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.'
'This Temiz is, I assume, very frightened.'
'Yes. He speaks, when he does, in sort of harsh monosyllables and wets himself. It doesn't help either that his lawyer is Sevan Avedykian. When he's with him he won't let Cengiz answer any questions anyway.'
Ìkmen tipped his tiny cup up to his lips and sipped the hot liquid. 'That's his job,' he said, and then pausing for a moment's thought he added, 'Have you thought about engaging Dr Halman to help you?'
‘I have.' His face took on a dejected expression here. It was a pose that, Ìkmen thought, looked particularly miserable. 'But she was called out to Temizlast night while I was in Karaköy. She found him in a terrible state. She went berserk at me when I arrived - lots of stuff about the evils of the Turkish judicial system. She says that if the family make a complaint she will support it. I can expect her report on my desk at any time.'
'Ah.' And then speaking with his eyes turned away from Suleyman, Ìkmen said, 'That must have been quite hard for you in view of the fact that you and Dr Halman—'
'Our private lives must be walled,' Suleyman said, his eyes suddenly hard as he repeated the old Ottoman adage.
'Yes, but if you will continue to find the women you work with irresistible then those walls are going to contain windows,' Ìkmen replied with some passion. 'You only just got away with it with Sergeant Farsakoglu. I suppose with Dr Halman being half foreign it is a little better - not that Zelfa isn't a wonderful lady. She makes me laugh at least. But. . .'
‘I think the doctor will probably return to Ireland quite soon,' Suleyman said as he dismally looked into his cup. 'She certainly gave me that impression last night'
'She probably wanted to shock you,' Ìkmen said. 'She can't exactly leave that old father of hers, can she? And anyway, she'd never find someone like you back in Dublin.'
'Can we drop this subject now, please, sir, er, Çetin?'
Ìkmen shrugged and then, leaning forward across the table, he said, 'So what about Erol Urfa and this secret wife of his? A bit convenient that she's now dead, given his obvious preference for Tansu Hanim.'
Suleyman took a cigarette out of his packet and lit up. Tm seeing Urfa this morning.' 'And?'
'And I must confess that I find the whole situation totally confusing. Tansu, Erol's manager and, seemingly, the whole Arabesk community knew about Ruya and the baby. They made no secret of it. Erol's prints as well as those of Cengiz Temiz have been found in the vicinity of the body although, unlike those of Temiz, not on the corpse. But Erol, it would seem, had the most compelling motive to do away with a woman foisted onto him by his relatives. Strangely, he seems to really love Tansu, or so Çöktin feels.'
'Çöktin?'
'He stayed with Urfa after the broadcast last night' Registering the look of concern on Ìkmen's face, he added, 'I'm not happy about it Both Urfa and Tansu are Kurdish, as is Çöktin. There's already talk that the sergeant is taking rather more than just a professional interest'
'Well, you know what you have to do,' Ìkmen said. 'Yes.'
As if by some sort of sorcery, the music that one of the waiters put onto the restaurant tape machine was 'May It Pass’ sung by Tansu Hanim. It was, Ìkmen noted to himself, one of her 'pitying' numbers. Melancholy and slow, it was in sharp contrast to the more bitter songs which, he'd noticed from the sleeves of his wife's tapes, were the ones she appeared to have written herself. Not that she put a great deal of vocal venom into these numbers for, like this one now, her interpretation of whoever's work she was singing was uniformly sad.
It seemed apt, at this point, to throw Tansu into the cooking pot of impressions along with everyone else. 'Tansu Hanim had considerable motive too,' he said.
'Yes.'
'Perhaps she is Cengiz Temiz's demon woman. You should show him a photograph of her.' He smiled. 'She doesn't exactly have a reputation for being sweet and kind.'
'No, although she possesses an alibi for that evening. Her sister—'
'A relative's about as reliable as a politician in this context!' Ìkmen blustered. ‘I know you've been preoccupied with the missing child, but - you should ask the servants if you want the truth! Get on to it!'
Suleyman, thoroughly chastised, put his head down. 'Mmm.'
Ìkmen, wisely, changed tack. 'Are you still waiting for any more forensics?'
'Yes. I should have the results later on today. Some fibres require analysis and Dr Sarkissian still has some samples to take before the body can be released for burial. If we get any more forensic evidence on Cengiz Temiz we won't need him to speak,' Suleyman sand miserably.
'I take it you don't hold with the idea that Mr Temiz killed Ruya Urfa.'
'Not really, no. I do think he is involved in some way. In fact I think that he may be the key to this whole affair. But actually killing? No.' He looked out across the two great sparkling waterways, the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus. 'The cyanide, which let's face it is not easy to come by, was administered in a sweet that the murderer knew would disguise the smell of the poison. It all happened at a time when, I believe, the perpetrator knew most people would be in front of the television. It's all too clever and complex, I believe, for Cengiz.'
'It may be,' Ìkmen said as he placed a large bundle of banknotes onto the bill that had, somehow, during the course of their conversation, landed on the table. 'But you'll have to ask Zelfa about that, I feel. Only a professional can really make that sort.of judgement.'
Suleyman sighed. 'I know.' Then looking down at his watch he said, 'I must go.'
'Yes.'
As he retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair, Suleyman said, "Thank you for my breakfast, Çöktin. I do feel a little better now.'
'Good.' He stood up. 'So can I send Cohen and some boys out to the iskender Hamam then, Inspector?'
'Yes. Get it done.' Then frowning as he stood, he added, 'I wonder what motive Madame Kleopatra had for killing her husband?'
'We'll never know now,' Ìkmen replied. 'Perhaps he abused her. Maybe he was unfaithful. The motive could have been monetary, racial, religious, almost anything. But they're both dead now and so .. .'
'You know,' Suleyman said as he walked towards the steps of the balcony and out into the street, 'in a sense I know as little about Ruya Urfa as you do about Madame's husband.'
Ìkmen, now out in the full sunlight and sweating profusely, said, 'Yes; well, Mr Kleopatra, as some used to refer to him, was a bit of a cipher, I suppose. I am not alone in never having met him. There were even some who believed he didn't exist.'
'Mmm.' Suleyman put his sunglasses on. 'A man of nowhere.'
It was strange to see the large bulk of Commissioner Ardiç, doing anything physical for anyone other than himself, much less a very young-looking man. But as Mr Kemal Ertürk left the building, Ardiç, held the door open in order to expedite his exit. It was only when he turned away from his guest and looked at what was now cluttering up his station that he scowled.
'What is all this about?' he said to no one in particular, his arms attempting but failing to encompass the sheer scale of the invasion of red roses.
Çöktin, who had observed the arrival of the flowers some minutes before, said, 'They're a gift from Mr Urfa, to say thank you for finding his daughter.'
'Oh,' Ardiç said, suddenly and quite alarmingly, to those who really knew him, becalmed. 'And are they for all of us, Sergeant Çöktin?’
'No, sir, just for Inspector Suleyman.'
'Oh, really.' The large man walked across to one of the bigger displays and helped himself to the card that nestled amongst the blossoms. 'How very thoughtful,' he said, 'but also,' and here his tone resolved into something much more familiar to his colleagues, 'how fucking embarrassing! Get rid of them!'
Officer Kavur, who had been sniffing the plants appreciatively, said, 'Oh, but—-’
'Am I,' Ardiç said as he dramatically cast about the reception area like a particularly bad actor, 'invisible to you people?'
'No, sir.'
'Then do as you're told and throw those things into the car park!' 'Yes, sir.'
As he made his way behind the front desk, Ardiç barked, 'Oh, and you can come with me, Kavin’ I want to talk to you.'
Kavur's eyes became very large as she signalled her fear to Çöktin. Briefly he squeezed her hand as she passed.
Erol Urfa arrived at the station just as Suleyman was finishing giving his orders to Sergeant Tepe. The inspector hoped that Erol hadn't heard what he had been discussing with his inferior, namely his friend Ali Mardin.
'So if he can't produce it, bring him in,' Suleyman said as Tepe started to move towards the stairs. 'Yes, sir.'
'Ah, Mr Urfa,' he said as he turned towards his guest, 'shall we go to my office?'
'Yes.' Coming alone like this, Erol Urfa seemed much smaller and shyer than he had appeared before. He was nevertheless as immaculately dressed as ever, in the most expensive and worst of taste. Before they mounted the stairs, Suleyman called for two teas to the old half-asleep çayci who was drifting soporifically over by the front entrance.
On the way up, Erol asked Suleyman whether he had liked the flowers.
Suleyman frowned. 'Flowers, sir?'
'Yes, I sent them to thank you for getting Merih back for me. Roses.'
'Well,' Suleyman said as he held the door of his office open for his guest, ‘that is very kind of you, but I don't know of any flowers arriving.'
'Oh. Oh, then I must contact the florist.'
'Well, yes, but . . .' Suleyman sat down heavily behind his desk, indicating that Erol should sit too. 'If they have not been sent then please, with respect, retrieve your money and do not do this again.'
'Eh?'
'I'm afraid that in the context of my job they may be seen as a bribe, sir. It's very nice of you and I'm very sorry, but I fear that is how it is.'
'Oh.' Erol looked down at the floor, his expression one that Suleyman imagined he must have employed to some effect as a child. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Inspector. I—'
'There is no need to apologise, Mr Urfa,' Suleyman said. He opened up one of his files and took hold of a pen. 'Now, I know that you have already given a statement regarding the discovery of your wife's body and the events leading up to that, but I do have to ask you certain other questions, which is why you are here today.'
'Yes, I understand.' Putting both of his hands onto the edge of Suleyman's desk, again in a childlike gesture, he said, 'Will I be able to take Ruya home soon, Inspector?'
'That is up to our pathologist, Mr Urfa.' He smiled a little sadly. 'I don't think it will be long. I suppose your family are anxious to see her properly buried.'
'Oh, they don't know,' Erol said as he nervously clicked his thumbs one against the other on the edge of the desk.
Suleyman frowned. 'You mean you haven't telephoned—'
'They don't have a telephone. Or a television.'
Although Suleyman knew that Erol originated from somewhere 'out east' he had not realised until now just how 'east' that was. Even crazy border towns like Dogubayazit had telephones and televisions. Some of the villages could still be without, although he thought that was doubtful, Ìkmen, or rather Çetin as he was now, had seen satellite dishes as far east as Kayseri on his quick trip to see some old relative in Cappadocia the previous year. The completely no technology family was becoming an oddity.
'So how,' he asked, 'do you communicate with your relatives? Do you write?'
'My parents, like Ruya, can't write,' was the simple reply.
'So...'
'We don't communicate, Inspector.'
Suleyman offered Erol a cigarette and when the latter refused, took one himself and lit up. 'But forgive me, sir, if you do not communicate then how did your wife come to arrive in the city? How did your marriage take place?'
'I married Ruya in my village. We were betrothed.' 'So have you been back since? Did your wife ever visit her family?'
'No and no,' Erol smiled. 'It's complicated.'
It sounded, Suleyman thought, like one of those feud situations that sometimes occurred. One family or member of one family against another group or tribe. Not that that particular interpretation made any sense in this context. Urfa had gone home in order to marry his betrothed which not only implied an amicable union between two families but also a willingness on the singer's part to participate.
Suleyman leaned back in his chair. 'So do your family follow your career, Mr Urfa? Are they keen?'
'No,' and then before Suleyman could ask any more questions he said, 'Why all the inquiries about my family, Inspector?'
'When a person dies in suspicious circumstances we are obliged to explore every eventuality.'