werewolf legends or simply individuals who have either been raised by wolves or who have gone wild in some way depends in part upon where geographically these individuals have been found. In nineteenth-century Romania, for instance, a demonic or supernatural explanation would have been logical. In a police cell in the middle of Istanbul in the dying days of the twentieth century madness seemed the most likely explanation to those now observing Cengiz Temiz's bizarre, howling behaviour. When not screaming and hurling his now bloodied arms against the walls, Cengiz raised his shaggy head up to the ceiling and howled.
'How long has he been like this?' Zelfa asked as she attempted to make eye contact with the distressed man.
'Couple of hours.'
'A couple of hours!' She was furious and, although she didn't take her eyes off Cengiz for a second, she made her feelings very clear to the officers at her side. 'Why wasn't I called before? Too busy eating kebab and dribbling over girly magazines?'
'But, Doctor,' the female officer began, 'I am-'
'I include you in that too.' Zelfa's Irish directness was quite unaffected by what this woman obviously felt was a tremendous insult.
Cengiz screamed like a banshee, hurling his considerable bulk pogo-style into the air. Making certain one more time that one of the small syringes she had taken from the drug cabinet before she left the hospital was at the top of her bag, Zelfa turned to the man at her side and said, 'I want you and the others to restrain him while I talk to him.'
As she stepped into the cell, the stink from Cengiz's unwashed, sweaty body nearly knocked Zelfa flat Babbling and raving, Cengiz had wet himself more than once and had also, she noticed, thrown food and drink up the walls. Somewhere down the corridor the sound of another prisoner joining in with the screaming reached their ears.
Holding one open hand out in greeting, Zelfa moved forward. 'Hello, Cengiz, I am Dr Halman, I've come to help you.'
'Aaaahhh!'
Keeping her eyes on both Cengiz and the two officers who were now closing in on him, Zelfa also took in that the man was shaking. Whether this was from shock, fear or just sheer exhaustion she did not know. What she could see of his wounded arms indicated only superficial grazing.
As the first officer got a lock onto one of Cengiz's arms, the other one pulled him down to the floor. As his face hit the mess beneath him, Cengiz howled. Quickly, lest his breathing should be impaired, Zelfa moved forward and shifted his head to one side.
'It's all right, Cengiz,’ she said, 'I only want to talk to you and then try to make you more comfortable.'
'I want my mummy and daddy!'
'Yes, I know, and if you can be quiet for a while perhaps we can do something about that.' Then looking the officer directly in front of her straight in the eyes she said, 'This place is a fucking disgrace!'
'Inspector Suleyman said he should be put here,' a female voice from the other side of the room said caustically.
'In view of what happened to another disordered prisoner down here last year I doubt that Inspector Suleyman wanted you to let him harm himself!' She looked up into the woman's sneering face and added, 'Inspector Suleyman has the wit to know that when someone is bleeding he is usually injured!'
The woman said something which could have been
'Well, you should know' or words to that effect, but Zelfa chose to ignore it. The last thing she needed right now was a dissection of her private life.
Now a little quieter than before, Cengiz's eyes were full of sad tears. Zelfa sighed. Why Cengiz's fingerprints had been on Ruya Urfa's spectacles and jewellery she didn't know. More recently, a pair of his shoes had been found to match dusty footprints in the hall of the apartment as well. But looking at him now it was difficult to credit this man with a coldly calculating poisoning. In order to do something like that one would have to know many things: what cyanide was, that it could be disguised within almond halva, that it would work very quickly, that it was a good idea to do it while everyone was either at or watching on television a passionately anticipated football match. This had to be beyond someone like Cengiz. And for a moment, before she took hold of her emotions once again, Zelfa felt very angry with Mehmet for putting this poor creature through this terrible ordeal. Not that Mehmet, given the evidence, had any choice in the matter.
'You can sit him up,' she said as soon as she could see that Cengiz's breathing was becoming calmer.
The two officers grunted as they raised Cengiz onto his haunches. Their prisoner was a big man and he was also exhausted, quite unfit and therefore a dead weight.
'Now, I can give you some medicine-'
'No! No, not-'
'Ssshh! All right, all right,' she said as she gently placed her hands across his and looked up into his face. 'You don't have to have it. If you are a good, quiet boy and-'
'I hate it here!'
She smiled. 'Yes,' she said, 'so do I. But if I can get you moved to a cleaner place so you can get some sleep then we won't need to give you any medicine, will we?'
'Don't want medicine!'
'No,' she said, 'of course you don't and I will not give it to you provided you try to get some sleep.'
One of the officers holding Cengiz cleared his throat There was, Zelfa noticed, a look of extreme alarm upon his face. He, at least, had counted upon the medication to give him an easy shift. Well, fuck you! Zelfa thought as she smiled at Cengiz again.
And, almost as if he saw and understood her thoughts for himself, Cengiz started a long, slow grin back at this strange, pale little saviour.
Mickey made the two other men sit in the kitchen as he took their wobbly friend through to the bedroom.
'Help yourselves to raki if you like.' He pointed to a bottle on top of one of the greasy work surfaces. But the men did not answer, they just stood very straight-faced and quiet Now inside the apartment they were much more subdued, with the exception of Mehmet.
When Mickey opened the door, Mina was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, studying her face. She turned, scowling, until she noticed that her client was considerably better looking and cleaner than her regulars.
'This is Mina,' Mickey said, a smirk spreading over his hairy features. 'All right?'
Seemingly drinking in every gram of Mina's considerable figure, Mehmet grunted his assent.
Mickey smiled. 'OK, mate,' he said, 'no violence or weird stuff and we'll all be friends.' Then clapping him firmly on the back he whispered, 'Enjoy yourself.'
As soon as Mickey had closed the door behind him, Mina pulled the straps of her negligee down to reveal her breasts. 'Hello,' she said, 'can I-'
But before Mina could articulate just what she was offering this unusually urbane new client, Mehmet Suleyman had his hand over her mouth and his gun to her head.
Chapter 7
Hell, it is often said, is a state of mind. Sometimes, however, the infernal zone can take on an all too physical manifestation. For Mehmet Suleyman it was a police station full of people yelling their own agendas. Given the conflicting nature of the individual needs of the various groups, the result was chaotic.
Erol Urfa, who had been called in some time before to identify his daughter, was edgily awaiting her reappearance from the room where she was currently being examined by a doctor. Resplendent in a black and red velvet suit, he had come in with his manager, what appeared to be all of Tansu's family and, strangely from Suleyman's point of view, Isak Coktin. With the exception of Coktin, the party looked as if they were dressed for cabaret which was what, in a sense, they appeared to be providing with their deafening babble of anger punctuated by occasional forays into tearful relief.
