Baksheesh (23 page)

“How did you get round Osman?”

“We used to meet when I knew Osman wouldn't be coming.”

“In the evenings?”

“Hardly ever in the evening. For one thing, we never knew where we could go. Six months ago, Alp made an arrangement with a friend who has an apartment near here. Alp paid part of his rent and he gave us a room there. But we can't have met more than half a dozen times in the evening, what with Alp's wife and my Osman. It was too dangerous. But that week, Alp's wife was away on holiday. The family have a summer place and she went there for a month.”

“How did you know that Osman wouldn't be coming to you that night?”

“I phoned him.”

“Osman?”

“Of course Osman. Who else?”

“What time was that?”

“I don't know. Wait, are you saying I was the last person to speak to Osman?”

I nodded my head. I really wanted to screw up my eyes and examine her face very closely. But screwing up the eyes is bad
for you. Bad for wrinkles. The reason crow's feet form around the eyes is that people screw up their eyes. I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

“Let's see, what time would it have been?” said Ä°nci. “Alp phoned me, and then I phoned Osman straight away. I hadn't seen Alp for a week because he'd been on holiday with his wife. I'd missed him so much.”

I was trying not to think about the fact that she was pregnant, but things like that have a way of sticking in the petit bourgeois mind.

“You see, I have a mobile that only Alp knows the number of. I'd keep it turned on if Osman wasn't here. It's like a code between us. If the phone's on, Alp knows I'm alone. Just a minute.” She ran off with an energy and excitement that was totally at odds with her sobbing of just a short while ago.

“The time Alp rang is on here,” she said, as she came back into the room with a mobile phone in her hands. “I think it was about seven. Maybe a bit earlier. Let's see. I haven't used this phone since that day. There's been no need. I've been using my normal mobile.”

 

We waited patiently for the mobile to start up. Her thumbs flitted rapidly over the keypad. I wondered if I would ever learn to look so professional when using my mobile.

“It was the twenty-ninth of August. We spoke a few times that day. It must have been the last but one call that day. It says the last call was at ten o'clock. Did you know there are mobiles now that take photos? You can take a photo and actually send it over the phone.” Ä°nci let out a squeal that made me jump. All this squealing, weeping and howling was getting too much for me.

“Look! Look at this!”

She thrust the mobile right under my nose. I couldn't make out a thing.

“What?” I said impatiently. “What time did you speak to Alp?”

“It says nineteen fourteen. Oh, thank you, dear God!” she said, with a deep sigh of relief. “I'd spoken to Osman before he was killed. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes before. The police asked me where I was between seven-thirty and nine-thirty. So the murder could have been committed at seven-thirty because I called Osman immediately after Alp called me, which would have been at about seven-fifteen.”

“Did you call him on his mobile?”

“Yes. Özcan says his brother's phone was switched off, but if I spoke to him at seven-fifteen…”

“He probably switched it off after speaking to you.”

“Probably,” she said, and paused. “I asked what was happening that evening. He said he had work to do and wouldn't be coming over. He said he had a ‘respected brother' with him and they were talking business. He says ‘respected brother' when it's someone important. So that means he wasn't alone.” She suddenly got excited again and put her hand on my knee. “What do you think? Do you think the man with him was the murderer?”

I just shook my head.

“Think hard. Did he give any clue as to who this man was?”

“We only talked very briefly. If he'd mentioned a name, I would definitely have remembered.”

“Do you think this ‘respected brother' might have been someone you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for instance, if he'd had Ä°smet Akkan with him.”

“Do you think he's the killer?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I don't know,” Ä°nci said. “I think he would have referred to him by name. I'm not sure. He might not have wanted me to know who it was if they were talking about something secret.”

“How were you so sure that he wouldn't be coming to you that night?”

“From his tone of voice. He sounded distracted. When he was like that… When he was involved in business, he wouldn't come to me. He used to say coming to me was like going on holiday. And he wouldn't go on holiday if he was doing business or if there was a problem.”

“What gave him problems?”

“The construction business gave him problems. He'd been glued to the phone for over two months. He'd be talking on the phone, then suddenly rush out. I think money was tight. He never used to have money problems, but recently he'd even started to grumble about what I spent on myself. He wasn't normally tight-fisted. We were going abroad for a holiday. Last year we went to Paris and London, and I did as much shopping as I wanted. But this summer when I asked for money to go and buy new clothes, his hands were trembling when he gave it to me. We hadn't even gone out for a meal lately.”

“Maybe another woman…” I didn't complete my sentence. Even two-timers can't bear to face the fact that they're being strung along.

“I thought of that. But I'd have known if there had been. Also, he was always either at my place or his own. I used to phone Özcan to check up on what Osman was doing on the evenings he wasn't here. Özcan always knew where he was.”

I didn't like to say that Özcan might have been lying.

“Also, he hadn't lost interest in me. It was nothing like that. Money was certainly tight. He even regretted getting a new car. I overheard him saying on the telephone once that times were hard because of the economic crisis. He was thinking of selling the car, which he'd paid a lot for. I really wanted a Range Rover, but didn't like to ask. How could I ask him for a Range Rover
when he was complaining about me buying a few fake Sisley T-shirts? You have to be reasonable.”

“When did the money problems start?”

“At first he used to say he wasn't affected by the crisis. And that was true. We went to Europe only last year, and the crisis had already started then. But later, this year…”

“Is that why he decided to go into the construction business?”

As Ä°nci thought about this she waved her first and middle fingers indicating that she wanted another cigarette.

I passed the packet over.

“I'd never thought about whether the cash-flow problem and the construction business were connected,” she said. “But I think you're right. He was having discussions about setting up this business and then… well, I think the money just ran out. He could never hold on to money anyway. There were so many needy relatives. Their family's not like yours or mine. Families are really big in the east. Their village got burned down during the war and lots of the people there came to Istanbul. Where were they going to find jobs? They used to come and see Osman. Even those involved in the blood feud came to him to ask for help. Do blood feuds actually still go on these days? People were hungry. They wanted to move away, but had no money. Can you imagine it? Those who managed to get to Istanbul were the richest. The poor ones only managed to find enough money to get them to Diyarbakir or Adana, where they lived in areas by the refuse dumps and existed by scavenging. There are people living in this country who don't even have the money to get a bus to Istanbul. That's why he went into the construction business. To create work opportunities for relatives and people from his village.”

“Were any of these villagers from the other side of the feud?”

“Oh yes. Even they were reduced to asking for work and money. They suggested calling a truce. Osman probably gave them some money because he didn't have work for so many people. They
were all peasants – men who worked in the fields or reared animals. What could they do in a city? Even a car-park attendant needs to be able to drive.”

“So, the money for the construction business ran out.”

“That's what I assume. Yet, come to think of it…”

“Had he bought any land to build on?”

“I don't know. I think he'd found a place in Kasımpaşa. But, as I said, he didn't talk to me about these things. I just picked up odds and ends from his phone conversations. Kasımpaşa was mentioned and there was no other business in Kasımpaşa, unless he was buying a car park there. But no, it was definitely to do with the construction business.”

“Did you manage to pick up any other names from his phone conversations?”

“He never used people's names. He addressed everyone as ‘my brother',” said Ä°nci. She paused for a moment, then shrugged and added, “Or maybe I just didn't listen.”

Ä°nci covered her mouth with her hand and stared at the ceiling, deep in thought, before continuing.

“Wait, there was a Temel. What a strange name that is. I was amazed the first time I heard it. A typical Black Sea name. It's the sort of name I associate with jokes for some reason. I couldn't believe it when I heard Osman talking to someone called Temel on the phone. It stuck in my memory. His name came up a lot recently. I think Osman owed him money and couldn't pay. Sometimes he wouldn't pickup if he saw a call was coming from that number.”

“I don't suppose you know the man's surname?”

“No, I don't. But he definitely had interests in the construction business. In car parks too. One day I heard Osman say, ‘I'm very stretched at the moment, but I'll get it for you. Give me a bit of time.'”

We both fell silent. I toyed with my empty whisky glass, making the ice tinkle. I shouldn't really drink on an empty stomach, but
I went to the kitchen and poured myself another. I returned to the sitting room, again to the sound of tinkling ice. It was time I drank up and left.

Ä°nci was sitting there, fiddling with her blouse and skirt.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I've just thought of something, but I'm not sure. I was thinking about my phone conversation with Osman. I think somebody knocked at the door while we were talking. Osman hung up very quickly. I couldn't be wrong about that. It was a very short conversation. He was trying to hang up anyway, but the reason he cut off so quickly was because someone was at the door.”

“Are you sure?” I said.

“No, I'm not sure. I hadn't really thought about that conversation. In fact I'd forgotten all about it. But now I come to think about it… You know how you suddenly realize something, but have nothing to base it on? I'm worried I might be making it up because I'm trying to find some clue in that call.”

“Of course, a knock at the door could mean nothing. It might have been the tea-boy.”

Ä°nci thought for a moment.

“Yes, maybe it was the tea-boy,” she said.

“Did you know Osman's uncle?”

“I've never met him. According to Osman, he was half crazy. A lazy, useless man.”

“The brothers have tried to pin this murder on him, did you know that?”

“Really?”

“It's very obvious to me that he couldn't have done it. Even the gun used to kill Osman wasn't right for the uncle. It was the sort of gun an expert might carry.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know a bit about guns,” I said. Ha ha, very funny!

“No, I mean how do you know what kind of gun killed Osman?”

I rubbed my nose.

“I asked the police officer who was conducting the investigation,” I said.

“Was that Batuhan Bey?”

“Mmm.”

“He's very good looking, isn't he? I adore dark men. Probably because I'm blonde. You're fair-skinned too. What's your natural hair colour?”

Clearly my orange hair left no room for doubt that it was dyed.

“Light brown.”

“Your natural colour would suit you,” she commented, looking at the ceiling apparently in a daydream. “But he's a serious man, Batuhan Bey. Keeps you at a distance. If it's true what they say about men with long noses having long whatsits, then his must be as long as my arm.” Ä°nci held out her arm to demonstrate.

To be honest, I'd never noticed the length of Batuhan's nose, but I did know things about Batuhan that backed up İnci's theory of the nose – penis ratio. Of course, I said nothing. Instead, I cleared my throat as an indication that I didn't approve of that sort of conversation and wanted to change the subject. Is it the same in other cultures? I don't know, but that's the code Turks have for it. They never say anything completely openly, so they need a host of codes.

“What's wrong with that?” said Ä°nci. It sounded like a reproach.

“Nothing,” I said.

We sat in silence again for a while. I downed my whisky in one gulp.

“So, you say they're trying to pin the murder on the uncle!” she said. “Well, they might be right. I hadn't thought of that. Didn't he steal the money?”

Oops! I'd forgotten to ask Batuhan what happened to the money. What a stupid idiot I was. He hadn't mentioned it either. Or had he? My head was hurting. I couldn't even remember what
I'd discussed with whom. Should I start recording my conversations perhaps?