mean that the child hasn't been abducted. If the perpetrator gets off on publicity, a hiatus forcing something like an appearance from Urfa on television could be just what he wants.'
'Or her.' Suleyman smiled.
Ikmen in response raised his eyes briefly towards the aqua blue sky. 'May Allah strike me down if I forget the women!' Then looking again at Suleyman he asked, 'Is that, seriously, a real possibility?'
'Urfa is, for want of a better term, a sex symbol,' Suleyman said as he drew long and hard upon his cigarette. 'Women want to get near to him, they desire him-'
'Here are your glasses of tea.' Fatma Ikmen set the small silver tray down in front of the two men. Suleyman was unaware of such things but Fatma, who had recently lost five kilos of fat since her, never mentioned, 'female' operation, was wearing quite a thick coating of recently applied lipstick.
She stood back to look at Cetin's old partner and sighed. 'Ah, but you look so smart!' she said. 'Your mother must be so proud!'
'I'm glad you approve of the suit, Mrs Ikmen,' Suleyman replied, skating over the issue of his mother's opinions. He had not seen her who had given him life since he had left his wife the previous October. 'It's good to see you again.'
'And you, Mehmet,' she said and then, with a sharp glance at her husband, she added, 'I can't tell you how grateful we all are to have you here-'
'Yes, thank you, Fatma,' Ikmen interjected and smiled at her through clenched teeth. 'You just go and enjoy the kitchen again for a bit'
The two men left off their conversation for a few moments after Fatma retreated. Quietly they enjoyed their tea, their cigarettes and the unrivalled view Ikmen's tatty old balcony afforded of the great Sultan Ahmet Mosque, its gardens and its sad royal child-filled tombs.
'Also, Ruya Urfa died by cyanide poisoning,' said Suleyman when the time finally seemed right. 'Forensic are right now exploring the possibility of death by misadventure. But there were no bottles immediately evident that contained such a substance or derivatives thereof and with no suicide note-'
'We are probably looking at a homicide which,' Ikmen said with a sharp raising of one finger, 'Dr Sarkissian probably feels is particularly ''feminine' in character?'
Suleyman smiled. 'Yes. Have you spoken to him?'
Ikmen's failure to reply to this was pointed. 'Which is why my earlier discounting of women was so erroneous,'.he said. 'Poison is considered by some, including the dear doctor, to be a particularly feminine mode of despatch. That coupled with copious amounts of envy…'
'You are thinking of Tansu Hamm?'
'Along with the rest of the nation probably, yes,' Ikmen said. 'Although the missing child adds rather a different dimension, don't you think?'
'Yes.'
'Bitter childless women…' 'Obsessed devotees of Erol's music,' Suleyman added.
'Psychopaths.' Ikmen drew hard upon his cigarette and then scrunched the butt out in the ashtray. 'Anyone else?'
'We're actually looking for one of the neighbours at the moment,' Suleyman said as he watched two Oriental tourists struggle with their phrase book in the street below. 'Erol's manager claims this man told him about Ruya Urfa's death before he reached the apartment this morning. The neighbour's knowledge could possibly precede both Mr Urfa's discovery of the body and our arrival at the scene. Of course, he could simply have witnessed the aftermath of Erol Urfa's discovery of the body and then drawn certain conclusions from that But until we interview him we won't know.'
'Is this manager person reliable? In your opinion?'
Suleyman put his cigarette out in the ashtray. 'He's loud, theatrical and given to offensively dreadful shirts. But I don't think he would lie about such a thing. I mean, it wouldn't profit him in any way to do so.'
'Mmm. Unless, of course, he's protecting his human investment’ Ikmen sipped his tea thoughtfully. 'And the neighbour? What of him?'
'According to his parents, Cengiz Temiz is forty-five years old and has Down's syndrome. He has been known to enter the Urfas' apartment from time to time. He is, apparently, rather fond of the baby. When he saw Temiz this morning, Urfa's manager, Ibrahim Aksoy, thinks he may have taken fright for some reason. Coktin is out looking for him now.'
'If he is Down's you do know that you may have some real problems interrogating him, don't you?'
Suleyman sighed. 'It won't be easy, no.'
'In my experience, which is only small,' Ikmen said, lighting yet another cigarette and then rubbing his stomach as if experiencing some pain there, 'he's going to be very frightened and very suggestible.'
'Yes.' And then leaning across to look at Ikmen more closely, Suleyman said, 'Are you all right, sir? I'm not tiring you, am I?'
Ikmen gave him the sort of look that, unchecked, could possibly curdle milk. 'I'm actually better doing this, as well you know, Suleyman,' he said and then rapidly changed the subject back to something that interested him. 'He'll probably, if my experience is anything to go by, confess immediately. However, if you do need help with that there is always Dr Halman.'
'Yes,' Suleyman said as he turned his head just slightly to one side at mention of the psychiatrist's name. Whether this could be interpreted as evidence supporting current station gossip concerning Suleyman and the rather older female psychiatrist, Ikmen didn't know. But if his ex-deputy was having an affair with her he was getting rather better at concealing the fact
'Anyway,' the younger man said as he drained his tea all in one draught, 'I must go now. Thank you, sir, for what has been a very pleasant few minutes.'
'The pleasure is all mine,' Ikmen replied and then looking down towards the floor lest Suleyman see the misery in his eyes, he added, 'I miss both the job and you.’
'You'll be back soon enough.' Suleyman placed a hand gently on Ikmen's thin shoulder, Ikmen patted the hand with dry, skinny fingers.
'Well, whatever happens, you have quite a cast of characters for this one, don't you?'
Suleyman laughed. 'Men in bad shirts, people with low mental ages, superstars…'
The lovely Tansu Hanim…'
'Who I hope to see tonight, after we've made an official statement about Urfa's child. Everybody, via the press, will be aware that she's missing by then, but… I know it's always a risk but we need to get the whole country looking. Just because the father is both an adulterer and, from my short conversation with him, rather inarticulate, doesn't mean the child should suffer. I just hope that whoever killed her mother
'Which is why,' Ikmen said, reaching forward and embracing his friend once again, 'I think I might do a little research around just who these overpaid people are and exactly what they do. I may even, may Allah protect me, voluntarily listen to some of their music!'
Some things that, at first sight, appear extremely eccentric can turn out to be quite logical in genesis. Istanbul's tiny underground railway, known as Tunel, is one. It is old, it is so cheap as to be totally unviable from a financial point of view and with only two stations on the 'line', one can hardly go far by this method. History, however, as is often true of so many odd phenomena, provides the logic needed to understand the existence of Tunel. Built by French engineers in 1875 it was designed to carry European merchants resident along the Grand Rue de Pera to and from their offices in Karakoy. Whilst under the ground these privileged foreigners would be well-protected from the extreme weather conditions of winter and summer and also from the pimps, prostitutes and other desperate subjects of the Sultan who for all remembered time have haunted this part of the city. So the merchants got their business done in comfort and without distress and the Sultan earned their gratitude if not their precious pounds, francs and Deutschmarks. These days, with the aid of a jeton priced at virtually nothing, one can ride Tunel in order to save oneself the effort of walking either up or down the Galata Hill. This is particularly useful for those who do not want to experience the excitements of some of the streets round about However, for a person to continually travel from top to bottom and vice versa for a whole afternoon is odd. Tunel may well be endlessly fascinating for railway enthusiasts but for a fat man who was obviously local and rather 'simple' to boot, it was bizarre. At least that was what the jeton vendor at the Karakoy end of the line thought when he called the police late that afternoon.
