Arabesk

moving forward.

'Well, someone's going somewhere,' Tepe said as he put his own lights on and turned the key in the ignition.

Coktin, who was watching the approaching vehicle intently now, observed that even for a high-performance model, the Ferrari was being driven by someone who was obviously in a hurry. Even with the motor of their own car ticking over beneath them, both the officers could clearly hear the loud roar of its highly tuned engine. By the expression on his face, Tepe, at least, showed that he was very impressed.

The vehicle pulled up, very sharply, in front of the large main gates’ Leaving the engine running and the door open, a figure emerged from the driver's side. It was quite clearly a woman.

'Tansu,' Tepe said in response to the sight of white-blonde hair and a voluminous fur coat. It was not an assessment Coktin could easily argue with.

Frantically, as if pressed for time to an almost unbearable extent, the woman fumbled with the padlock on the gates until she managed to free it from the wrought iron that surrounded it Then, pushing the gates open just enough to allow the car to pass through, she ran back to the Ferrari, taking the padlock with her. A terrible gunning sound was heard as she revved the engine-hard. And as the brake was released the vehicle shot forward towards the road.

'You'll have to really move to keep up with that thing,' Coktin said to Tepe as the latter put the car into gear and took the handbrake off.

‘I hope that wasn't a criticism of my driving.'

'I wouldn't dare!' Coktin said, acknowledging the intimate relationship that exists between the Turkish male and his car.

Tepe's foot had just pushed down hard onto the accelerator pedal when the sickening crunch that brought the Ferrari's progress to a halt occurred. The vehicle it appeared to have just rammed was a lorry, the driver of which was already out of his cab and yelling loudly.

However, there was as yet no sign of life from inside the buckled Ferrari.

Ikmen smoked three cigarettes one after the other on his way back to his office from {he cigarette kiosk. Some people, like Erol, didn't much like a lot of smoke around their small infants and so he had to make sure he had a big hit before going back in with him. He also felt that he needed to fortify himself a little too. There were some questions, or rather points, he wanted to put to young Urfa that were not going to prove easy, especially if Suleyman, whom Erol seemed now to trust on some level, had not yet returned.

When Ikmen re-entered the station it was evident that Suleyman was still absent. He went into his office and saw that the child was asleep and the man was standing at the window, apparently watching the sun set. The sinuous strains of the evening call to prayer started to spin their slim tendrils towards the station and its occupants.

Ikmen sat down at his desk and watched as the younger man looked at the descending crescent of the setting sun.

'I take it you're not a religious man, Mr Urfa,' Ikmen said.

'No.' He neither moved nor acknowledged in any other way that he was paying anything more than cursory attention to what Ikmen was saying.

'Like me,' the policeman said with a smile. 'It may indeed say Muslim against religion on my identity card but that is only for the sake of form.'

Slowly, Erol Urfa turned just a little-so that he was at an oblique angle to the policeman, Ikmen noted with, interest that although he could now talk more easily to him, he could still not see Urfa's eyes.

'So what are you then, really, Inspector?' the singer asked.

'Oh, I'm absolutely nothing with regard to religion,' Ikmen said. 'But I do accept that others have beliefs and I don't much care what they are provided they don't commit offences in the name of their faith. You can worship Allah or a tree or even a large bird with very bright, tail feathers, it's all the same to me.'

Whether Erol Urfa experienced fear or relief or shock during the frozen moment that then passed between the two men, Ikmen would never know. Outwardly impassive, it was only his words that gave any indication that he had both heard and understood the. meaning of what had just been said to him.

'How did you know?' he asked, still looking out of the window, still seemingly listening to the exhortations of the numerous muezzins of the countless imperial and other mosques of old Stambul.

'Chicken and beans are such unusual things for such a young child to be noticeably allergic to,' Ikmen said. 'I suppose that for a man of faith like yourself, you had to take the risk. But then you were coming to commit 'professional suicide', to use your manager's words, with Inspector Suleyman, weren't you?'

'Yes. When I heard that Tansu was no longer here I did briefly reconsider, but…'

'What bearing does Miss Emin have upon this?’ Ikmen said with a frown.

He just managed to make out a sad smile on Erol Urfa's lips. 'I only married Ruya because of the needs of my religion. We never marry outside. And so if Tansu did kill her I am partly to blame for that I wanted two women and that is wrong.'

'Did Tansu know about your religion?'

Erol shrugged. 'I don't know. I never told her myself.'

'And yet the words of some of her songs…'

'Yes,' he turned now to face Ikmen who noticed that his eyes were wet with tears. 'The peacocks, the bitterness towards them… I have asked her about that, albeit obliquely. She's always said she liked that image. That's all.'

'Did she actually write those songs?' Ikmen asked.

'She says she did. She is credited with them.'

'And yet if she did, and deduced the reason for your concern, then surely she would have enough knowledge to realise that you could never marry any woman who is not Yezidi – assuming of course that she is not'

'No. She is Kurdish, but not…' He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully and then moved across the room towards Ikmen's desk.

Ikmen sighed. 'So who else, apart from your manager, knows about your religion? Here in the city, that is.'

Erol sat down in the chair opposite Ikmen's desk. 'I only told Ibrahim today’ he said. 'But there is also my friend Ali Mardin and…' The curtailment of his speech was quite sudden, but also quite deliberate.

Ikmen rubbed his chin and considered carefully before he spoke next. 'Isak Coktin,' he looked across at Erol at this point, 'risked his career by continuing to see you when Inspector Suleyman had specifically instructed him not to, which might lead me to certain conclusions.'

'I have nothing to say on that matter.'

Although Ikmen did think about pressing this point, he decided in the end that it probably wasn't worth the aggravation. After all, Erol's refusal to discuss Coktin told him everything he needed to know about the matter.

'Anyway,' he said at length, 'interesting though your revelation has been, you do know that if Tansu Hanim is guilty of murder, it will not make the slightest difference to her fate.'

'She is still under suspicion then? Even though you have let her go?'

'Yes. We still have doubts which, I imagine, you share.' Ikmen smiled. 'Otherwise why would you have so wanted to tell Inspector Suleyman your secret? A secret you know could damage you and little Merih in so many ways.'

Erol bowed his head, as if he were bending under the weight of some awful, crushing presence. He took a deep breath and then let it out on a sigh. 'You will, of course, report the falsified information on my identity card.'

'Oh, I only deal with homicide, sir,' Ikmen said and attempted to ape normality by shuffling papers across his desk. 'Anything political is quite beyond me.'

'But you will report this to others who…'

Ikmen smiled. 'I tend not to take too much notice of information I receive that doesn't actually impact upon the case I am working on. I am reliably informed that, contrary to popular belief, your people don't actually dance naked around the bodies of Muslim virgins, so I have no problem with you. In a sense you are no different from me. I've got Muslim on my ID card and that is a blatant lie. So there's little to choose between us, is there?'