Arabesk

Ali Mardin lifted his heavily lined, element-worn face to look at the policeman. He could be, Suleyman thought, anything from thirty to fifty-five years old. 'I am sure. I am not a madman.'

Suleyman sighed and then wiped his wet brow with his handkerchief. Middays in August had to be the closet thing to hell. 'At what time did Erol Urfa leave your premises?'

'In the morning when he went home.'

'Did you see him go?'

'No.' And then curling his Up into a sneer he said, 'What you want? That I should sleep with him?' He waved one hand dismissively to the side. 'I don't screw men.'

'I didn't say that you did.'

Mardin first burped and then grunted his grudging agreement. His lack of manners enraged an already unhappy Suleyman.

'Well, Mr Mardin,' he said through now tightly clenched teeth, 'your contribution to this investigation has been so fascinating that I fear I will have to go now before I become totally entranced.'

'Eh?'

'So if you will just allow me to look at your identity card I will be on my way.'

A very strange moment followed during which Mardin appeared to become frozen both mentally and biologically. As the blood raced from his face, rendering his walnut-hued cheeks ashen grey, it was as if this very simple request of Suleyman's had temporarily robbed him of the will to exist.

'Is there a problem?' Suleyman asked as he leaned, fascinated, across the desk towards Mardin. 'I do hope not.'

Inside his jacket pocket, Suleyman's mobile made its presence felt He took it out and, turning aside from the traumatised Mardin, pressed the receive button.

'Suleyman.'

'Hello, Inspector,' Coktin said. 'I thought I'd better let you know that Erol Urfa is going to be on television tonight.'

'What?'

'TRT are going to broadcast a plea by him for the safe return of his daughter.'

Suleyman sighed deeply. 'I dislike these things, especially in view of the fact that we don't have any idea who we are dealing with in respect of the child. Have TRT approached the commissioner regarding involvement from ourselves?'

'No. As I understand it they, or perhaps Mr Aksoy, want Erol to be filmed in a domestic setting, soft focus and that sort of thing. They intend to build a programme of sorts around the plea.'

'We'll need to know what he intends to say,' Suleyman replied. 'Is he still at Aksoy's place?'

'No. He's with Tansu Hanim at her house.'

'I'll have to get out there to see him then.' Suleyman wiped his hand across his brow. Blast this interminable heat! 'How are Mr and Mrs Temiz?'

Coktin groaned. 'Hostile.'

'No word from forensic?'

'Not yet. Although a Mr Erturk has returned your call. It was a bit garbled but it would seem that he's speaking at some sort of conference. He says, if this means anything to you, that you can keep 'them' until he's finished.'

Suleyman raised his eyes up to heaven in despair. 'I don't believe it!' He turned round to face Mardin who, once he became aware that Suleyman was watching him, started frantically to turn out the drawers in his desk.

'So will you go out to see Mr Urfa then, sir?' 'Yes. Perhaps you'd like to contact forensic and inject a little urgency into their investigations.' 'OK.'

'Well, keep in touch then, Coktin,' Suleyman said. 'I'll see you later.' 'Goodbye, sir.'

Suleyman terminated the call and then turned his attention back to Ali Mardin.

'So has that identity card turned up yet, Mr Mardin?' he asked.

For the first time since the policeman had arrived, Mardin smiled. It was a limp, sheepish sort of thing, but it was a smile nevertheless. 'No, I'm afraid that it hasn't. It-'

'You do know that it is a serious offence not to show your card to an officer when he requests it?' 'Er, yes, er-'

'If I had the time, I would pursue this further now, but…' What was important here was the fact that the missing child seemed to be getting somewhat lost in all the activity around the murder. 'I will send one of my men round in the morning to view your card,' and then looking up rather fiercely he added, 'That will give you ample time, will it not?'

'Oh, yes, yes!' Mardin agreed as he bowed down in a way that Suleyman felt was not entirely natural to him. All this obsequiousness had, he thought, come about rather too rapidly. It made Suleyman wonder just what lay behind it all. Was his card simply missing or did he not possess one? Was his card in fact someone else's or was there something on it of which he was ashamed? There were lots of possibilities, none of which he had time to explore now.

'Oh, and if you do think of anything else you would like to tell me about your evening with Mr Urfa, you will contact me, won't you, Mr Mardin?'

A little more guardedly, the man said, 'Yes.'

'So I expect we will meet again.' Suleyman held his hand out to Mardin.

The man shrugged as his dry palm touched Suleyman's hand. 'Maybe. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye.'

As he walked out into the searing midday sunlight, Suleyman took his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and put them on. Then, as casually as he could, he briefly glanced across at the rather stylish Japanese car that was parked outside the carpet shop opposite Mr Mardin's hotel. So, still there then. Still containing the same amiable- looking married couple. He sighed. Following him to Mardin's place was one thing but now that he was going back to Tansu's ghastly housed he did not need this. As it was, he would probably have to fight his way through the gang of press vultures who were, apparently, camped around the singer's property. But how to deal with his tail?

If Ikmen had taught his protege’ anything it was that meeting certain, usually unimportant but troublesome people head on was much better than ignoring their irritating behaviour. The 'doing it with humour' bit did sometimes elude him, not being a natural like his old boss, but he was prepared to give it a try.

He crossed the road and, with a smile, knocked on the window of the car. With a smooth swooshing sound, the window descended to reveal a widely smiling young man and his equally youthful female passenger.

'I just thought I'd let you know,' Suleyman said, 'that I'm not going to drive like a lunatic in order to get away from you. The late Princess Diana's driver made that mistake when attempting to get away from the French press. I'm certainly not going to die for the sake of their Turkish counterparts.'

'Ah…'

'So, by all means follow me if you must. But the drive will be slow and boring and could, quite possibly, involve a hold-up courtesy of my friends in the traffic division. Do I make myself clear?'

The man's over-friendly expression resolved into a scowl.

'I suppose so,' he said, but then brightening just a little he added, 'May I quote you on that then, Inspector?'

She'd just managed to get the child down for an afternoon nap when there was a knock at the door.

I'll go,' she said to her mother. Madame Kleopatra had been restless for the last few hours and Semra, now seated quietly in the little back yard, was exhausted.

'Oh, it's you,' Mina said as she opened the door to a small, middle-aged policeman with attitude.

Cohen shrugged. 'I heard that Madame is really dying now. I've come to say my goodbyes.'

‘I didn't know you knew her that well,' Mina said as she moved aside to let him in. 'I thought maybe you'd come to see me.'

He put his hand gently under her chin and pulled her face close to his. But he didn't kiss her as she thought he might. 'Not this time, my little soul,' he said. This time is for Madame alone.'

She took his small dry hand in hers and, with only a quick glance back to ensure that the child's door was