away. I still can’t believe . . .’ He shrugged. ‘OK, Doctor, I’ll be there. Yes.’
His conversation over, Çöktin replaced the receiver and then rubbed his face with his hands.
‘Inspector İkmen will be very proud of you, Hikmet,’ he said as he took his jacket off the back of his chair and then rose slowly to his feet. ‘Seems your feeling was right.’
‘Oh?’ Yıldız, aware that the more senior man was now on his way out, also stood up. ‘So was that man murdered?’
‘No.’ Çöktin made his way over to his office door and opened it. ‘It’s far stranger than that, Hikmet,’ he said. ‘Murder I can kind of understand but this . . .’ He shrugged.
‘What?’
‘Why don’t you come with me over to the mortuary and find out?’ Çöktin said. ‘You were the one who, after all, kind of anticipated this.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll have to let Dr Sarkissian explain,’ Çöktin said as he made his way out into the corridor, ‘because I’m afraid, Hikmet, that I just can’t.’
He then made his way towards the stairs, bearing a young man who felt very ‘tingly’ again in his wake.
C HAPTER 4
‘I think he was probably about twenty when he died,’ Arto Sarkissian said as he pulled the sheet back to reveal the unknown man’s head and shoulders.
‘But, let me get this right, you don’t know when that might have happened?’ Çöktin asked.
‘No.’
Briefly the two men stared into each other’s eyes.
‘As I told you on the phone, Sergeant,’ Sarkissian continued, ‘this body has been embalmed.’
Yıldız, who had been watching the proceedings from behind Çöktin’s shoulder, looked confused.
‘An embalmed body is one that has been treated and preserved,’ Sarkissian expounded. ‘It’s something that Muslims don’t do,’ he smiled. ‘You’re in the ground within twenty-four hours, but to some extent Christian bodies are preserved. Not like this but—’
‘What do you mean?’
The Armenian sighed. Although just as distressed by death as their Christian and Jewish neighbours, Muslims were, in Sarkissian’s opinion, much more pragmatic and practical about it. People died, you buried them and then, after all the frenetic activity around the funeral was over, you mourned. Debates about the immortality or not of the soul didn’t impinge until the body was in the ground. That was and always had been important.
‘Christians wait to bury their dead,’ the doctor explained. ‘Even in very modern countries, like the USA where most bodies are now cremated, there is a delay. There are numerous reasons for this. In some countries, especially Eastern European and Latin states, there exists a traditional anxiety with regard to premature burial.’ He looked up into two horrified faces. ‘Oh, it used to happen,’ he said, ‘and although it shouldn’t happen these days some people are still anxious about it. As well as that, Christians do like to view their dead.’
‘You mean like when the Greeks carry their priests through the streets after they’ve died?’ Yıldız asked.
‘Yes. The body is displayed and people come to pay their respects to it. But there is, of course, a theological reason too.’
Çöktin frowned.
‘We, or rather Christians,’ Sarkissian said with a smile, ‘believe that when Christ comes again to redeem the world the dead will rise from their graves. Embalming keeps them in a condition to render this possible.’
‘Yes, but surely if they’re in the ground,’ Çöktin began, ‘with all the worms and the bugs . . .’
‘Oh, it’s far more of a tradition and a cosmetic exercise than a practicality,’ the doctor said as he looked down at the corpse, ‘in most cases.’
Yıldız, who was once again experiencing an unpleasant feeling, shuddered.
Sarkissian took the dead man’s head in his hands and moved it gently to one side.
‘But not this one,’ he said gravely. ‘This one is different.’
‘What do you mean,
His conversation over, Çöktin replaced the receiver and then rubbed his face with his hands.
‘Inspector İkmen will be very proud of you, Hikmet,’ he said as he took his jacket off the back of his chair and then rose slowly to his feet. ‘Seems your feeling was right.’
‘Oh?’ Yıldız, aware that the more senior man was now on his way out, also stood up. ‘So was that man murdered?’
‘No.’ Çöktin made his way over to his office door and opened it. ‘It’s far stranger than that, Hikmet,’ he said. ‘Murder I can kind of understand but this . . .’ He shrugged.
‘What?’
‘Why don’t you come with me over to the mortuary and find out?’ Çöktin said. ‘You were the one who, after all, kind of anticipated this.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll have to let Dr Sarkissian explain,’ Çöktin said as he made his way out into the corridor, ‘because I’m afraid, Hikmet, that I just can’t.’
He then made his way towards the stairs, bearing a young man who felt very ‘tingly’ again in his wake.
C HAPTER 4
‘I think he was probably about twenty when he died,’ Arto Sarkissian said as he pulled the sheet back to reveal the unknown man’s head and shoulders.
‘But, let me get this right, you don’t know when that might have happened?’ Çöktin asked.
‘No.’
Briefly the two men stared into each other’s eyes.
‘As I told you on the phone, Sergeant,’ Sarkissian continued, ‘this body has been embalmed.’
Yıldız, who had been watching the proceedings from behind Çöktin’s shoulder, looked confused.
‘An embalmed body is one that has been treated and preserved,’ Sarkissian expounded. ‘It’s something that Muslims don’t do,’ he smiled. ‘You’re in the ground within twenty-four hours, but to some extent Christian bodies are preserved. Not like this but—’
‘What do you mean?’
The Armenian sighed. Although just as distressed by death as their Christian and Jewish neighbours, Muslims were, in Sarkissian’s opinion, much more pragmatic and practical about it. People died, you buried them and then, after all the frenetic activity around the funeral was over, you mourned. Debates about the immortality or not of the soul didn’t impinge until the body was in the ground. That was and always had been important.
‘Christians wait to bury their dead,’ the doctor explained. ‘Even in very modern countries, like the USA where most bodies are now cremated, there is a delay. There are numerous reasons for this. In some countries, especially Eastern European and Latin states, there exists a traditional anxiety with regard to premature burial.’ He looked up into two horrified faces. ‘Oh, it used to happen,’ he said, ‘and although it shouldn’t happen these days some people are still anxious about it. As well as that, Christians do like to view their dead.’
‘You mean like when the Greeks carry their priests through the streets after they’ve died?’ Yıldız asked.
‘Yes. The body is displayed and people come to pay their respects to it. But there is, of course, a theological reason too.’
Çöktin frowned.
‘We, or rather Christians,’ Sarkissian said with a smile, ‘believe that when Christ comes again to redeem the world the dead will rise from their graves. Embalming keeps them in a condition to render this possible.’
‘Yes, but surely if they’re in the ground,’ Çöktin began, ‘with all the worms and the bugs . . .’
‘Oh, it’s far more of a tradition and a cosmetic exercise than a practicality,’ the doctor said as he looked down at the corpse, ‘in most cases.’
Yıldız, who was once again experiencing an unpleasant feeling, shuddered.
Sarkissian took the dead man’s head in his hands and moved it gently to one side.
‘But not this one,’ he said gravely. ‘This one is different.’
‘What do you mean,
Similar Books
