So for the next three hours Detective Muhtar tells Beren everything he knows. Names. Dates. Places. Who. What. When. Where. How. Beren hones in on the details, circling back when things aren’t clear, asking Detective Muhtar for more names and specifics, the amounts of payments and the key people involved.
The corruption reaches into the highest echelons of the Turkish police force and cabinet. The scale is far beyond anything Julia can comprehend, and the fact that her own government lies at the center makes it all the more shocking. She can tell Leo is as stunned as she is. Every now and again, he shakes his head in disbelief and utters a profanity under his breath. Because really, in the end, it comes down to one thing. The authorities, including the US Embassy, have let a serial rapist roam free to possibly kidnap and/or murder a US citizen.
When Detective Muhtar finishes downloading, a heavy silence falls over the room and they sit there and simply stare at each other. Eventually, Beren pockets her mobile phone and stands.
Julia stands, too. “This is dangerous for you. Are you certain you want to go ahead?”
Beren nods, shrugging into her leather jacket. “A friend will take me to the border. I will file my story there.”
“You’re leaving Turkey?”
Beren nods. “It is better that way.”
Julia embraces her. “Thank you for what you are doing.”
Beren returns the hug. “You are welcome. I hope it works.”
*
When Julia wakes, she finds the strange lopsided man-child that is Detective’s Muhtar’s grandson standing over her.
“Hi there,” she says. “Am I in your seat? I’m sorry. I’ll move.”
Turan lets out a choked laugh and shows her a red Matchbox car wedged between his stiff, unbending fingers.
“Very nice,” she says.
Detective Muhtar, who’s been sleeping under his jacket on the floor, stirs and murmurs something in Turkish to Turan. But when Turan doesn’t move, the detective sleepily casts his jacket aside, gets to his feet, and steers Turan to the other chair where there’s a tub of cars for him to play with.
Julia glances over at Leo, who’s fast asleep in the chair, and feels a stab of annoyance. He’s supposed to be monitoring the internet for any news on Beren’s story.
“Wake up, Leo,” she growls, getting to her feet.
He jolts upright. “What is it?”
“You fell asleep. Remind me never to go out on patrol with you.”
Julia looks at the laptop and her heart nearly stops beating. Twitter and other live news feeds are buzzing with the story.
“Something’s happening,” she says.
The others join her and she clicks on one of the news feeds and sees Beren being interviewed via Skype at an undisclosed location. Ticker tape runs the length of the screen: US government implicated in a cover-up of a serial rapist who is now linked to a missing US citizen in Istanbul. Officials have declined to comment.
Some footage flashes up. The Istanbul police commissioner faces the camera and speaks as a translator interprets.
“We reject wholeheartedly these claims of corruption. My team has been working hard to solve the disappearance of Toni Norris and I can confirm we are now currently locating Mr. Saat for questioning.”
Stunned, Julia stares at Leo and Detective Muhtar. “It worked.”
53
Waiting for news of Mustafa Saat’s arrest is excruciating. As the three of them sit on the sofa glued to the laptop, the morning drags on into late afternoon. The authorities can’t find Mustafa Saat anywhere, or so they say. It appears he has gone to ground. Or, worse still, fled the country. As a consequence, the sudden burst of hope Julia had felt when the story first broke is cruelly chipped away. All she can do is pray for a miracle because they are simply out of other options. On the plus side, the story has whipped the local media into a frenzy. There’s that, at least, Julia thinks. That could shake some fruit from the tree and prompt a witness to come forward.
Every conceivable angle is being covered by the news outlets. The string of rapes. Mustafa’s privileged childhood. His friendship with Babak Saglam. Some enterprising reporter has even managed to dig up footage of Mustafa taken last year at an opening of one of the family museums. He’s a good-looking man, there’s no doubt about that. With skin the color of nutmeg and a closely cut beard, he was well dressed in a fashionable taupe cashmere sweater, charcoal trousers, and expensive-looking loafers.
In the footage he’s being interviewed by an attractive young reporter. Given her flushed state of excitement, she’s obviously enamored by Saat. Julia can understand why. Legs crossed at the ankles, lounging back in the chair, arms causally resting on his thighs, this was a man who oozed confidence. This was a man used to getting his own way. A man who could easily lure a young woman away from a nightclub and use her for his own sinister purposes.
Earlier in the morning, newscast helicopters had done figure-eights over Mustafa Saat’s ostentatious waterfront home, hoping to catch a glimpse of his high-society wife and six children. More mansion than house, the expansive three-story property is located in prime position right on the Bosporus waterfront, secured by impossibly large steel gates and two private guards toting machine guns. A five-car garage, which is no doubt occupied by a fleet of high-end vehicles in keeping with the now notorious canary yellow Lamborghini, sits at the end of a rolling driveway, a guest house with its own pool to the left. And if anyone was in any doubt about the status and wealth of Mustafa Saat, a slick, seventy-foot luxury yacht moored up close to the private jetty put paid to that.
Toni comes under close scrutiny, too. They dub her the “missing female American traveler.” Posts and photos from her
