'I do like him.' He lit a cigarette and then puffed hard on it for a few moments. 'I just don't always understand what he's thinking.'
Tepe laughed. 'That's the whole point,' he said. 'He's an enigma. He likes it that way, it's part of his legend.'
'I find it unnerving,' Çöktin said with an almost visible shudder.
'If you have something to hide then it probably is,' Tepe replied, unwittingly bringing to a close any discussion of that particular topic.
Çöktin cleared his throat as he watched several lights come on at the front of the Emin house. It had been a long day for all of the residents and he wondered, in view of recent events, whether Erol had now rushed to Tansu's side. That he loved her was evident. But whether or not he would now break his vow to keep some, distance between them was not clear. Çöktin could not see Erol's car, though it might be parked at the back of the property.
'So do you have any ideas about who might have killed the Urfa woman?' Tepe said as he turned the air conditioning up a notch.
'No. Do you?'
Tepe shrugged. 'I'd still put money on Tansu.'
Çöktin turned to look at his colleague. 'Why?'
'Female rivalry. In my opinion, most women will content themselves with just one man.' He smiled. "They're not like us. I mean men lived very happily with harems for centuries. It was the women who fought and plotted against each other. They don't like sharing and they don't usually, have the wit to look elsewhere.'
'If they do we call them sluts.'
'Which they are.' He stopped speaking to peer closely at the long driveway that led to Tansu's house. 'Is that some movement down by that garage or . . .'
Çöktin, too, looked in the direction indicated and then tipped his head slightly backwards to signify his assent. 'Yes.'
'You can't see who it is, can you?'
At the distance they were from the scene it was almost impossible to identify people as anything more than just blobs. 'No. Except that there are two of them.'
'The car looks like a . . .' Tepe considered just what exactly the low-slung, bright red sports model might be for a few seconds before he said, 'a Ferrari, I think.'
‘Mmm.'
As the two officers watched, someone switched the car lights on and, moments later, the vehicle started moving forward.
'Well, someone's going somewhere,' Tepe said as he put his own lights on and turned the key in the ignition.
Çöktin, who was watching the approaching vehicle intently now, observed that even for a high-performance model, the Ferrari was being driven by someone who was obviously in a hurry. Even with the motor of their own car ticking over beneath them, both the officers could clearly hear the loud roar of its highly tuned engine. By the expression on his face, Tepe, at least, showed that he was very impressed.
The vehicle pulled up, very sharply, in front of the large main gates’ Leaving the engine running and the door open, a figure emerged from the driver's side. It was quite clearly a woman.
'Tansu,' Tepe said in response to the sight of white-blonde hair and a voluminous fur coat. It was not an assessment Çöktin could easily argue with.
Frantically, as if pressed for time to an almost unbearable extent, the woman fumbled with the padlock on the gates until she managed to free it from the wrought iron that surrounded it Then, pushing the gates open just enough to allow the car to pass through, she ran back to the Ferrari, taking the padlock with her. A terrible gunning sound was heard as she revved the engine-hard. And as the brake was released the vehicle shot forward towards the road.
'You'll have to really move to keep up with that thing,' Çöktin said to Tepe as the latter put the car into gear and took the handbrake off.
‘I hope that wasn't a criticism of my driving.'
'I wouldn't dare!' Çöktin said, acknowledging the intimate relationship that exists between the Turkish male and his car.
Tepe's foot had just pushed down hard onto the accelerator pedal when the sickening crunch that brought the Ferrari's progress to a halt occurred. The vehicle it appeared to have just rammed was a lorry, the driver of which was already out of his cab and yelling loudly.
However, there was as yet no sign of life from inside the buckled Ferrari.
Ìkmen smoked three cigarettes one after the other on his way back to his office from {he cigarette kiosk. Some people, like Erol, didn't much like a lot of smoke around their small infants and so he had to make sure he had a big hit before going back in with him. He also felt that he needed to fortify himself a little too. There were some questions, or rather points, he wanted to put to young Urfa that were not going to prove easy, especially if Suleyman, whom Erol seemed now to trust on some level, had not yet returned.
When Ìkmen re-entered the station it was evident that Suleyman was still absent. He went into his office and saw that the child was asleep and the man was standing at the window, apparently watching the sun set. The sinuous strains of the evening call to prayer started to spin their slim tendrils towards the station and its occupants.
Ìkmen sat down at his desk and watched as the younger man looked at the descending crescent of the setting sun.
'I take it you're not a religious man, Mr Urfa,' Ìkmen said.
'No.' He neither moved nor acknowledged in any other way that he was paying anything more than cursory attention to what Ìkmen was saying.
'Like me,' the policeman said with a smile. 'It may indeed say Muslim against religion on my identity card but that is only for the sake of form.'
Slowly, Erol Urfa turned just a little-so that he was at an oblique angle to the policeman, Ìkmen noted with, interest that although he could now talk more easily to him, he could still not see Urfa's eyes.
'So what are you then, really, Inspector?' the singer asked.
'Oh, I'm absolutely nothing with regard to religion,' Ìkmen said. 'But I do accept that others have beliefs and I don't much care what they are provided they don't commit offences in the name of their faith. You can worship Allah or a tree or even a large bird with very bright, tail feathers, it's all the same to me.'
Whether Erol Urfa experienced fear or relief or shock during the frozen moment that then passed between the two men, Ìkmen would never know. Outwardly impassive, it was only his words that gave any indication that he had both heard and understood the. meaning of what had just been said to him.
'How did you know?' he asked, still looking out of the window, still seemingly listening to the exhortations of the numerous muezzins of the countless imperial and other mosques of old Stambul.
'Chicken and beans are such unusual things for such a young child to be noticeably allergic to,' Ìkmen said. 'I suppose that for a man of faith like yourself, you had to take the risk. But then you were coming to commit "professional suicide", to use your manager's words, with Inspector Suleyman, weren't you?'
'Yes. When I heard that Tansu was no longer here I did briefly reconsider, but. . .'
'What bearing does Miss Emin have upon this?’ Ìkmen said with a frown.
He just managed to make out a sad smile on Erol Urfa's lips. 'I only married Ruya because of the needs of my religion. We never marry outside. And so if Tansu did kill her I am partly to blame for that I wanted two women and that is wrong.'
'Did Tansu know about your religion?'
Erol shrugged. 'I don't know. I never told her myself.'
'And yet the words of some of her songs . ..'
'Yes,' he turned now to face Ìkmen who noticed that his eyes were wet with tears. 'The peacocks, the bitterness towards them ... I have asked her about that, albeit obliquely. She's always said she liked that image. That's all.'
'Did she actually write those songs?' Ìkmen asked.
'She says she did. She is credited with them.'
'And yet if she did, and deduced the reason for your concern, then surely she would have enough knowledge to realise that you could never marry any woman who is not Yezidi - assuming of course that she is not'
'No. She is Kurdish, but not. . .' He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully and then moved across the room towards Ìkmen's desk.
Ìkmen sighed. 'So who else, apart from your manager, knows about your religion? Here in the city, that is.'
Erol sat down in the chair opposite Ìkmen's desk. 'I only told Ibrahim today’ he said. 'But there is also my friend Ali Mardin and. . .' The curtailment of his speech was quite sudden, but also quite deliberate.
Ìkmen rubbed his chin and considered carefully before he spoke next. 'Ìsak Çöktin,' he looked across at Erol at this point, 'risked his career by continuing to see you when Inspector Suleyman had specifically instructed him not to, which might lead me to certain conclusions.'
'I have nothing to say on that matter.'
Although Ìkmen did think about pressing this point, he decided in the end that it probably wasn't worth the aggravation. After all, Erol's refusal to discuss Çöktin told him everything he needed to know about the matter.
'Anyway,' he said at length, 'interesting though your revelation has been, you do know that if Tansu Hanim is guilty of murder, it will not make the slightest difference to her fate.'
'She is still under suspicion then? Even though you have let her go?'
'Yes. We still have doubts which, I imagine, you share.' Ìkmen smiled. 'Otherwise why would you have so wanted to tell Inspector Suleyman your secret? A secret you know could damage you and little Merih in so many ways.'
Erol bowed his head, as if he were bending under the weight of some awful, crushing presence. He took a deep breath and then let it out on a sigh. 'You will, of course, report the falsified information on my identity card.'
'Oh, I only deal with homicide, sir,' Ìkmen said and attempted to ape normality by shuffling papers across his desk. 'Anything political is quite beyond me.'
'But you will report this to others who . . .'
Ìkmen smiled. 'I tend not to take too much notice of information I receive that doesn't actually impact upon the case I am working on. I am reliably informed that, contrary to popular belief, your people don't actually dance naked around the bodies of Muslim virgins, so I have no problem with you. In a sense you are no different from me. I've got Muslim on my ID card and that is a blatant lie. So there's little to choose between us, is there?'
'You know, where I come from policemen are not like you.'
'Are they not?' Ìkmen said. 'Some would say that was a good thing.'
'Not me,' the singer said with an intense look at the policeman. 'I would say that you are one of the most decent men I have ever had the good fortune to meet'
Although Ìkmen was not one to be easily embarrassed, he did now feel more than a little awkward and so he just grunted his thanks while turning his attention, and his eyes, to the mess on his desk once again. Before Erol could become any more effusive in his praise, there was a knock at the office door. 'Come!'
The door opened to reveal Suleyman with a rather excited light in his eyes. Somewhat incongruously, to Ìkmen's way of thinking, he was holding a large jar of dark yellow liquid.
'Oh, Çetin, I saw the light on and, er,' as his eyes lit upon Erol Urfa, he looked surprised. 'Oh, Mr Urfa, I . . .'
'Mr Urfa came to give you some information he thinks might be pertinent,' Ìkmen said as he spared a brief thought for the pleasure he was going to get out of telling Suleyman that he had been right about the singer.
'Ah .
'I have actually spoken to Inspector Ìkmen,' Erol said, then turning to Ìkmen he asked, 'Do I have to go through it all again with Inspector Suleyman?'
'No,' Ìkmen replied. 'I will tell him and as I've said, if this proves to have no bearing on the case . ..'
Suleyman's mobile telephone started playing the latest tune he had chosen for it, the beginning of Beethoven's Fifth. Still in the dark about what had been happening between Ìkmen and Erol Urfa, Suleyman put the jar down on the floor and turned aside to answer his phone.
After a brief glance at the sleeping Merih, Erol rose from his seat 'I had better get my child home now,' he said, 'if that's all right with you, Inspector Ìkmen.'
'I have no problem with that,' Ìkmen said with a smile even though his attention was now distracted by the sound of what appeared to be an urgent conversation between Suleyman and somebody.
Erol picked the baby up and prepared to leave.
'All right,' Suleyman said into the telephone, 'I'll meet you there. Let me know as soon as you know. Yes. Yes.'
As Erol moved towards the door, Suleyman held up one hand to stop him.
'Right,' he said into the phone and then, 'OK.' He pressed the end button and put the telephone back into his pocket.
'What's the problem?' Ìkmen asked as he looked at Suleyman gravely considering the face of Erol Urfa.
'While there is no need to panic,' Suleyman said, 'I do have to tell you that Tansu Hanim and her sister have been involved in a minor road traffic accident.'
Erol's face lightened serveral shades, Ìkmen moved quickly forward to take the baby from the singer's arms.
'Neither lady is noticeably injured, but they should both be taken to hospital for observation and treatment for shock.'
'I must go to her.'
'I don't think that would be a particularly good idea at the moment,' Suleyman said. 'As I told you, Mr Urfa, she is not hurt The best thing you can do is go home. We can, if you wish, arrange for Miss Emin's family to call you. Do you have your car?'
'Yes, he does,' Ìkmen put in, remembering the intoxicated manager who said he would wait for Erol in the vehicle, 'although it might be an idea, under the circumstances, if we provide a driver for Mr Urfa.'
Suleyman agreed that given Erol's state of mind, a police driver might be prudent And so, after a few telephone calls to significant others, the shaken singer and his child were eventually led out of the office and ' into the care of a uniformed driver.
As soon as he had gone, Suleyman placed the jar of liquid on his desk and said, 'Resat's cyanide,' by way of explanation.