women wear?’

‘Yes, and no. And in Turkey, what you call a veil we call a türban. Wearing a türban can mean that you are married, or engaged, or widowed, or devout, or old, or any reason you choose.’

‘By “devout”, you mean fundamentalist?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you are devout?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m surprised,’ I told her.

‘Why?’

‘Because, in the West, we view Moslem fundamentalists in a certain way.’

‘You don’t have to worry — I am not wearing a bomb,’ she said.

‘I was getting ready to run.’

‘The West has much to learn about Islam. And perhaps it also has much to learn from Islam. But that is another argument. Turkey is a secular Moslem country. If you are in the public service, for example, you cannot wear a türban to work — it is against the law. Sometimes, when I am feeling close to God, I wear a türban while I am working, because I am not in the public service. When I met you the first time, I was not wearing it. I did not think it was something I had to warn you about.’

‘Not at all, doc. Just curious, is all.’

‘In Turkey, we are still an Islamic country, and most Turks follow the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, may his name be praised. My family is also from the country. My father and brothers are religious and wearing the türban in public does them honour. So when I am out walking, I always wear a türban.’

‘You don’t find the whole veil/türban thing a little, y’know — anti-woman?’ I felt uncomfortable asking the question, but Doc Merkit just didn’t seem to fit the mould as I perceived it, and I was interested to see what made her tick — bomb or no bomb.

‘Anti-woman? I am surprised! You are sounding like one of your feminists.’

‘Just trying to get in touch with my X chromosome, doc.’

‘The veil, as you call it — it liberates me. I am a rich, educated, professional woman. Istanbul is a modern city, but independent career women like me are still unusual and there is some prejudice. So this is another reason why I wear the türban. Men do not harass me; they think I am either married, or devout, or perhaps both. I can come and go as I please, unnoticed.’

‘So it’s a kind of camouflage,’ I said.

She thought about that before answering. ‘Yes — but it is also more. I am one of the faithful.’

The waiter arrived and asked if there was anything else we wanted.

‘Look at the time,’ said the doctor, suddenly aware of it. ‘You are getting up early tomorrow. You should get some sleep. I must go.’

I wondered why the sudden rush. ‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘The mini-bar back in my room is probably wondering where I am.’ The doctor began fishing around in her bag, I guessed for her purse. I said, ‘Let Uncle Sugar get this, doc. It’d be his pleasure.’

‘Are you sure?’

I nodded.

‘Thank you. Well, then… shall we go?’

The doctor and I made our way to the door, the waiter hovering and wishing us a good night. We stood outside the restaurant, beneath its awning, and looked on a changed world. Everything was covered in a layer of white. The flakes floating down from the green-black cloud layer above were smaller than I’d seen falling earlier, but there were infinitely more of them. Vehicles were marooned on the roads, which had mostly disappeared beneath the falls. A motorcycle parked nearby had a pillow of snow on the tank and seat at least a foot high. A cab down on a far corner tried to move but instead skidded into another parked car, the deadened sound of the impact reaching my ears as a brittle crunch. The doc was marooned on the Sultanahmet.

I put the problem to her. ‘How am I going to get you home, doc? The only things moving out on the roads are idiots, and walking a few miles in this doesn’t seem such a good idea, either.’

‘Yes. I don’t know,’ said Doc Merkit, neck craned out, checking up and down the street.

I could only think of one solution, but even as I voiced it I wasn’t exactly sure of my motives. ‘My hotel is near,’ I offered. ‘We could go there for a while.’

‘And if the weather doesn’t improve, yes, I will take a room for the night.’

‘Good idea, doc,’ I said. There you go, problem solved. In truth, there weren’t many alternatives.

We were standing outside the Hotel Charisma only a few minutes later, brushing the snow from our shoulders and stamping it off our feet. The falls were getting heavier. The foyer was empty. A handwritten sign explained that the front desk would be unattended for twenty minutes. I wondered when the sign had been placed there.

I went around behind the bench, removed the key to my room from its hook, and led the way to the elevator. No one saw us going through the foyer, which was a relief. Being seen by any locals heading up to my room wouldn’t have looked so great on the doctor’s résumé, blizzard or not. As the elevator climbed we stood like a couple of strangers, watching the floors light up one by one on the control board, both of us suddenly quiet.

My room was medium-sized — basically, all bedroom with a large king-size bed dominating the space, an en-suite off one corner and a sofa bed in the corner opposite. There was enough room left for a compact circular dining table with two chairs, a television cabinet, a closet, and a kitchenette in the short hallway to the front door. But it was warm and free from snowfalls, unlike the street outside, which, I gathered from glancing out the window, was now totally obscured by windborne flurries. I told myself that having the doc stay over was legitimate.

‘If you want to freshen up, the bathroom’s in there,’ I said, giving its location a nod. ‘There are plenty of clean towels.’

‘Thank you.’ She headed towards it.

‘I’m going to fix myself a drink. Can I get you a soda?’

‘Yes please. Coca-Cola, if you have it.’

‘We have it,’ I confirmed as the door closed. Then, a little louder, I said, ‘I’ll also call down to reception and book you that room for the night, just in case.’

I made the call and it rang through to a message bank. I left the booking, went to the mini-bar, freed a couple of Johnnie Walkers, and poured them into a glass over rocks. I took care of the doc’s drink too. Then the cell in my pocket started ringing. The number on-screen told me it was the United States calling. It wasn’t a Washington number, nor was it any of the numbers my ex-wife or her lawyers hide behind, so I pushed the green button. ‘Cooper.’

‘Vin, it’s Katie — Katie Dean.’

‘Katie. Hey…’

The doctor came out of the bathroom. I pointed to her drink on the table, put my hand over the phone and told her, ‘Sorry, gotta take this. Make yourself at home.’ I sat on the end of the bed. ‘Katie! How you doin’? How’s Deano?

‘Vin, I’ve been trying to reach you. Tyler’s…’

I caught the pause and I knew what the problem was even before she managed to get the words out, but the news still stopped me like a bullet.

‘Vin, he died four days ago.’

‘Katie… What happened?’

‘Complications arising from the last surgery, supposedly.’

‘But he was doing fine,’ I said.

‘No. He was just tough.’

‘Jesus.’

‘No one from the hospital’s prepared to make any kind of official statement yet — because of the whole class-action mess we’re caught up in. One of the doctors told me, off the record, that when they did the oesophagectomy to remove the cancer, there might have been a small tear in the suture line. Tyler went back into hospital ten days ago, but he just got worse. I don’t think there was anything anyone could do. They did an autopsy. I overheard one of the nurses talking about massive infection.’

‘Christ…’

‘He didn’t suffer, Vin. He was unconscious or asleep most of the time. I called you at home a few times to let you know what was going on. And then I got your message.’

There was a pause and a rustling sound. I pictured Katie pressing the handset against her forehead, her eyes clamped shut. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice cracking now, ‘We buried him today, Vin. It was a good service.’ In the background, I heard one of the twins crying and another woman’s voice giving comfort — Tyler’s sister, probably. Katie and I talked for another twenty minutes, mostly about how much she loved her husband.

The call ended, I dropped the cell on the bed beside me and put an empty glass to my lips. I’d drunk it dry unknowingly during the call. Another tumbler was pressed in my hands. Johnnie to the rescue. I gave Florence Nightingale the best smile I could manage under the circumstances.

‘Medicine,’ she said.

‘You’re the doctor.’

‘Yes, I am the doctor. Do you want to talk?’

I felt bad that Katie hadn’t been able to contact me when she wanted to, but it came with the job. Tyler was a buddy — as good as they came. I had a soft spot for Katie too. Things would be tough for her and the kids, but she had a small gardening business that was doing okay the last time we talked about it.

I told Doc Merkit about meeting Tyler while on exercise in the States, back before someone decided Saddam was mixing WMD cocktails for his neighbours. Tyler was with the 1st Armoured Division. He scared the crap out of me when his tank accidentally ran over the front of a Humvee I was a passenger in and squashed it flat.

I told her about the time he met Katie. In response to a dare, he’d filled in for one of his crew who had part-time employment as a male stripper for a local novelty agency. The job that night was to entertain a bridal party and Katie happened to be one of the bridesmaids. Tyler decided to ignore the bride and was all over Katie like hives instead. The bride-to-be complained. The crew member he was filling in for got fired; Tyler got laid. He and Katie were married within three months.

Last of all, I filled the doc in on Tyler’s cancer and the fight with the DoD over the claim that his condition was a direct result of long-term contact with depleted uranium, the ammunition his tank fired in Iraq.

It was well past midnight when the Johnnie ran out. Outside, the snow was still falling. I called down to the front desk and finally managed to raise someone, who informed me that the hotel was booked solid. Doc Merkit and I were snowed in.

‘I’ll take the sofa bed, doc, you take the bed,’ I said, pulling it out.

‘No, you are the man. You must take the bed. And I think you need a good sleep after this bad news.’

‘No, no, I —’

‘I insist.’

I gave her a shrug. ‘Well, doc, if you insist.’

‘I do. I will take the sofa.’

‘So, my comfort comes first. I could get used to this country.’ I was slurring my speech and the words ran into each other like a pile-up on a foggy interstate.

She smiled. ‘Please, can you call me Aysun? That is my name, you know.’

‘Sure, doc — I mean, Aysun. Do you want to take a shower or something?’ I asked, sitting down heavily on the bed.

‘You go first. I will remake this bed and tidy up a little.’

‘Okay.’ I was beyond arguing. Remake the bed and tidy up a little… ‘How many goats and camels are needed for that dowry?’ I enquired.

‘More than you have,’ she replied as she grabbed a handful of Johnnie Walker empties and placed them in the trash.

I managed to make it to the bathroom. Ten minutes later I was showered, teeth brushed, and sobered up a little. But when I exited, all the lights were off and Doc Merkit was lying in the sofa bed, breathing steadily with sleep. A shoulder was uncovered, along with a bra strap. The veil was gone. I pulled the sheet over her, Aysun’s breathing staying slow and deep.

‘Night, doc,’ I said quietly. I sat on the side of my bed and listened to the night. All sound seemed to have been vacuumed out of it. The falling snow also took the electronic edge off the streetlights and turned it golden, shafts of which slanted up through the windows.

I thought about Tyler and Katie as I climbed between the sheets. My head hit the pillow, but it might as well have been a blackjack.

I woke up suddenly and for no reason. Or so I thought. The numbers on the bedside clock told me I should still be asleep. I wondered what had woken me up.

‘Are you okay? You were yelling in your sleep.’

It took me a moment to remember where I was and whose voice the accented English belonged to. Doc Merkit… Aysun. I peered at the sofa bed in the corner. There was enough light to see that the doctor wasn’t in it.

‘You were yelling,’ she continued. ‘You said, “There! Shoot! Shoot him! They’ll cut his head off!”’

I couldn’t see her, but from the direction of her voice, I knew the doctor was standing in the darkness over by the kitchenette.

I rolled over so that I was facing her. ‘It’s a dream I have every other night. Something that went on in Afghanistan. But it’s okay — I know what happens in the end.’

‘What happens?’

‘I live.’

The doctor came out of the shadow. Her skin had taken on the golden colour of the light coming up from the street below. She took another languid step towards me. I remembered how she’d worn a blue lace bra the day Masters and I had called in at her office, but now her underwear was plain, conservative. Maybe the formal approach also extended to her underwear when she left the house. ‘I cannot sleep,’ she said.

The light played across her upper body as she floated across the room. For sure, a crazed Taliban fighter was going to step out of the bathroom any moment and prove this was just another dream. ‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.

‘I have been thinking… there is a reason I am here.’

The light moved up to her breasts, which were full and too large for her bra. They bulged around and below the cups attempting to restrain them. The doctor knew how to walk, a hip thrusting gently forward with each step, swaying on a waist on the narrow side of slender.

‘A reason for what?’

‘I am a 31-year-old virgin,’ she said.

‘You’re kidding…’

‘You do not believe me?’

‘I’ve just never met one before.’

The doctor stopped beside my bed. My eyes wandered down the length of her body to where the light peeked through the wide gap between her legs.

‘It is still snowing. We are here and cannot leave. Do you know what “Insha’Allah” means?’ she asked.

That there was a good chance I was about to get lucky? I thought.

‘It means “God has willed it”. But if you do not want me, I will understand.’

I understood enough to peel back the covers. Little Coop was so excited he was doing the Little Coop equivalent of back-flips: swelling to five times his normal size and turning purple.

She slid in beside me, her legs cool and smooth against my skin. We kissed, tentative and slow at first, but then the fire kicked in. We broke and came up for air as her hand moved down my belly. Her fingers wrapped around me and squeezed playfully. She whispered, ‘I know all about this, but I have never felt it. It feels good.’ Her fingers then proceeded on a voyage of discovery. ‘And big.’

‘You say all the right things, doc,’ I said.

‘Aysun, remember?’

I went on my own reconnoitre and slipped a hand beneath her bra. I peeled back the cotton cup and ran the tip of my tongue over one nipple before circumnavigating the other, and she shivered. I ran it down her belly, up the inside thigh of one leg and then the other, teasing her. She pushed her groin towards my face. I took the hint and hooked a finger inside the elastic of her underwear where she was warm and wet, and pulled the fabric aside. The tip of my tongue touched the skin of her perineum and Aysun went crazy, grabbing my hair and pushing me down into her. I didn’t resist; I buried my tongue between the lips of her vulva, which made her freeze as if any movement on her part would spoil the electricity surging through her body. She tasted sweet and salty. Her muscles relaxed, so I found her clitoris and kissed it hard like I kissed her mouth, and she let go of my hair and dug her fingers into the bed. Her hips began to thrust, driving my tongue deeper inside her. She was in control at first, and then her rhythm became ragged, like she was losing it, and her breath caught in her throat as I worked on her. Then Aysun suddenly shook and wrapped her legs around the back of my head, jerking me into her clitoris until the current ran from her limbs and she quivered off and on with the echoes of the orgasm racking her.

I lay down beside her, the doc on her back, breathing deep and slow and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.

‘Not bad for a first-timer, Aysun,’ I said.

Between breaths she replied, ‘I have practised.’

‘Practised?’

‘Yes. I have… toys.’

‘They must come with some pretty explicit instructions.’

I propped myself up on an elbow and tickled her stomach, following the muscles with my fingers. I tried not to acknowledge to myself that in the dim light she reminded me of Anna. ‘Be honest, doc,’ I said. ‘I’m a long way from Hollywood. This has to be sympathy sex.’

‘Sympathy sex? What is that?’ she asked.

‘You feeling sorry for me.’

‘No… that is not the reason. I believe there’s an expression you have that goes something like: “It is now, or never”?’

‘Something exactly like that.’

‘That is how I felt. Being here, the snow, the tragedy of your friend, the crimes, all bringing us together. I am not married and I do not know any men. I have been thinking for some time, Who wants to be an old woman making love to an old man for the first time?’

Seemed like a hell of a good reason to roll in the hay. But then, no reason at all would have been reason enough for me.

‘I always imagined Americans would be selfish lovers,’ she said.

I was about to defend the reputation of the American male when she added, ‘Now, it is your turn.’ She gave Little Coop a squeeze, just to let him know whose turn she meant, or maybe to see if he was still keen and eager. If that was the case, it was a needless investigation. He had no intention of dropping off to sleep for a while yet.

I woke to a soft hum, opened an eye and tapped the button to kill the sound. The numbers displayed on the clock were a little more reasonable this time — 5:45 am — though even the barest hint of daylight was some way off. Doc Merkit lay curled into a ball, facing me, with the sheet pulled up under her chin, asleep.

I edged out of bed so as not to wake her and walked to the window. Somewhere along the way, the falling snow had turned to rain, which meant Istanbul had begun to move again. I hoped the doc wouldn’t wake with regret about what had happened between us.

I examined the rib in the shower. The source of the pain was an angry welt, a puckered red island surrounded by a liquorice bruise. I thought of the woman on the other end of those brass knuckles. Yafa. She enjoyed dishing it out. I’d like the chance to see if she’d be as happy receiving it. Masters and I could take turns.

When I opened the bathroom door, Aysun was waiting, a towel around her waist and her nipples pointing in the general direction of heaven. She pressed a small cup into my hand and said, ‘Good morning, Vin. Try this. Coffee, the way Turks drink it.’

‘Thanks.’ I accepted the cup. The coffee was black, the right colour at least. I had a sip and had to stop myself spitting it straight back out. ‘How many lumps you put in here?’ I asked.

‘Five,’ she replied.

‘Is that all?’

‘So, you like Turkish coffee?’

‘“Like” doesn’t quite land it,’ I told her, dodging the question.

‘Vin, I wish to thank you for last night,’ she said sincerely.

‘So you’re okay with what happened?’

‘Yes. Why would I not be?’

‘Can’t think of a reason, doc.’

She was about to set me straight on the first-name thing again when I put my finger against her lips, setting the cup on the bedside table. My towel slipped to the floor and I pulled Aysun’s away. She came into my arms and Little Coop did his trick again, rising against the smooth warmth of her belly. She responded with a cooing sound and turned around so that her bare ass rubbed against me, a deep sweeping curve in the sway of her back. I reached around for her breasts as she raised her leg, took me in hand and guided me down the slippery slide.

The türban was folded and packed in her bag. The doc felt it would’ve been hypocritical to wear it, given what she’d lost between the sheets. There was no argument from me. Morality was a subject I’d comprehensively failed from the age of sixteen.

She opened the door and stepped out into the hall while I conducted a final check of the room.

‘Anna. Good morning,’ I heard her say behind my back.

A chill suddenly blew in from the North Pole and ran down my spine.

‘Doctor Merkit. What a nice surprise,’ Masters said, speaking in a sugary tone that implied there was nothing in the least bit nice about it. ‘And here’s Vin,’ she added as I walked out. ‘I’ll bet you’ve been hard at work all night.’

‘We were socked in,’ I replied, by way of defence.

‘I’m sure you were.’

Colonel Wadding appeared in the doorway behind Masters, carrying their bags.

‘This must be your fiancé?’ the doc asked, aware of the tension. ‘Vin has told me you are getting married. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ said Masters. ‘Yes, this is my fiancé — Lieutenant Colonel Richard Wadding. Richard, this is Doctor Merkit. The doctor is helping us with the investigation.’

‘A pleasure to meet you, doctor,’ said Wadding. ‘So you’re the profiler. Anna’s told me a lot about you.’

I could see Wadding liked what he saw. His grin was so wide he was in danger of bending his bridgework.

As he and Doc Merkit shook hands I allowed myself a sideways glimpse at Masters. If looks could kill, I’d have been playing a harp. Or maybe a pitchfork.

‘I invited you and Vin to dinner last night to talk about the murders,’ the doc said to Masters. ‘But Vin told me you were busy.’

‘I’m sure he did.’

‘I have studied the case notes,’ Aysun continued, ‘and I have a point of view about the killers. Perhaps Vin will explain it to you later.’

‘I’m sure he’ll do plenty of explaining.’

I was sure I was getting sick of Masters’ bullshit.

We all made our way to the elevator. On the way down, Wadding and Doc Merkit chatted easily while Masters and I stared in silence at the numbers as they lit up, counting down backwards one by one. After what seemed like a month later, the doors slid apart. I said to Wadding, ‘Tyler Dean, Colonel. Remember I told you about him?’

‘No, I —’

‘Tyler Dean,’ I repeated. ‘You know damn well who he was, Colonel.’ I couldn’t hit him, but words could still smack him around some. ‘He died some days ago. Complications arising from surgery. He had a cancer resected from his oesophagus. The guy was twenty-nine. Left a wife and two children. No doubt you’ll be doing your best to see they get screwed.’

No one moved to leave the elevator. I made a gesture at the open doors to Masters. ‘Delusion before grandeur, Anna.’