Harem (34 page)

Shortly afterwards Vedat disappeared down the same corridor that all of his guests had taken and someone unknown shut the door to this portion of the kiosk behind him.

‘In some countries generals are almost invisible to the public,’ İkmen said to a still incredulous İskender. ‘But here, because we have this long military tradition, they are pampered, famous and revered.’

‘Which only makes the fact that General Pamuk is apparently consorting with wanted men, gangsters and who knows what else all the more incredible,’ İskender replied.

‘Yes.’ İkmen pulled a few leaves from a nearby bush and dropped them by his feet. ‘And in plain sight.’

‘Exactly. What is he doing?’

İkmen shrugged. ‘Things are happening, have been happening for some time that we don’t understand,’ he said, ‘things way above our heads.’ He looked up into the now darkening canopy of leaves and murmured, ‘Everything has taken place in broad daylight. Kaycee Sivas’s abduction, the delivery of her head, Tepe’s meeting with Vedat. Whatever hand is guiding events belongs to someone very confident and secure.’

‘No sign of Zhivkov, though,’ İskender said.

‘No. Unless he’s already in the kiosk.’

‘Or unless he’s got nothing to do with this after all.’

‘You know,’ İkmen said after a pause, ‘Miss Yümniye Heper thought that this Harem her sister became involved with could have been situated in one of the palaces.’

İskender clicked his tongue tetchily. ‘That’s a separate matter,’ he said. ‘This has to be about Hikmet Sivas and Kaycee.’

‘About enemies, their enemies, families,’ İkmen said, ‘people involved in murder and extortion, prostitution. Something that was hidden and now isn’t, just like Rat said.’ He went on to tell İskender what Sofia Vanezis had told him about her long-ago experiences.

‘So,’ the younger man said when İkmen had finished, ‘this here tonight, this could be the Harem?’

‘It’s possible,’ İkmen said thoughtfully. ‘It’s possible.’

He looked around at the trees and bushes, the grass and the occasional flower, and at the path.

‘Metin, I think we should return to where you saw Zhivkov.’

‘But I’ve been there,’ İskender said on a tired sigh. ‘You know the path. There’s nothing there.’

‘Well, humour me anyway.’ İkmen lit a cigarette and started walking towards the path.

As soon as he saw that inner door close, Süleyman paid for his coffee and then casually walked round the entire building. But wherever the men had gone was not obvious from the outside. In spite of the heat, none of the windows was open and there was no noise other than that coming from the veranda. And so in line with İkmen’s instructions to remain at the scene, he returned to his previous table, intending to order a snack.

‘We’re closing,’ the waiter said.

Süleyman looked at his watch. ‘But it’s only eight forty-five,’ he said. ‘I understood you were open until ten.’

‘We’re closing.’ And with that the waiter walked off to clear a recently vacated table.

Süleyman leaned back in his chair and sighed. So what now? He couldn’t just sit where he was. It was obvious that something out of the ordinary was happening and that the staff knew it. Soon they would ask him to leave. He looked across at the path and saw İkmen and İskender emerge from the undergrowth. Should he go and join them?

The ‘Egyptian’ girl at the table opposite was just finishing a large plateful of baklava. She smiled at him again as she placed the last spoonful into her mouth. This time Süleyman returned her smile properly and then lit a cigarette.

There was nothing.

‘I told you,’ İskender said as he watched İkmen walk up and down the path, looking intently at the ground.

‘Show me again exactly where you saw him.’

‘There.’ İskender pointed to a slight curve in the walled path in front of a very large tree.

‘Mmm.’ İkmen scowled. ‘Just walk back towards the kiosk, will you, Metin.’

İskender looked over his shoulder and briefly caught Süleyman’s eye. ‘I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile,’ he said.

‘Vedat and his friends are inside now,’ İkmen replied, ‘and anyway quite a few ordinary diners seem to be leaving. Just walk over there, will you?’

İskender walked up the path for a few metres and then turned. İkmen was nowhere to be seen. A young couple and a child, on their way back down from the kiosk, passed İskender, the child skipping happily as she went.

İkmen reappeared on the path. Frowning, İskender went to join him.

‘How did you do that?’ he said. ‘That’s exactly the way it was with Zhivkov!’

İkmen smiled. ‘I just stepped out from behind that tree,’ he said, pointing to the large yew on his left. ‘I put my foot onto the wall and then jumped onto the path.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘There’s no mystery,’ İkmen continued. ‘When you saw Zhivkov, just as a moment ago, your eyes were distracted by other figures.’

‘But they weren’t. I was staring down the path and he just materialised.’

‘Behind other people,’ İkmen said. ‘Very rarely do we look at just one item in a scene, especially if we’re not trying to focus on it, which you were not. You didn’t expect to see Zhivkov, his appearance came as a shock. I think your eyes were focused somewhere other than on the tree when Zhivkov appeared. It looked as if he’d materialised because one doesn’t expect to see people come out of the undergrowth and because of factors peculiar to you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that you’ve got a history with him. Zhivkov is a gangster of mythic proportions. His crimes are violent and bloody and he has escaped us and his rivals many times, over many years. You’ve seen his work first hand, and I’m not saying this to denigrate you, Metin, but I think he frightens you. Personally I think that’s a most sane reaction.’

İskender nodded his head slowly. ‘So it was an illusion, sort of, as I first thought. I could have saved my energy earlier, instead of combing the place for tunnels like an idiot.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ said İkmen. ‘If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have overheard Orhan Tepe arrange to come here and we wouldn’t know that a man I want to question about the death of his sister-in-law is currently in that kiosk with, amongst others, a very important Turkish general and the aforementioned Tepe.’

‘So I’m not a complete fool then?’

İkmen smiled. ‘No more than the rest of us.’

He lit a cigarette and the two men stood in silence for a moment. Up at the kiosk Süleyman was almost entirely alone now.

‘So what now?’ İskender asked.

‘I think we all need to get back together,’ İkmen said and reached for his mobile.

Officially the gates to the park closed at ten. But with the Malta Kiosk closing early, it was possible the park would follow suit. If it did, security officers would soon be prowling the highways and byways, looking for those who were lingering: the lonely romantics, the sex-starved couples, the occasional slavering peeper. İkmen was confident they wouldn’t be found if they kept their heads down. He wanted to stay to see the eventual break-up of the party inside the kiosk. Quite what good that would do them, he didn’t know, but if it meant they could follow Vedat Sivas and find out where he was staying, that had to be something. Ardıç surely couldn’t afford to ignore such significant information. Unless of course the commissioner, too, was in on whatever the hell was going on inside the kiosk.

‘That’s the last of them,’ Süleyman whispered as he nodded towards the figure of the restaurant’s maître d’.

The man was standing in just enough light for the officers to see that he was probably in his forties. He closed the main door behind him and left. He didn’t lock the door or check that it was properly closed.

‘Since he didn’t lock that door, we could get in,’ İkmen said.

‘And do what?’

‘Find out where the men went and what they’re doing.’

‘But we have no idea what we might be getting ourselves into,’ İskender replied. ‘I’m sure Ardıç got rid of us two and kept Orhan Tepe for a reason. He must have.’

‘As I’ve said before, I believe it’s enough that one of my officers is consorting with a man wanted in connection with a murder,’ İkmen said. ‘And then there is the tantalising possibility of the Harem.’

‘But even if we were to find that something illegal was taking place, what could we do?’ Süleyman asked. ‘There’s a general in there.’

‘Who is just as subject to the rule of law as any of us,’ İkmen said. ‘I also want to know what Ali Müren is doing in there. When I dragged Ekrem into the station he gave me the impression that the Mürens were not acting alone these days. There are foreigners in there who could be Mafia.’ İkmen stared at the darkening façade of the kiosk.

‘You’re not trying to tell me that a man like General Pamuk, who has acquitted himself with such honour, would sully his hands with the Mafia, are you?’ İskender protested.

‘I hate to smash your illusions,’ İkmen said tartly, ‘but contrary to popular belief, anyone can be corrupted. I know that we’re encouraged to think that all of our soldiers are perfect—’

‘A notion not extended to ourselves,’ Süleyman put in.

‘No. And over the many, many years I have been doing this job,’ İkmen said, ‘I have always tried to seek out the best in even the most highly placed individual. I have, as a result, been disappointed many times which means that I now trust very few and take no man at face value.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a scepticism I suggest you cultivate, Metin.’

İskender looked miserably at this feet. Like a lot of young men, he had always revered the army. When he was a child his greatest wish had been to try and gain entrance to military school. And although boys from poor families did gain places, boys from Umraniye were another matter. Even if his father had sobered up enough to take him along to apply for a place, he wouldn’t have had anything to wear that didn’t smell of the refuse tip and dead animals. He’d had to fight his corner to get into the police, battling mainly against his parents whose attitude towards the law consisted of breaking it in order to survive.

‘You don’t have to come, you know,’ İkmen said, breaking across İskender’s thoughts. ‘I know how important your career is to you. And this is, well, it’s not exactly sanctioned or necessarily even the right thing to do.’

‘I do know that I come across as a stiff, ambitious bore,’ İskender responded bitterly.

‘With integrity,’ Süleyman put in. Although he had never actively liked Metin İskender, he did respect him and he was disturbed by this sudden descent into verbal self-flagellation. He himself was not wholly certain that he wanted to do what İkmen had proposed but what he did know was that now was not the time for self-defeating thoughts. ‘You’ve worked very hard to get where you are now, Metin,’ he added, ‘and I respect you for it.’

İkmen, who was rapidly losing patience with the very Turkish niceties that were currently taking place, cleared his throat.

‘Look, are either of you going to come in there with me or not?’ he said, pointing an unlit cigarette at the kiosk.

Süleyman sighed. It would be so easy to just get up and go home now. İkmen wouldn’t reproach him for it. But he trusted İkmen and his hunches. They rarely proved unfounded. And if something corrupt was occurring, he wanted to know what it was, not that the knowledge would necessarily mean they could do anything about it.

‘Well, I’m in,’ he said before he could think any more and change his mind.

‘And so, I suppose, am I,’ İskender said glumly. ‘I have to take some risks.’

‘And you want to know the truth just as much as I do,’ İkmen said with a smile. ‘Are you armed?’

‘Of course.’

‘I take it you aren’t, Çetin?’ Süleyman said, knowing already what the answer would be.

‘No.’ İkmen looked at the incredulous expression on İskender’s face and smiled again. ‘You didn’t know? I never am. If I can’t talk my way out of a situation then I don’t deserve to do this job. But I know that you two both carry, and that’s up to you. All I ask is that if anything does happen, you don’t just react without thought. We don’t know what we might be getting into here. Our aim is just to observe without intervention, if possible.’ He looked at them sternly, each in turn. ‘Agreed?’

İskender and Süleyman both nodded their assent.

‘OK, let’s try and find out what all this is about then,’ İkmen said. ‘We’ll split up, check out the area and then, if it’s clear, meet at the front entrance.’

‘You think they might have people outside?’ Süleyman asked.

‘I have no idea,’ İkmen replied, ‘but if General Pamuk had anything to do with the organisation of this meeting, or whatever it is, then I think it’s very possible. Keep quiet, keep low and use the undergrowth for cover.’

Süleyman agreed to take the back of the building while the other two approached it from opposite sides. There was some moonlight, just enough to give the front of the building a faint silvery glow. Ghostly. This place, with its unknown tunnels and its even darker history . . . Süleyman, at least, recalled the story, recounted in tones of sad regret by his grandfather, of how this palace had been captured by Young Turk troops back in 1908. Moving stealthily through the woods, every nerve straining against the noises made by the Sultan’s menagerie of exotic animals, these young men had known exactly where the monarch was, due to the strange and disordered sound of his piano playing. Not that they went in to confront him. No, the madman of Yıldız had to wait until morning to find out what he must already have known, that he was deposed, that the people had finally and unalterably spoken. Now, in a direct reversal of that situation, the old Sultan’s descendant moved to retake the palace, though he wasn’t sure who exactly his adversaries were and with no music to guide him he didn’t know where in the building they were either.