official confessions and testimony. I’d have to be quick.
I hurriedly threw on some clothes that wouldn’t draw too much attention: a black sweater and a pair of relatively high-waisted jeans. Ever since waists started heading south, I haven’t bought a single pair of jeans measuring more than a hand’s length from crotch seam to belt loop. And my hands are not like those of the other girls: while strong, they are slender and elegant.
As I walked out the door, it occurred to me that I had no idea where I was going, and no idea where to find Okan. A street -by-street search would be less than effective. In fact, in this day and age, it isn’t even the preferred method for apartment hunting, let alone a hunt for a murder suspect. Undeterred, I locked the door and walked off.
Having silenced the nerve-racking music in the taxi, I gave the driver Refik Alt?n’s address. Less than fifteen minutes later I was entering his new apartment building in Esentepe. While there was nothing particularly grand about the place, it reflected him perfectly: well past its prime but stubbornly pretentious. As I rode an elevator redolent of Ajax to the top floor, I examined myself in the mirror. An impertinent hair had grown out just above my nose. I struggled to pinch it between two fingernails, but it was too short to pluck out. The hair won, and I was left with a red spot right between my eyebrows. Let’s hope for the best, I remarked to my third eye as I stepped out of the lift.
Refik was expecting me.
“Look, sister, you got me all wound up on the phone. I’m taking tranquilizers as it is, just to pull myself together. You can imagine the state of my nerves. It’s an understatement to say I’m not feeling particularly lucid these days. I haven’t got the slightest idea what I’m saying, or even what I’m being told. Do forgive me…”
It’s never too late to know thyself, I thought.
I was determined to keep the ritual expressions of sympathy to a minimum; he was equally determined to blubber and bawl over every last detail, embroidering and embellishing ad nauseam. Of the most recent news, he had not a clue.
“
I’d always been astonished that someone whose speech oozed treacle of such a vulgar nature could manage to produce such compelling poetry.
“If I weren’t worried about the neighbors, I’d be listening to hardcore
This final outburst, accompanied by facial contortions meant to simulate anguish, was all the confirmation I needed. Yes, once again he was performing.
“Look here,” I said, pointing my right index finger at his left eye. “I do believe you’re grieving and in pain. He was your lover, after all. However, please try to understand what I’m about to say. I speak not out of a lack of respect for your suffering and your love but because you’re about to spin completely out of control. So cut the drama for a moment, or I’ll smash you and your flat to bits.”
The lightning in my eyes convinced him I was serious. He knows all too well what I’m capable of when I lose my temper. Once upon a time, back when I was practically apprenticed to stupen-dous Sofya, I’d been provoked into breaking into Refik’s flat, tearing the place apart, and demonstrating for the benefit of Refik and my so-called lover boy at the time a series of recently mastered Thai boxing moves. And with bonus background information on each kick and slam thoughtfully provided free of charge. After that it was a long time indeed before I was able to refer to any man as my lover.
I was short and snappy as I summarized the latest for him. He was a bit thrown by my criticism, a bit miffed that his portrayal of an inconsolable widow had gone unappreciated. Eyes fixed on my wagging index finger, he meekly nodded from time to time to confirm that he was listening.
“Oh good,” he said, when I told him about Faruk. “He got what he deserved. Thought he’d get away with it. It’s called divine retribution, sweetie. I sometimes believe in it. There you go.”
When it was time to bring up Okan, I stopped. I’d been talking so fast and so loudly my throat was dry.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Have I said anything about you having done something?”
“No, you haven’t… yet. But you’ve been banging on for so long, I can’t help but wonder if I’m next. I ask but one thing: If you must beat me up, please don’t touch my face. As you well know, it took two operations to straighten my nose that last time.”
Reminded of what had happened, I couldn’t help laughing. He had no idea why, of course.
“What is it, sister? What happened now?” he ventured timidly.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just that I remembered how you wet yourself when I smashed your windows that time.”
“That’s not the least bit funny. I’ve chosen to forget all about it. I attributed your behavior to a fit of jealousy, temporary insanity. Otherwise, I’d never have spoken to you again.”
I didn’t bother to remind him that he’d slandered me all across town, that he hadn’t spoken to me until the club opened, and that when he’d arrived there, hoping to bag a boy, none had shown any interest in him, which was the reason he was now pretending to have forgotten the whole thing.
“You weren’t entirely innocent,” I said.
“That was different. You still haven’t let go. You’re so vindictive!”
He was as determined as ever to get the upper hand.
“The boy you bedded happened to be my lover,” I said.
“He was like Kleenex, nothing more. One of those one-night, one-use types. I didn’t take it seriously. But now I see that you did; you’re still obsessing. Aren’t you a funny old thing.”
We weren’t getting anywhere. I couldn’t even remember the boy’s face. All I recollected was throwing everything that came to hand at the windows, stuffing a huge towel into the toilet, knocking over the lit candles so they burned holes in the carpets and upholstery, and, of course, my little Thai boxing exhibition. Oh, and the sight of Refik scampering around the room wearing nothing but a pair of pink panties.
“Whatever,” I said. “That’s not what I’ve come to talk about. I’d forgotten the whole thing. To tell you the truth, I can’t remember the boy.”
“What do you mean, can’t remember?” he said, out of sheer spite. “His name was Ufuk. He was medium height. A bit on the thin side. Big eyes, like chestnuts. Had a mole on the right side of his chest that looked like a third nipple.”
The flourish with which he indicated, on his own chest, the location of the third nipple just begged a good thrashing.
“Shut up,
“No, that can’t be! Okan wouldn’t have. He couldn’t have…”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He’s here, sleeping in the bedroom. He hasn’t been outside for two days. Neither have I.”
“What are you saying?” I said. “Okan is here with you?”
“That’s right,” he answered calmly. “I called him, to hand over some of Volkan’s things. He was good enough to come right over. We had a few drinks, wept on each other’s shoulders… Then he… comforted me.”
An inappropriate and groundless note of pride had crept into his voice. As though he’d pulled off a difficult stunt. Lips twisted into a wicked smile, he continued.
“And I comforted him right back… then… he spent the night… with me…”
“So neither of you has gone outside for two days?”
“Well, not since yesterday. As I told you, Okan has been here with me. He couldn’t have killed that money-lender. Anyway, why would he do something like that? After all, Faruk Bey helped him out, gave him tons of money.”
“Run that by me, again,” I said. “Nice and slow. I’m a bit confused.”
Ponpon’s Xanax couldn’t still be affecting me. I seemed to have suffered lasting damage.
“Let’s call the police and tell them! They’d better leave him alone…”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “The police have been waiting for a call from you. They’re just dying to cross their top suspect off the list, I suppose. Get real!”
“So what are we going to do?” he said, biting his lower lip anxiously. “He can’t hide here for the rest of his life, can he? That would be impossible.”
The combination of campy vamp and imbecilic child star was too much for me. Wincing, I looked him up and down.
“Stop staring, sister! Say something!”
“Go and wake him up. We need to have a little talk,” I said. “Then you can go write a bit of poetry.”
As I watched Refik going off to rouse Okan, I couldn’t help wondering what kind of underwear he was wearing.
Chapter 28
Refik’s low murmur reached me from the bedroom, where he was trying to wake up his new favorite, the boyfriend he had, in a sense, inherited from his late lover. One question-other than Refik’s underwear-burned in my mind: What else and who else had been recorded by the security camera at the Hanoglu mansion? If I had made an appearance, and I had no reason to doubt Selcuk’s account, there must be footage of Okan as well. Otherwise, why would he be a suspect? But if it was true that Okan had been at Refik’s side for the past two days, he couldn’t have been captured on camera. Someone was being economical with the truth. But who?
It would take some time for Okan to wake up, come to life, and be ready to meet me. I walked over to the window to enjoy the luxury of being on the fourteenth floor. The Bosphorus lay before me, stretching from Ihlamur Valley all the way to Sarayburnu. It was overcast. The night I’d smashed the windows I hadn’t even noticed the view. I’d been in no condition to do so. Gravity would have ensured that the pointed shards of glass were lethal weapons by the time they reached the ground. I hadn’t heard anything in the days following, so I assumed no serious accidents had been reported.
Why was I able to remember every detail of the havoc I wreaked that day but absolutely nothing about the boy, Ufuk? So he had a mole like a third nipple. I racked
