uniformed cops left, and I was alone with the nice little man. He looked down at a piece of paper and read: “Kemal Kayankaya, private investigator. Born in Turkey. German citizen.”
I nodded. He set the piece of paper aside and folded his hands.
“Four years ago I spent a week in Istanbul. An enchanting city. Truly enchanting. And the architecture! Of course,” he lifted his palms in regret, “a little run-down. Not that you don’t see that here too.”
He scrutinized me kindly, fastened his gaze on the handcuffs, and exclaimed with feigned indignation, “These officers! Always so pedantic. They insisted on putting handcuffs on you. But I told them to treat you considerately.” He shook his head. “Please, Mr. Kayankaya, you must forgive us. My staff is still so inexperienced.”
Instead of removing the cuffs, he turned to look out the window, still smiling.
“I gather you have been complaining about the way they’ve been treating you?”
“I just wanted to speak to my lawyer.”
“But you threatened an officer, didn’t you? Do you realize you could be charged for that?” When he turned his eyes back to me, they were cold. “It’s always the really clever ones who demand to speak to their lawyers right away. Are you a really clever one?”
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed one of his big ears.
“You’re not answering me. Maybe you’re a really stupid one?”
He chuckled, and laugh lines appeared around his eyes without softening them.
“Well, all right, let that go. You are presently investigating the Böllig case. That does not please me. I want you to resign from the job. If you refuse to do so, I’ll ask for a warrant for complicity with the culprit and endangerment of our investigation. I don’t want you to interfere in this case. It gives us the opportunity to uncover certain connections and organizations which we haven’t been able to investigate until now. These things require delicacy and time. The police force does not consist only of idiots. We have been weaving a fine web, and you are about to tear it up, in all sorts of ways.”
I rattled my handcuffs.
“Please take these off.” He got up, put his hands in his pockets, and walked slowly around the desk.
“I’ve gathered some data on you, Kayankaya. You think you’re a tough guy who can stick his nose into whatever he feels like.”
“Is that all you found out?”
He sat down on the edge of the desk and folded his hands over his soccer-ball stomach.
“You’re a boozer.”
“Does that worry you?”
He picked up a metal ruler and pointed it at me. “What do folks drink in your parts? Raki, right? Would you like a shot?”
“No, thanks. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“A cigarette?”
I didn’t reply. He reached across the desk and took a pack of Rothmans from a drawer. Unwrapping it, he asked, “So? You’ll resign from the case?”
“I don’t think so.”
Furious, he tossed the pack in the wastebasket and came closer. I had had enough. I tried to get up, but he pushed me back into my seat.
“You stay where you are until we’ve settled this,” he hissed at me through his teeth. Then he switched back to balloon man, smiled, and said in a low voice, like someone explaining the advantages of an account with their savings and loan association, “Listen carefully, Kayankaya …”
He clasped his hands behind his back and strode slowly back and forth in the room.
“In here, I can beat you within an inch of your life, and no one gives a rat’s ass. On the contrary, I may even get a pat on the back.”
He studied his fingernails.
“Naturally, I prefer another solution. It wouldn’t please me particularly to … Well. Four officers would testify that you attacked me with a knife, and off you’d go to prison for attempted grievous bodily harm. But”—he beamed ecstatically—“things could get much worse.” He patted my shoulder gently. “I could do things to your face, Kayankaya,
I nodded. He set the piece of paper aside and folded his hands.
“Four years ago I spent a week in Istanbul. An enchanting city. Truly enchanting. And the architecture! Of course,” he lifted his palms in regret, “a little run-down. Not that you don’t see that here too.”
He scrutinized me kindly, fastened his gaze on the handcuffs, and exclaimed with feigned indignation, “These officers! Always so pedantic. They insisted on putting handcuffs on you. But I told them to treat you considerately.” He shook his head. “Please, Mr. Kayankaya, you must forgive us. My staff is still so inexperienced.”
Instead of removing the cuffs, he turned to look out the window, still smiling.
“I gather you have been complaining about the way they’ve been treating you?”
“I just wanted to speak to my lawyer.”
“But you threatened an officer, didn’t you? Do you realize you could be charged for that?” When he turned his eyes back to me, they were cold. “It’s always the really clever ones who demand to speak to their lawyers right away. Are you a really clever one?”
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed one of his big ears.
“You’re not answering me. Maybe you’re a really stupid one?”
He chuckled, and laugh lines appeared around his eyes without softening them.
“Well, all right, let that go. You are presently investigating the Böllig case. That does not please me. I want you to resign from the job. If you refuse to do so, I’ll ask for a warrant for complicity with the culprit and endangerment of our investigation. I don’t want you to interfere in this case. It gives us the opportunity to uncover certain connections and organizations which we haven’t been able to investigate until now. These things require delicacy and time. The police force does not consist only of idiots. We have been weaving a fine web, and you are about to tear it up, in all sorts of ways.”
I rattled my handcuffs.
“Please take these off.” He got up, put his hands in his pockets, and walked slowly around the desk.
“I’ve gathered some data on you, Kayankaya. You think you’re a tough guy who can stick his nose into whatever he feels like.”
“Is that all you found out?”
He sat down on the edge of the desk and folded his hands over his soccer-ball stomach.
“You’re a boozer.”
“Does that worry you?”
He picked up a metal ruler and pointed it at me. “What do folks drink in your parts? Raki, right? Would you like a shot?”
“No, thanks. I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“A cigarette?”
I didn’t reply. He reached across the desk and took a pack of Rothmans from a drawer. Unwrapping it, he asked, “So? You’ll resign from the case?”
“I don’t think so.”
Furious, he tossed the pack in the wastebasket and came closer. I had had enough. I tried to get up, but he pushed me back into my seat.
“You stay where you are until we’ve settled this,” he hissed at me through his teeth. Then he switched back to balloon man, smiled, and said in a low voice, like someone explaining the advantages of an account with their savings and loan association, “Listen carefully, Kayankaya …”
He clasped his hands behind his back and strode slowly back and forth in the room.
“In here, I can beat you within an inch of your life, and no one gives a rat’s ass. On the contrary, I may even get a pat on the back.”
He studied his fingernails.
“Naturally, I prefer another solution. It wouldn’t please me particularly to … Well. Four officers would testify that you attacked me with a knife, and off you’d go to prison for attempted grievous bodily harm. But”—he beamed ecstatically—“things could get much worse.” He patted my shoulder gently. “I could do things to your face, Kayankaya,
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