Read Online A Passion for Killing by Barbara Nadel - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Nadel
Ads: Link
everything.’
‘Yes . . .’
‘So Lawrence of the Arabs . . .’
‘Ah, yes, well,’ Melly continued, ‘Lawrence collected oriental carpets. It is well documented and, of course, to own one of his carpets would be quite a coup. Expensive, but a coup all the same.’ He leaned forward, his face a taut mask of excitement. ‘Yaşar Uzun had such a thing. I have seen it, held it. I was in negotiation to buy it.’
‘Were you.’
‘I had to have it!’ Peter Melly said and then, through gritted teeth, he added, ‘Had to!’
Although by no means a carpet aficionado, İkmen, like everyone else, was well aware of the trade in ‘famous’ carpets. The fact that some celebrity or historical icon had owned a particular carpet could increase its value considerably. A picture of a carpet supposedly once owned by the nineteenth-century English explorer Charles Doughty had appeared in the newspapers only a few months before. This fragment, which is all that it really was, had been valued in the tens of thousands of dollars. But then that carpet had been verified by experts as a genuine item.
‘How do you know that this Lawrence carpet really is a Lawrence carpet?’ İkmen asked.
After first looking up at Doris, who duly went off to the kitchen to get more drinks, Peter Melly said, ‘It’s quite a tale. Do you have some time?’
Until Arto Sarkissian had finished his autopsy on Yaşar Uzun, İkmen theoretically had all the time in the world. But then even if he hadn’t he was now intrigued. Lawrence of Arabia was a troubling and indeed incomprehensible figure for him. That a man should go away from his country and become as one with another, seemingly more primitive people, was deeply strange. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I have some time.’
And so after Doris Klaassen had finished replenishing everyone’s drinks, the Englishman began.
‘Lawrence’s speciality was blowing up trains,’ he said. ‘The Turks, er, Ottomans, built the Hejaz railway through Arabia originally to transport pilgrims to the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina. But when war broke out, of course, they used it to carry troops. I don’t know exactly when Lawrence came into possession of the little Lavar Kerman prayer rug Yaşar Uzun was selling to me, but I know that he was an enthusiastic collector and that his Arab irregulars routinely looted Turkish transport trains. It’s basically how our government, the British, paid these men. But anyway, the man to whom Lawrence eventually gave the Kerman was a young enlisted chap, a Brit, who was his batman in Cairo . . .’
‘Batman?’ İkmen frowned.
‘Sort of like a servant,’ Melly explained. ‘Privates, non-commissioned men, can, or rather could, act as servants to officers. Cleaning their kit, pressing their uniforms, doing their housework, basically. This young man, Private Victor Roberts, was Lawrence’s batman. He gave Roberts the Kerman as a way of expressing his thanks for the young lad’s efforts. According to Roberts, Lawrence told him the rug had been taken from a Turkish transport train just outside a place called Ma’an which is, these days, in southern Jordan. Lawrence and his men blew the train up and then looted whatever they could find which included this rug. It’s still stained with blood Lawrence claimed had belonged to a young dead man, a Turk, of what he described as “unusual beauty”.’
‘I think I’ve heard it said that Lawrence was homosexual?’ Wim said.
Melly shrugged. ‘It’s very possible. No one really knows. But anyway, Lawrence gave the rug to Roberts who carried it with him all the way to Constantinople.’
‘İstanbul.’
‘Constantinople as it was then, Inspector,’ the Englishman said to the Turk who shrugged his assent. İstanbul indisputably had indeed been Constantinople – up until as late as 1930. ‘We, the British, as I’m sure you know, occupied the city after the First World War until your man Atatürk took it back in
‘Yes . . .’
‘So Lawrence of the Arabs . . .’
‘Ah, yes, well,’ Melly continued, ‘Lawrence collected oriental carpets. It is well documented and, of course, to own one of his carpets would be quite a coup. Expensive, but a coup all the same.’ He leaned forward, his face a taut mask of excitement. ‘Yaşar Uzun had such a thing. I have seen it, held it. I was in negotiation to buy it.’
‘Were you.’
‘I had to have it!’ Peter Melly said and then, through gritted teeth, he added, ‘Had to!’
Although by no means a carpet aficionado, İkmen, like everyone else, was well aware of the trade in ‘famous’ carpets. The fact that some celebrity or historical icon had owned a particular carpet could increase its value considerably. A picture of a carpet supposedly once owned by the nineteenth-century English explorer Charles Doughty had appeared in the newspapers only a few months before. This fragment, which is all that it really was, had been valued in the tens of thousands of dollars. But then that carpet had been verified by experts as a genuine item.
‘How do you know that this Lawrence carpet really is a Lawrence carpet?’ İkmen asked.
After first looking up at Doris, who duly went off to the kitchen to get more drinks, Peter Melly said, ‘It’s quite a tale. Do you have some time?’
Until Arto Sarkissian had finished his autopsy on Yaşar Uzun, İkmen theoretically had all the time in the world. But then even if he hadn’t he was now intrigued. Lawrence of Arabia was a troubling and indeed incomprehensible figure for him. That a man should go away from his country and become as one with another, seemingly more primitive people, was deeply strange. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I have some time.’
And so after Doris Klaassen had finished replenishing everyone’s drinks, the Englishman began.
‘Lawrence’s speciality was blowing up trains,’ he said. ‘The Turks, er, Ottomans, built the Hejaz railway through Arabia originally to transport pilgrims to the Holy Cities of Mecca and Medina. But when war broke out, of course, they used it to carry troops. I don’t know exactly when Lawrence came into possession of the little Lavar Kerman prayer rug Yaşar Uzun was selling to me, but I know that he was an enthusiastic collector and that his Arab irregulars routinely looted Turkish transport trains. It’s basically how our government, the British, paid these men. But anyway, the man to whom Lawrence eventually gave the Kerman was a young enlisted chap, a Brit, who was his batman in Cairo . . .’
‘Batman?’ İkmen frowned.
‘Sort of like a servant,’ Melly explained. ‘Privates, non-commissioned men, can, or rather could, act as servants to officers. Cleaning their kit, pressing their uniforms, doing their housework, basically. This young man, Private Victor Roberts, was Lawrence’s batman. He gave Roberts the Kerman as a way of expressing his thanks for the young lad’s efforts. According to Roberts, Lawrence told him the rug had been taken from a Turkish transport train just outside a place called Ma’an which is, these days, in southern Jordan. Lawrence and his men blew the train up and then looted whatever they could find which included this rug. It’s still stained with blood Lawrence claimed had belonged to a young dead man, a Turk, of what he described as “unusual beauty”.’
‘I think I’ve heard it said that Lawrence was homosexual?’ Wim said.
Melly shrugged. ‘It’s very possible. No one really knows. But anyway, Lawrence gave the rug to Roberts who carried it with him all the way to Constantinople.’
‘İstanbul.’
‘Constantinople as it was then, Inspector,’ the Englishman said to the Turk who shrugged his assent. İstanbul indisputably had indeed been Constantinople – up until as late as 1930. ‘We, the British, as I’m sure you know, occupied the city after the First World War until your man Atatürk took it back in
Similar Books
