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Authors: Barbara Nadel
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on her dressing gown. ‘Cats are very clever,’ she said. ‘Don’t underestimate them. I’m going to get rakı. Do you want some?’
It was the middle of the day, but he wasn’t at work and so why shouldn’t he indulge in a little alcohol?
‘Yes,’ he said. Gonca left the room.
He’d made a conscious decision to spend the day with Gonca after his wife had basically kicked him out of his house. He’d willingly taken his son to school and would have stayed at home to be with Zelfa. But she had told him to go. ‘When you drop Yusuf at school, just keep on going,’ she’d said. ‘Get out of my sight!’
She’d lost patience with his infidelities. Not with Gonca – Zelfa didn’t know about her – but with other women he had come into contact with. Zelfa was menopausal and had by her own admission lost interest in sex. So he’d gone elsewhere. Not that he was excusing himself; he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop doing it.
Süleyman switched his mobile phone back on and found that he had one text message. It was from his deputy, Sergeant İzzet Melik, and it said, ‘Call me.’ İzzet very rarely contacted his superior when he wasn’t on duty, and so Süleyman did as he was asked.
‘İzzet?’
‘Sir, I’m in Şişli,’ İzzet said. ‘2B Ateş Apartments, Efe Lane. I’ve just got here, and I’m standing next to a bed with a dead naked man on it. His throat’s been cut.’
İzzet knew how much his boss thrilled to the chase. Murder and its resolution was addictive, they all knew that. Süleyman had already slipped his shirt over his shoulders and strapped his gun holster underneath his arm as he said, ‘I’ll be there.’
He put his trousers on just as she came into the room holding two tall glasses of white, cloudy rakı . He looked up at her and frowned. ‘Sorry.’
‘Duty calls?’ She took a long gulp from one of the glasses and then a small sip from the other.
‘An incident in Şişli,’ he said.
‘Oh, where the rich people live.’ She smiled.
‘I have to go.’ He stood up, walked over to her, took her head in his hands and kissed her hard and long on the lips. Then he left.
Chapter 7
----
The Akol family and their new guests the Seyhans lived in an apartment above a fabric shop on Macar Kardeşler Street. It was a rather nondescript sort of place, although the apartment did overlook, if at a distance, the magnificent Roman Aqueduct of Valens.
But Ayşe Farsakoğlu and Constable Hikmet Yıldız didn’t go to the Akol apartment. Only that morning, Çetin İkmen had told them that Gözde’s death had not been an accident. Other officers had already been in to collect the clothes the family said they had been wearing on that fateful day. News of the murder was out on radio, television and all across the internet. As İkmen had suggested, Farsakoğlu and Yıldız went into Fatih district to listen to what, if anything, people were saying about it, and about the families who lived in their midst. It was Wednesday, market day, and so most people would be out and about.
The two police officers had to do a few things to their appearances before they walked towards the seventeen streets that made up the Wednesday market. Hikmet was out of uniform, and Ayşe had covered her head with a scarf tied into a turban by a female officer back at the station who had a very religious sister. There was no way on earth that she could ever have tied it herself.
‘I look like your mother!’ she grumbled to Hikmet as she gazed with a critical eye at a pile of cherries heaped up on the back of a tattered old donkey cart. He didn’t reply. The truth was that she was indeed considerably older than he was. Not that she looked like his mother in any way. But her anger disturbed him. She was so resentful about wearing the turban. He knew she was a modern, secular woman, but he couldn’t really understand why she was so angry. She was, after all,
It was the middle of the day, but he wasn’t at work and so why shouldn’t he indulge in a little alcohol?
‘Yes,’ he said. Gonca left the room.
He’d made a conscious decision to spend the day with Gonca after his wife had basically kicked him out of his house. He’d willingly taken his son to school and would have stayed at home to be with Zelfa. But she had told him to go. ‘When you drop Yusuf at school, just keep on going,’ she’d said. ‘Get out of my sight!’
She’d lost patience with his infidelities. Not with Gonca – Zelfa didn’t know about her – but with other women he had come into contact with. Zelfa was menopausal and had by her own admission lost interest in sex. So he’d gone elsewhere. Not that he was excusing himself; he knew that what he was doing was wrong. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop doing it.
Süleyman switched his mobile phone back on and found that he had one text message. It was from his deputy, Sergeant İzzet Melik, and it said, ‘Call me.’ İzzet very rarely contacted his superior when he wasn’t on duty, and so Süleyman did as he was asked.
‘İzzet?’
‘Sir, I’m in Şişli,’ İzzet said. ‘2B Ateş Apartments, Efe Lane. I’ve just got here, and I’m standing next to a bed with a dead naked man on it. His throat’s been cut.’
İzzet knew how much his boss thrilled to the chase. Murder and its resolution was addictive, they all knew that. Süleyman had already slipped his shirt over his shoulders and strapped his gun holster underneath his arm as he said, ‘I’ll be there.’
He put his trousers on just as she came into the room holding two tall glasses of white, cloudy rakı . He looked up at her and frowned. ‘Sorry.’
‘Duty calls?’ She took a long gulp from one of the glasses and then a small sip from the other.
‘An incident in Şişli,’ he said.
‘Oh, where the rich people live.’ She smiled.
‘I have to go.’ He stood up, walked over to her, took her head in his hands and kissed her hard and long on the lips. Then he left.
Chapter 7
----
The Akol family and their new guests the Seyhans lived in an apartment above a fabric shop on Macar Kardeşler Street. It was a rather nondescript sort of place, although the apartment did overlook, if at a distance, the magnificent Roman Aqueduct of Valens.
But Ayşe Farsakoğlu and Constable Hikmet Yıldız didn’t go to the Akol apartment. Only that morning, Çetin İkmen had told them that Gözde’s death had not been an accident. Other officers had already been in to collect the clothes the family said they had been wearing on that fateful day. News of the murder was out on radio, television and all across the internet. As İkmen had suggested, Farsakoğlu and Yıldız went into Fatih district to listen to what, if anything, people were saying about it, and about the families who lived in their midst. It was Wednesday, market day, and so most people would be out and about.
The two police officers had to do a few things to their appearances before they walked towards the seventeen streets that made up the Wednesday market. Hikmet was out of uniform, and Ayşe had covered her head with a scarf tied into a turban by a female officer back at the station who had a very religious sister. There was no way on earth that she could ever have tied it herself.
‘I look like your mother!’ she grumbled to Hikmet as she gazed with a critical eye at a pile of cherries heaped up on the back of a tattered old donkey cart. He didn’t reply. The truth was that she was indeed considerably older than he was. Not that she looked like his mother in any way. But her anger disturbed him. She was so resentful about wearing the turban. He knew she was a modern, secular woman, but he couldn’t really understand why she was so angry. She was, after all,
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