Arabesk

To be fair, the police were discreet although the vendor couldn't help thinking that sending plainclothes detectives to deal with the man was a little over the top. The young redhead in charge took two others with him onto the platform to wait for the train. They even bought jetons which was very strange given what some of the local 'uniforms' did with regard to fare paying, which was basically nothing.

When the little two-carriage train sighed to a halt at the bottom of its journey, Sergeant Coktin scanned those people exiting the carriages for a man of large girth. His two colleagues stood at the barrier in order to look at people as they came past and indicated, as soon as the rush was over, that they had not found the man in question either. The first carriage being obviously empty, Coktin moved quickly on to the second where his efforts were rewarded by the sight of a large man counting slowly on his fingers. With a brief movement of the head, Coktin signalled to his colleagues to come and join him. He then sat down opposite the man and, when he had caught his eye, smiled.

'Good match last night I thought,' he said, jauntily pandering to every red-blooded male's obsession, football.

The man just stared glassily ahead of him, his mouth open and dry looking.

'Not enough goals, but still plenty of excitement,' Coktin persisted, taking great care not to mention either of the teams involved (Galatasaray and Besiktas) for fear of causing offence.

'I haven't got enough money to get back up now.' The man may have been exaggeratedly round but his voice was quite unusually flat

Coktin felt all the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 'Oh,' he said, 'that is unfortunate. Do you need to get home?'

'Need to get back up. Keep going.'

Coktin's two colleagues moved to sit down behind the man.

'Do you have a cigarette?' he asked Coktin, putting out his hand, hopefully, for what may or may not be given to him.

'You can't smoke in here,' Coktin replied as the carriage doors swished shut

'For later,' the man persisted, pushing one stubby ringer against Coktin's knee.

'Well, all right then.' Coktin casually sorted through his pockets looking for his cigarettes. 'So what's your name then?'

'It's…' His mouth, which had obviously not tasted a cigarette for some time, slavered expectantly as Coktin slowly took a single cigarette from his packet.

'Mr…?' Holding the cigarette just slightly out of reach, Coktin lifted one questioning eyebrow.

'Cengiz,' the man said as he leaned forward to snatch the item from Coktin's grasp. 'Got a light for it, have you? Got a light?'

'We're not supposed to smoke in here, Cengiz, it's not-'

'Cengiz Temiz,' the man said, reasoning, or so Coktin thought later, that the revelation of his whole name might just make him change his mind with regard to the light

With a glance at the driver who was patiently waiting outside, Coktin leaned forward and lit the cigarette which now belonged to Cengiz Temiz.

The doors of the carriage swished open.

By the time most people were sitting down to their evening meal it was common knowledge that, firstly, Erol Urfa had a wife, secondly that the wife and not the star was not so much indisposed as dead, and thirdly that the Urfas' young daughter was missing. That extremely well-spoken police inspector told the nation that based upon the time of the woman's death the baby could have gone missing as early as the previous evening.

One of those who had watched the television broadcast was a grey-faced Erol Urfa. Now ensconced, at least temporarily, in the lounge of Ibrahim Aksoy's Sisli apartment, he looked at the plate of chicken and beans that now sat in front of him almost with horror.

'You should eat that.' Aksoy said as he poured himself yet another large raki. 'It will make you feel better.'

'No, it won't.' His voice, which was as dead as his eyes, bluntly expressed the reality of the situation. With his wife dead and the baby Merih still missing, Erol Urfa was not going to feel better for some considerable time to come.

Ibrahim Aksoy sat down on the sofa beside his protege’ and sighed.

After a while, Erol Urfa spoke once again, of terrible things, in the distant tones of one who has experienced more than he or she can bear. 'I keep thinking about the word 'murder!'‘ he said, 'but when I think it and I see Ruya's face I cannot put the two together. Who would want to kill her? I just don't know.'

'You know that the police are going to interview Tansu. don't you?' Aksoy, although now outwardly recovered from his earlier interrogation by the police, still shook just a little when he spoke directly of the day's grim events.

With some obvious difficulty, Urfa turned his tension-wracked neck to look into his manager's face. 'But Tansu knew all about Ruya. She accepted the situation. She is from a country family, she knows how things are.'

'Perhaps,' Aksoy said as he cut and then lit a Very large cigar, 'you should tell the police about how it really is with you and Tansu.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I mean how it's basically for publicity. The old sex goddess and the smooth young country boy. All that fantasy stuff that makes those hoards of middle-aged women and their silly teenage daughters buy your music'

Erol Urfa's long, almond-shaped eyes closed up just a little, indicating that, angry as he now appeared, he was still under some sort of sedation. 'Although I know that publicity was your only intention when you introduced Tansu and me, I thought you knew by now that I love her.'

‘You do? Really?'

'If I did not, why would I be with her, sleep in her bed, give myself totally to her?' Then suddenly with a muscular fierceness he took hold of Ibrahim Aksoy roughly by the collar. 'What kind of man do you think I am, Ibrahim?'

'All right! Calm down!' Aksoy cried as he pulled Urfa's fingers away from his neck. 'I just thought that what with her being so old and you-'

'You thought me the kind of man who would do anything to become famous? Well, I can understand that even if it is not so.' With calm but determined fingers, he took the cigar from Aksoy's mouth- and placed it in his own. 'But I am not that man. I love Tansu because she makes me feel things no other woman can. She treats me like a Sultan, she knows everything. And she loves me.'

'So why – forgive me, Erol, but I am confused now – did you bring Ruya here if you felt that way about Tarisu?'

Erol Urfa gave Aksoy back his cigar and then put his hands up to his face. He gently rasped his chin with his fingers. 'Because I am a man of honour. Because we were betrothed as children.' Then looking up quickly at Aksoy he added, 'What is written cannot be unwritten. Not even love can do that'

Inwardly Ibrahim Aksoy gave thanks that he, with his well-known propensity towards multiple lovers, was neither from the country nor of 'mountain Turk' extraction. The customs of these people, or so it seemed, were imbued with a rigidity that transcended both wealth and social position.

That police inspector won't arrest Tansu, will he?' Erol Urfa asked.

'I don't know.'

'She didn't kill Ruya. I know this.' Ibrahim Aksoy frowned. 'How do you know? Were you with Tansu last night?'

'No.'

'So where were you?'

The young man looked down at the large and complicated kilim at his feet 'I was with a friend. I told the policeman.'

'The inspector with the bad smell under his nose?'

'No. The other one.' He turned away as he spoke as if he did not want Aksoy to see his eyes. 'The one with the red hair. We spoke,' and then turning back, his eyes now full of tears, he added, 'you know?'

'Ah.' He had, Aksoy recalled now, vaguely wondered about the young policeman with the slightly harsh accent.