“All right,” he said.
[ 17 ]
While he waited for the seraskier’s anger to blow itself out, Yashim questioned him about the discovery of the second corpse, asking for details about the position of the drain and the condition of the body. The effort of describing the way the corpse was trussed seemed to rob the seraskier of his temper, but he kneaded the back of a chair with his fingers, making it creak. Yashim wondered if he would sit down.
“I had thought,” the seraskier concluded bitterly, “that we might have got somewhere by now. Have we got anywhere?”
Yashim pulled at his nose.
“Effendi. I still do not understand how the men went missing. Did they go out together?”
“Yes, so I understand.”
“Where?”
The seraskier sighed. “That’s just it. Nobody seems to know. They came off duty at five. They went back to their dormitory and spent some time there—I know, because they overlapped with the men coming on for night duty.”
“Doing what?”
“Nothing much, apparently. Loafing on their bunks. Books, a game of cards, something like that. The last man out saw two of them playing cards.”
“For money?”
“I…I don’t know. Probably not. I hope not. These were good young men.”
“The man who saw them playing, was he the last man to see them at all?”
“Yes.”
“So nobody checks on people as they leave the barracks?”
“Well, no. The sentries are there to check people as they come in. Why should they check people going out?”
To help a man like me in a situation like this, Yashim thought. That was one reason; he could think of others. A question of order and discipline.
“Do the men generally go out, for whatever reason, in uniform?”
“Five or ten years ago, it was uncommon. Now we encourage the men to wear uniform at all times. It is better for the people of Istanbul to become acquainted with the new ways, and better for the men. It improves their morale.”
“And useful for you, too, to check on how they behave.”
The seraskier cracked a rare, dry smile.
“That too.”
“Would they visit a brothel? Did they have girls? I’m sorry, effendi, but I have to ask.”
“These men were officers! What are you saying? The men, yes, the ordinary men see women in the streets. I know about that. But these were officers. Of good family.”
Yashim shrugged.
“And there are good brothels, too, by all accounts. It doesn’t seem very likely that these four went and sat out the whole evening in a well-lit cafe, in their uniforms. That’s no way to go missing, is it? Instead, somewhere along the line, sometime in the course of their evening, their paths had to cross the path of their abductor. Their murderer. Somewhere—what? Murky, out of the light. In a boat, maybe. On a dark path. Or in some place shady—a brothel, a gambling saloon.”
