Istanbul Passage (36 page)

“They think I shot Frank.”

“Why would they think that?” Mihai said quietly.

“And Tommy,” Leon said, looking at him. “The boat at Bebek? The fisherman turned up. They saw him. He can identify me, put me there that night. So they add two and two and get five.”

“He can identify everyone there that night.”

“But there wasn’t anyone else,” Leon said, meeting his stare. “Just me.” He took one more stack out of his briefcase.

“What’s that?”

“I can explain what happened to Washington. I’m bringing them a witness they’ll believe. My house present. I’m not so sure about the Turkish police. Once they have an idea, they don’t like to be wrong. Especially when our people say they are. So I may not be able to come back. If not, this is for Anna. I’ll make arrangements to move her, but you’ll need this—to handle things.”

Mihai said nothing for a minute. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he said finally. “That it was for you?”

“It’s for both. I need him.”

“You have another witness.”

“No. There was no one else there. I’ll swear to it.”

Another second, not talking.

“It’s interesting how you do this,” Mihai said, looking away. “Draw these lines. This is acceptable, not that. Do you argue with yourself? You should study Talmud. You’d be good at it. You can find anything there. Though maybe not why you should save the butcher.”

“No one else. Or you’d never work here again.”

Mihai looked back, then nodded, accepting this. “And your fisherman? Will he swear too?”

“If it comes to it. He likes the work. It’s easy money. He’d want to do what we say.”

“And when his job’s over?”

“There’s another one. He’s bringing me tonight. Make yourself scarce, so he doesn’t spot you. Trigger any memories.”

“You hired him?”

“This way I know where he is. If he’s with me, he’s not with the police. And if he is someday, the job puts him in a spot. He’s accusing me, but helping me to escape? For pay? How do you build a case around that? And then there’s all the other work, things he’d rather not talk about.”

“In Turkey they don’t need to build a case.”

Leon nodded. “Then let’s not get caught.” He handed over the stack for Anna. “You may not need this. The ambassador makes the right calls, I could be back in no time. In good standing. But just in case. You’ll take care of her?”

Mihai pocketed the money, an answer. He looked at the briefcase. “Is that it or does the money keep coming? Like a magic hat.”

“Just a little pocket change. Traveling expenses.” He touched Mihai’s upper arm. “Thank you.”

“Listen to me,” Mihai said, gruff, but not removing the hand. “Any police, David puts you off. Orders. It’s understood? It’s not for you, this ship. It’s for them.”

“There won’t be any trouble. It’s the last place they’d look.”

“Yes.” Mihai shook his head and turned away. “The last place. Who else has to do such things, just to live? Survive the ovens and—then help the killers. And maybe it’s not even the worst before we’re finished with this.” His mouth turned up slightly, a wry tic.

“What?” Leon said, catching his expression.

“Rabbi Pilcer. If he knew. What I’m taking instead of his menorah.”

He told the cab to take him back to the Pera but then, a hunch, asked to pull up instead to a pay phone near the Koç shipyards.

“Thank God you called,” Kay said.

“The police are there?”

“No. I mean, they may be, I don’t know, but Gülün called, asking for you.”

“And?”

“I told him you made sure I was okay and then went back to the consulate.”

“He buy it?”

“I don’t know. He wants you to call him. He has a few questions. Polite. Well, for him.”

“I can’t come back, then. He must have men there.” And probably at the consulate, the Reynolds office, Cihangir, the door really closing now.

“Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

He looked through the glass at the taxi waiting by the curb, the stretch of empty road by the docks, some cranes moving silently in the distance. Out in the open.

“Kay—”

“You can’t just go. Not like this. Just go. I have to see you. Do you know what it’s like, sitting here? Like a wake. Like his casket’s in the room.”

“Kay. They’ll put a tail on you. I won’t be gone long.”

“Come up the back then. Like before. Don’t just go.”

“I can’t go to the Pera.”

“Somewhere else then. Please. Just tell me.” Her voice catching, some nerve finally snapping.

He glanced again at the taxi. Not Laleli. Georg’s in Nişantaşi? A story for the neighbors, a photograph Georg wanted him to have, and how was the dog? Assuming they had a key. Wondering who the lady was. The whole maze of Istanbul and nowhere to hide.

“Leon—”

“I’m thinking.” A movie, anonymity in the dark. But not where a new widow would go. Somewhere in plain sight. That would make sense to them. Outside, the cabbie flicked away the end of a cigarette. Leon followed its arc, a few sparks, to the gutter. “Okay,” he said quickly. “Go to the concierge.” Methodical now, as if he were laying down cards. “Ask him to recommend a good shop in the Bazaar. For copper, silver work. He’ll know one, they all do. Then take a taxi to the Beyazit Gate. There’ll be a lot of gold shops just inside. Keep going straight. I’ll find you.”

She was quiet for a second. “I’m going shopping? Leon—”

“For an urn. For Frank’s ashes. Be sure to tell the concierge that. They’ll ask him what you wanted.”

“My god,” she said, her voice squeamish.

“I know. But it’s something you’ll have to do, sooner or later. They might even give you a little room, out of respect. I doubt it, but they’ll still want to keep their distance. And it’s something you wouldn’t be doing with me.”

“No.”

“So they won’t be looking for that. Give me fifteen minutes, then go downstairs.”

“Why the Bazaar? Why not somewhere over here?”

“Because it’s easy to get lost in the Bazaar. Everybody does. So they won’t be surprised when they lose you.”

Leon waited in a stall a few doors down from the entrance, back half turned, fingering necklaces, while the salesman scurried around the shop, bringing out more trays. Every inch of wall space seemed to be covered in gold, dangling and shiny. Who bought it all? The line of stores stretched for at least a mile, all crammed with jewelry, shimmering with reflected light. In a few hours the market would be locked, only night guards in the empty shuttered streets, but now it hummed, the noise of a thousand voices rising up to the domed ceiling.

When Kay came through the gate she stopped for a minute, dazzled, trying to get her bearings. A winter coat and hat, the western clothes like a magnet to the shopkeepers, inviting her in as she walked down the passage. Leon waited a few more minutes, watching the people. The salesman brought out another tray. And then Leon spotted him, a man in a suit who could have passed for a relative of Gülün, maybe actually was. Stubbly cheeks, eyes fixed ahead, keeping Kay in sight. Two more minutes. No one else. Not a team. Leon left the shop and began to follow, tracking Kay’s hat in the stream of bobbing heads. She passed Feraceciler Sok, the first big cross street, and then began to loiter, gazing into shop windows, waiting for Leon to appear. The policeman stopped too, turning away slightly.

Leon went over to one of the tea boys who darted through the market like mice, appearing around corners with trays and vanishing behind rolled carpets. He handed him a coin. The woman in the hat, say my name and lead her toward the Iç Bedesten, then take the first left, the coin disappearing into a pocket, the boy gone almost as quickly, something out of
Ali Baba
. Leon watched as the boy approached Kay, just brushing by, but she turned after him, not looking back. The policeman picked up speed. Leon took a parallel street, circling. In this part of the Bazaar the streets were a grid, easier to plot. Curios and souvenirs now, inlaid boxes. He stepped into a doorway just after where she would turn and handed the shopkeeper a ten-lira note, then stood to the side, a screen nearby. Any minute, around the corner.

“Kay.”

She started for the shop.

“Don’t come in, just look at the window. He’ll have to stop.”

She raised her eyebrows, who?

“You’ll see him. He looks like Gülün. Probably a cousin. Go up two streets, then left and duck into a stall. Wait till he passes and then come out. Now he’ll be looking for you. When he sees that you’re behind him, he’ll have to keep going. Stay behind. Let him get a street or two ahead, then take a quick right. There’ll be a lot of leather shops. Bags and things. Just follow the street. Ready?”

She began walking. Leon stood out of sight until the policeman went by.

The shopkeeper looked at Leon.
“Efendi?”

“Her husband,” Leon said.

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened, an unexpected drama. Leon handed him another note.

“If he comes back, you never saw her.”

The shopkeeper dipped his head, the note gone as quickly as the boy’s coin.

Leon hurried toward the narrower streets with leather and clothing,
everything hanging on hooks in tiers, almost blocking the light. Where he’d told her to turn. A few minutes, people offering him wallets and belts, then finally a glimpse of the hat.

“This way. Did he turn back?”

“I don’t know.” Flushed, slightly out of breath.

They took the curved passage back toward Beyazit Gate, a circling the policeman wouldn’t expect as he wandered through the aisles looking for her.

Outside, they crossed into the square, scattering pigeons, and went through a plain door that opened onto a cloistered courtyard with a marble fountain in the middle.

“What’s this?”

“A library. He probably doesn’t even know it’s here. It was an inn for the mosque. See the doors? That’s where people stayed.”

Kay exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Can we sit down? It’s okay?”

Leon led them to one of the low walls surrounding the courtyard. After the Bazaar the air seemed eerily quiet, the only sounds a few birds drinking at the fountain pool. The last of the afternoon sun. He thought of the crowded benches on the
Victorei
deck, people wrapped in blankets.

“We don’t have much time.”

“Will he keep looking?”

“For a while.”

“All this just to see you. It’s serious now, isn’t it? How long can you do this? Before—” She looked at him. “I had the feeling, at the hotel, I might not see you again.”

“No,” he said, brushing her cheek with his hand. “What’s wrong? You look—”

She smiled a little. “Makeup never works when you need it, does it? Am I all blotchy?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t be nice,” she said, taking out a handkerchief. “I’m probably a mess. Well, it’s the right day for it. It’s not as if I didn’t have feelings for him. I mean, I married him.” She blew her nose, nodding to some question. “And cheated on him. Not a very good wife, was I? So maybe it’s not just for him. Maybe me. Everything.” She wiped the corners of her eyes. “You think crazy things.” She took a minute, looking over toward the market. “What happens when I don’t bring an urn back?”

“You were overwhelmed. You couldn’t go through with it. Not today.”

She looked down. “Another one of your stories. You like it,” she said, cocking her head back to the Bazaar. “The cat and mouse. It’s easy for you.”

“Losing someone’s easy. The rest isn’t.”

“But you enjoy it.”

“Sometimes,” he said, turning it over. “It’s seeing if you can stay up there.” He pointed to some imaginary balance beam. “Not fall. Anyway,” he said, taking a breath. “We can’t stay long.”

“One more minute.” She touched his hand, then moved hers back. “It’s like a church, this place. If somebody sees—” She twisted her ring. “Are you leaving soon?”

“Tonight.”

“What I was thinking—”

He waited.

“At the hotel. The police. Maybe you can’t come back.” She looked up. “Take me with you.”

“What?”

“Just as we are. You don’t have to— The way we are. I don’t care what people think.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Why? Where are you going? At least tell me that. I won’t get in the way. If they follow. And you’re good at this.”