free.
“I’ve just had something,” I said. “Thank you.”
“If you’d like something later, let me know,” he said.
And that was that.
He was still addressing me with the formal siz. That beguiling specimen of manhood, honed and polished through years of work and play, full of self-assurance and effortlessly able to put any guest at ease, was looking straight at me, directly into my eyes. “So, what’s this all about?” his eyes said.
I could have explained, at some length and with numerous asides, that it was “about” the fact that I fancied the pants off him.
“The murder that Faruk Bey’s been accused of,” I said instead.
He seemed impervious to my intense stare, burning with love and admiration.
“I’m often a bit captivated by cases like this,” I explained. “They fascinate me. I like to do a little research on my own. Sometimes I stumble across things.”
“A bit of an amateur sleuth, are you?” he said.
“That’s one way of putting it,” I replied, a bit peevishly. “I have managed to contribute to the solving of a number of murder mysteries.”
He shifted in his seat, simultaneously shifting the expression on his face. I wasn’t sure if he was now looking at me with grudging admiration or as though he’d just realized he had a crazy tranny on his hands.
“I’ve stumbled across some things in this case, too.”
I didn’t know what else to say. It would have been nice of him to help me out. But he just sat there, raking me over with those dreamy eyes, making me even more tongue-tied.
I wanted to reach over and caress his cheek, then lean forward and plant a kiss on those hungry lips. I restrained myself.
“So, what have you found?” he finally asked.
“Volkan Sar?dogan, the late Volkan Sar?dogan, wasn’t particularly loved by those who knew him. He was a gigolo who managed to make a considerable amount of money in a short period of time.”
“Yes,” he drawled, not the least surprised.
The hand cupping his chin was exquisite. Was it possible to have come-hither cuticles?
“It appears I’m not telling you anything new.”
“No, you’re not… It’s not exactly a closely guarded secret that the, ah, victim, was not popularly esteemed.”
“He has a brother who’s a drunk and a junkie. They say there’s nothing he won’t do for money. Nothing he won’t do to feed his habit,” I continued.
I waited for his reaction. Nothing.
“Go on,” he said, after a moment.
“And there’s the question of the cell phone. Were the police to trace all the dialed numbers and received calls on his cell phone, I imagine there’d be quite a series of scandals.”
His laughter was genuine.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said.
“Don’t be too sure either way,” I said.
“The murder was most certainly not motivated by robbery,” he said thoughtfully. “Whoever did it didn’t touch his wallet, which contained some cash, nor his gold watch and chain or his cell phone.”
Haluk was as up-to-date on the police records as I was.
“Don’t you think the murderer made a stupid mistake, then?” I asked. “Why leave behind an important piece of evidence like a cell phone?”
Eyes narrowed, he studied my face for a moment. He was nibbling the thumb of his right hand. Delicious.
“It may have been deliberate,” he offered. “Done specifically to implicate Faruk.”
“But just as you said, planting a cell phone on the body wouldn’t be enough to incriminate Faruk Bey. And if he didn’t do it, who did? And why are they trying to make it look as though he’s the murderer?”
“Bravo!” said Haluk. “Those are all perfectly reasonable questions, but I suggest you let the police answer them. I’ve done all I could, which was to get Faruk released and cleared of the charges as quickly as possible.”
“But he hasn’t been cleared,” I pointed out.
“Well, he can’t be charged either,” he countered. “In a worst-case scenario he could be accused of having contacted a gigolo. That would be unpleasant but not damning. Rumors die down as quickly as they flare up. I only hope that his family won’t be affected. His wife must be standing behind him. Otherwise, she’d have made a statement by now. At worst, he’ll be branded immoral, a sexual pervert. A few people may turn their backs on him. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I asked incredulously.
Leaning forward, he placed a hand on my knee.
I was overwhelmed.
“When we consider that you must overcome this sort of thing, and far worse, every day of the week…”
I wanted to respond. But couldn’t. All I really wanted was to take him in my arms. I wanted that hand to remain on my knee forever. A warm glow spread through my body.
I placed a hand on his.
“You’re so right,” I whispered. “But it’s not that difficult. One just has to be strong.”
An electrical current passed between us. My spine tingled. Our faces were inches apart. I felt his warm breath on my face, my throat, my skin. I breathed in his scent, my eyes traveling to his, then to his lips. Just looking at him set me aflame.
“I have friends at the force,” I suddenly said.
I had no idea why those words left my lips. It was important to continue to talk, to maintain our pose. What we said didn’t matter.
“I’ll have access to more information, if necessary. Like the list of phone numbers.”
He removed his hand from my knee and leaned back.
“That could be interesting,” he mused.
I’d provoked his interest.
“I wonder how far back they can trace his calls,” he said.
“I don’t know.”
Looking deep into his eyes, I smiled.
“That would be a good starting point,” he said.
He’d found something for me to research. I’d do anything for him, I thought to myself. But I also had a few questions of my own.
“I heard that Faruk Bey isn’t very popular.”
“Who is popular in the markets? Successful men are envied.”
On his neck, just above his collar, a few stray hairs glinted. Clearly, even his wife, Canan, hadn’t noticed after he’d shaven that morning. If he were my man, I would never send him off to work like that, I thought.
As he saw me off, he only shook my hand. Yes, he held it in a tight caress, but I’d been hoping for so much more.
Chapter 11
If you like a man enough, you dote on whatever he does. Years ago, a vivacious great aunt of mine not greatly treasured by the family had said something that shocked us all: “After a certain point, every man I see turns my head.”
She never married, and some of our family elders could be heard to remark, “born a virgin and going to die a virgin.” But that’s not what I overheard them saying behind closed doors. When I heard my mother and her friends refer to my aunt as a “nymphomaniac,” I’d hauled down the unabridged family dictionary. I never looked at my aunt the same way again.
I don’t take after my aunt: My sexual appetites are healthy, not excessive. But when it came to Haluk Pekerdem, I could see myself becoming a nymphomaniac, or anything else. Just the thought of him left me breathless and weak-kneed.
I floated out of his office. I don’t remember how I walked to Taksim, how I got down the hill to my flat. I reenacted in my mind, over and over again, everything he’d said and done, every word and every gesture.
I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high. I’d barely recovered from a breakup and couldn’t face refusal at the moment.
Yes, it was true that he didn’t fancy me as much as I fancied him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t refused me; he’d fitted me into his busy day, put aside time just to chat with me. He’d touched me; I’d touched him. He hadn’t retracted his hand after placing it on my knee. Just that one act was surely a sign of something.
As I approached my apartment building I noticed Huseyin at the taxi rank. His was the only taxi there. He was alone. I’d once taken him into my bed, worn down by his insistence and pleas. But then he thought he owned me. I’d been forced to correct him, to demonstrate to him with a good public thrashing that he’d gotten me all wrong.
He turned his head away when he saw me coming. He hadn’t been my driver since the beating. Either it wasn’t his turn every time I called for a cab, or he was avoiding me.
I still had to find Okan Sar?dogan and Ziya. I knew taxi drivers and minibus drivers weren’t on the best of terms, but they were both members of the same general community, members of the fraternity of the steering wheel. Perhaps the taxi drivers could be enlisted for help. And Huseyin wasn’t such a bad sort; he’d even proven to be quite handy on a few occasions, and he adored being involved in sleuthing.
