“I don’t think you understand. The police must do their work, but it would be better if they don’t solve this crime.”
Leon looked at him, waiting.
“The men are gone, whoever they were. Whatever they did. If the police find who killed Mr. King, friends are likely to be embarrassed. Someone will be put on trial. The Russians are an excitable people. Quick to take offense. We could lose our balance, trip. Much better to deal with this quietly, out of the public eye.”
“What if the Romanian shot him? Would you want to solve it then?”
“Even more quietly,” Altan said, his own voice lower. “After we find him.” He turned, making a formal good-bye nod. “Thank you for the cigarettes. The Turkish tobacco, it comes mostly from the north coast, I think.”
“That’s right.”
“Your business, it must take you to the Black Sea ports then.”
“Once in a while.”
“Your wife too, I think.”
Leon said nothing.
“A woman with Jewish interests.”
“She is Jewish.”
“Yes, I understand. Terrible things during the war. One can’t help but be sympathetic. To save people, it’s heroic. What is illegal when a life is at stake? Now, of course, a different time.”
“What makes you think their lives aren’t still at stake? Every day you hear stories-”
“And now another friend to balance. The Americans want this, the Russians want that, and the British-the British want us to stop ships. You say refugees, they say human contraband.”
“You were the safety valve. All during the war. The only people who got out, got out through here.”
“But now a flood. And the British turning them back. To where? For myself, I don’t-” He paused. “Your wife, I know, is ill. You don’t share her interests, the old work?”
“No.”
“Good. It’s a difficulty for Turkey.”
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Just to know your sympathies. Times change. The Black Sea-a very troubled place now. We think the Romanian came that way. Now all the Jews. A place that needs more ears. Familiar with the ports.”
Leon took this in. An invitation? A warning? But Altan’s face remained blank.
“Have you seen the human contraband? What they look like?” Leon said.
“Yes. Skeletons, some of them.” They had reached the top of the rise, the Sea of Marmara a distant glimpse of blue between rooftops. “To think, when Jason sailed through there,” Altan said, looking down at the water, “the Black Sea was a new place. A treasure house-hides, amber, maybe gold. Now it sends corpses. Europe’s war. And the survivors float to us.”
“They’re just passing through.”
“To where? America? No. Another war. The British took Palestine from us. Now they ask us to help them keep peace there. And we have to do it. Keep our balance.” He stopped. “You wouldn’t want to help anyone pass through. Make difficulties.”
“There seem to be a lot of things you don’t want me to do. But I’m not doing any of them. I buy tobacco, that’s all. And now the Emniyet is accusing me of-I don’t know what exactly. Am I suspected of something?”
Altan looked over at him, taking a second. “Of not being candid, Mr. Bauer, that’s all.” He raised two fingers to his forehead in a salute.
Leon stood for a minute, watching, then went back to the end of the square and lit a cigarette, unnerved. What everyone dreaded, a talk with the Emniyet, but what had actually been said? Not said? Everything elusive, like the moustache that came and went with the light. But only one coincidence allowed, not two, and now the tram seemed to be the coincidence. He looked left, down the hill toward Marina’s building. Maybe visiting someone else. But that would make two coincidences. He imagined them suddenly in her room, Altan slipping off the kimono, running his hands along her shoulders. Or talking, cigarette smoke drifting out the window, a notebook of talk, maybe weekly, his Thursdays too.
He tossed the cigarette and started down the street, trying to remember everything he had ever said to her. Did Altan pay her? Something more valuable than her body, a peephole into someone’s secret life. How many, or just him? Everything they said afterward, lying on twisted sheets, Altan listening.
The vestibule smelled of damp plaster, something he hadn’t noticed before, his senses usually overwhelmed by anticipation. And after, the smell of sex, his fingers heavy with it. Quiet on the stairs, a drip somewhere down the hall, gray light through the translucent landing window, his breath shorter now, anxious. Would she lie? A new lie to keep the other one going. The knock sounded loud, not the standard gentle tap, knowing she was waiting on the other side.
It took her a few minutes to answer, Leon straining to hear, listening for footsteps. She’d be surprised, clutching the kimono tighter, belting it. When she opened the door, hesitant, her face was exactly what he expected, puzzled, a little put out. What are you doing here, without her saying it. A silk wrapper, but not the kimono, the bedroom door closed behind her.
“What did you tell Altan?” he said.
She said nothing, looking at him, deciding how to react. “Murat?” she said finally. “How do you know about him?”
“We just had a chat.”
“You’re in some trouble?”
Leon shook his head. “He just wanted to scare me a little. Let me know he’s there.”
She stared for another second, then opened the door wider. “So come in. He told you he comes here?”
“No. He doesn’t know I know.”
“How do you?” she said, lighting a cigarette.
“I saw him coming out of your building. A client?”
She shook her head.
“Just information? He doesn’t take a little something out in trade?”
She looked up, a small flash of anger. “What do you want?”
“He’s Emniyet. What does
“To talk.”
“About me?”
“About everyone.”
“And you tell him.”
“He’s Emniyet,” she said, the anger a little weary now. “I’m a whore. What choices do you think I have?”
“What does he want to know?”
“The man who owns the building. They want to know about him. I don’t know why. Do you think I would ask?”
“Know what about him? What happens in bed?”
Another flash of anger. “You think that’s so interesting, what happens there?” She took in some smoke, calming herself. “What he says. His business. Does he talk about Inonu? Things like that.”
“And me? What do you tell him about me?”
“Nothing. I said when you come here, it’s only for what we do. That’s all. It’s true enough. What do you ever say to me?”
He saw them lying in bed, idle talk, drifting with the smoke.
She put out the cigarette. “Who are your friends? Who in the consulate. Do you have enough money? You know what I tell him? You have enough for me. That’s all I care about.” She stopped and came over to him. “You don’t have to worry,” she said, touching him. “I don’t say anything to him. It’s Bayar he wants to know about. You only come here to sleep with me. It’s true, isn’t it? That’s why you come.” Stroking his arm. “You enjoy it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why. Because you’d tell me to stop and how could I stop? So then maybe you’d stop coming.”
