She glances at the others—Leo, Detective Muhtar, the two Istanbul police officers, Officer Koc and Officer Dogan, whom Detective Muhtar had managed to enlist to help with the search—and wonders if they’re as nervous as her.
She looks back out the window at the rock formations, which seem precariously close, and has a flash of the little plane exploding into pieces.
“You all right?” says Leo.
She nods and says nothing, eyes glued to the window. Thankfully the pilot seems to know what he’s doing and expertly threads his way through the towers of rock, and before long they are rolling to a stop on a small landing strip.
Julia takes three deep breaths to steady her nerves. That was not an experience she would like to repeat every day.
Detective Muhtar ushers everyone from the aircraft and into a rental car for the fifteen-minute journey to the outskirts of Göreme, the place where the cell tower is located. It’s also the area where all the hot air balloon operators have their businesses, which makes sense given Toni had seen a billboard advertising hot air ballooning.
Detective Muhtar turns right off the main road, drives a short distance inland until they reach a cluster of prefabricated buildings, and comes to a stop.
“This is it,” he says, cutting the engine. He points out the windshield at the man-made tower jutting into the sky. “That’s the cell phone over there, and these are the hot air balloon operators.”
The place seems eerily empty.
“Where is everyone?” says Leo.
“Hot air ballooning is done at dawn. Given it is now late afternoon, we will be fortunate to find any operators still here but Officers Dogan and Koc and I will go and check. Dr. Norris, it would be good if you and Leo could look around and identify any place that fits the description Toni gave on the phone about where she was hiding.”
Julia nods. “Of course.”
They exit the vehicle, and Leo and Julia stand watching as Detective Muhtar and Officers Dogan and Koc head toward the prefab buildings.
Leo looks around at the parched landscape. “Which way do you want to go?”
Julia gestures left. “This is as good as any.”
They make their way across the dusty plains, the sun beating down on their shoulders. As they walk, Julia’s struck by the stillness of the place, along with the profound sense of quiet. Maybe it’s the lack of trees or absence of wind; whatever the cause, it feels as though they’ve been dropped into the middle of nowhere.
They cross a small rise and find nothing on the other side. Julia stands looking at the horizon and feels her heart sink. It’s just so sparse out here. With only clusters of vegetation. Barren hills and valleys. Nowhere to hide. When Toni made the phone call it was near dawn. 4:52 a.m. At that time of morning, it would have been terrifyingly dark and lonesome. Julia glances at the quiet road leading into the Göreme township.
“Are we thinking the same thing?” says Leo, staring at the road too.
“Daniel pulled up the van to sleep here and Toni slipped out.”
Leo nods. “Yeah.”
Julia exhales and looks around. “But where did she go?”
Leo raises his hands to shield his eyes and studies the landscape. “What’s that over there?”
In the distance, there’s a group of buildings. A ramshackle house and a couple of barns. Possibly a ranch. Julia and Leo look at each other.
“Let’s go get Detective Muhtar,” she says.
72
Despite the two horses tethered to a hitching post, it turns out the place is not a ranch at all but an artist’s abode, a potter by the looks of the stacks of glazed earthenware through the window. When a knock on the front door of the main house brings no response, Detective Muhtar, Julia, and Leo decide to check the two outbuildings.
They locate the potter in the first barn. The petite woman in her late fifties is busy at a foot-propelled potter’s wheel, shaping a mound of slippery wet clay into what might have been a water jug. She’s so absorbed in her work that she doesn’t notice them standing at the open door.
Detective Muhtar clears his throat. The woman looks up, her face clouding over when she sees them. She stops the wheel with her hand and the object lies there, half-finished, as she listens to Detective Muhtar explain the situation.
“I speak English,” she says. “My father was a teacher. My name is Lucinda.”
Lucinda gets to her feet and rinses her hands at a sink.
“So,” says Detective Muhtar, continuing in English. “Did you see anything unusual last night or this morning?”
She dries her hands on a cloth and heads for the door. “You should speak to my son.”
They follow Lucinda to the adjoining barn that houses a wood-fired kiln and shelving stacked with jugs, plates, and ornaments, some glazed, others not. The sight is impressive. Lucinda is clearly not only talented but industrious too.
Julia spots a shirtless man on his back beneath the southern end of the kiln, a toolbox lying open beside him.
“Jayar,” says Lucinda. “They are here about the girl.”
The young man of about twenty slips out from beneath the kiln and gets to his feet. There’s a black smear on his face. Detective Muhtar introduces himself, Julia, and Leo.
“You saw something?” says Detective Muhtar.
Jayar nods. “I start the firing work around five a.m. when it’s still cool. When I got here this morning, the door was open.” He points to a pile of broken pottery. “Someone had been in here. They knocked the table over but I could not see anything stolen. Then I hear yelling. I go outside and I see two people over by the road. A man and a woman. Foreigners.”
Detective Muhtar shows him the flyer.
“Was this the woman?”
Jayar shrugs. “It was dark. They were very far away.”
“Was there a vehicle?”
Jayar nods. “A white van.”
