Arabesk

‘I thought they were all morbid,' Suleyman replied with a shrug. 'But do go on. What is your point?'

'My point is,' Ikmen said, 'that she sings the venomous stuff in exactly the same way as the depressed sort She talks of murder and mayhem with the same sad little smile on her lips and the same downbeat tone as she uses when she speaks of sadness and loss. If you really listen to it, it's totally inappropriate.'

'So?'

'So, my dear Mehmet, if as we are led to believe by the cassette sleeves, those songs of a homicidal nature were actually penned by Tansu, why does she not interpret them correctly? It's almost as if she doesn't really understand the words.'

Suleyman put his cigarette out in the ashtray and then cleared his throat It was both interesting and opportune that Ikmen should bring up the subject of Tansu Hanim now, but not because of anything to do with her songs. What he wanted to know was whether the description Cengiz Temiz had given him of the 'devil woman' was consistent with Tansu's appearance – if indeed the testimony of a frightened and damaged man, who had not, it had to be faced, recognised Tansu as his nemesis from a photograph, could be relied upon. He also needed to discover whether or not Tansu possessed a blonde mink. As Coktin had whispered to him during his interview with Cengiz Temiz, hairs from just such a fur had been found on both Temiz's clothes and those of Ruya Urfa. What a strange garment, he could not help thinking, to be wearing at the height of the summer. But then they, the Arabesk people as a group, were given to excessive and often inappropriate dress, he knew. And Tansu, undeniably, had very good motive.

At that moment, Isak Coktin knocked and entered the room.

'Oh, Inspector Ikmen,' he said as he noticed his superior's guest, 'it's good to see you.'

'Hello, Mickey Coktin,' Ikmen replied with a smile. 'I see the inspector here is keeping you busy.'

'Yes.' He dragged a chair over from underneath the window and sat down. 'I hear you spent some time over at the Iskender Hamam, sir. Are you well enough?'

'I find that when I work I begin to feel better,' then turning back to Suleyman he said, 'Oh, and we did find a body, you know.'

'Oh.' Suleyman was sitting forward now. It was good to talk to Ikmen but he did really need to get on. There were places he had to go.

'Yes,' Ikmen replied as he, heedless of his fellows, launched into a story. 'Madame's husband, according to Kostas Katsoulis. He was in fact the man I always thought was her servant, the eunuch Murad Aga.'

Caught, despite himself, by the word, Suleyman said, 'Eunuch? But I thought they all died out years ago.'

'Oh, no,' Ikmen said. 'I knew one in the sixties. Imran Aga. He was very black and monstrously fat'

'Eunuch's still serve their purposes in some Arab countries,' Coktin put in.

'Do they?' Ikmen said. 'Where?'

For just a moment Coktin appeared a little flustered. 'Well’ he said, his pale skin turning slightly pink, 'I don't actually know where.'

'Ah.' From the look on Ikmen's face none of Coktin's discomfort had eluded him as it had the obviously distracted Suleyman. 'But to marry one is very queer, is it not?' he continued. 'I mean what can have been the pleasure…'

'There is more to marriage than just sex’ Coktin said, his head bowed now.

'Yes, Mr Urfa said as much when I spoke to him.' Suleyman rose to his feet. 'But for now we must-'

Coktin's mobile telephone which was currently residing in his pocket bleeped loudly. 'Oh, sorry, sir’ he apologised to Suleyman as he pressed the receive button. 'Hello?'

'Make it quick, Cdktin’ Suleyman said sternly and moved around the side of his desk towards Ikmen.

'My cue to leave, I suppose’ Ikmen said as he cast half an eye in Coktin's direction.

Suleyman shrugged. 'Sorry, but now that Coktin is here, we must progress.'

'Of course.'

After just a brief embrace, Suleyman led his guest towards the door of his office and opened it for him.

'I hope I'll see you very soon’ he said as he placed one slightly shy hand on Ikmen's shoulder.

'Oh, you will’ and then leaning in close to Suleyman, Ikmen, still with half an eye on the quietly talking Coktin, added, 'You do know that he's not speaking Turkish into that phone, don't you?'

Suleyman turned his head to listen and caught the guttural edge of Kurdish tones.

Chapter 10

By the time he reached Haydarpasa railway station, Ali Mardin had convinced himself that he was simply going home for a social visit That this was patently not the case had been graphically demonstrated by the action of gently slipping his identity card over the side of the ferry that had taken him to the Asian train station. There was, he knew, nothing usual about the wilful destruction of official documents. But what choice had he had? If the police had seen it they would have hauled him in for sure. Once in their unforgiving clutches he would, he knew, roll out the whole saga, which, although not exactly criminal, was not going to help his friend. When he got home there were many things he would have to tell Erol's parents – and Ruya's.

But for now, in the twenty minutes before the train arrived, Ali Mardin had other concerns. It was unlikely he would be able to get home without being asked to show his identity card. Soldiers or police or gendarmes could demand to see it and grave consequences could follow upon not producing it. What he needed, therefore, was a lot of luck both in procuring a replacement and in not being too closely looked at if subsequently required to produce it. Getting hold of one was not going to be easy, however. The tall, smart businessmen, distracted by their mobile telephones and portable computers, were probably the easiest targets but they bore so little resemblance to a short, rather scruffy peasant that those viewing such a card would have to be insane to detect any resemblance. Another peasant would be better. But peasants were cautious, as was Ali himself; they kept their possessions close. And Ali Mardin, though no saint, was no thief either.

Perhaps in the closer confines of the train he would have more opportunity. Ah bit his bottom lip nervously as a small group of heavily-armed policemen passed by. He would have to do something quickly. He knew that he could not help looking shifty. Very soon someone would stop him and demand to see his documents. Ah wiped the sweat from his brow on the cuff of his sleeve and then looked around him once again. If only someone would leave a bag or a jacket for just a moment…

As the departure for Ankara was announced over the tannoy, nothing immediately presented itself. He had a choice. To get onto the train and take his chances there or continue to scan for possible victims here. How could one know which was the right course of action to take? The policemen were getting onto the train, he could see them What he could also see was that the station was emptying wholesale into the Ankara Express. Opportunities were disappearing by the second. He had to act and fast

Dodging from foot to indecisive foot, Ali wavered for a few seconds – until he saw some of his fellow passengers were looking at him. Ah, well. He moved, head down, towards the barrier. Someone, somewhere had once said that with movement came freedom. Ali Mardin hoped against hope that this was the case.

Ever since he had received that phone call in Suleyman's office, Isak Coktin had been unusually preoccupied. He had assured the inspector that the call was of no great import but Suleyman wasn't convinced. He didn't like secrets and that included telephone calls he couldn't understand and unauthorised appearances at the homes of suspects. This latter, as he had discussed with Ikmen earlier, had to be tackled. The few kilometres that separated the car from Tansu Hanim's home would, he felt, give him an opportunity to broach the subject

'I was quite surprised to see that you were still with Mr Urfa when we found his daughter,' he said as he edged slowly into the appropriate traffic lane.

'He was very distressed after the broadcast' Coktin replied, somewhat baldly, Suleyman thought

'What do you mean?'

Coktin shrugged. 'He wanted to talk.'

'About?'

'Is there something wrong with my talking to a victim of crime?' His tone was really quite challenging and, though not exactly out of character, it was more confrontational than Suleyman had expected.

'It is when that person could be a suspect himself,' he said. 'What you have to remember, Coktin, is that if we