The Serenity Murders (15 page)

He didn’t stand up.

I reached out to shake his hand.

“I’m Burçak Veral,” I said. “And this is Hüseyin Kozalak.”

“Good,” was his only response.

I would have expected him to introduce himself.

I found his lack of modesty appropriate, given his “godfather” status.

“Let’s talk in private,” he said, signaling to Hüseyin, who was getting ready to sit down, that he should leave.

“He can sit and wait with my men.”

His men were sitting at a table close to the entrance, a glass of
Coke in front of each, watching their surroundings with blank eyes.

“Okay, Hüseyin,” I said. “You wait with them.”

I could sense he felt bitter, but there was nothing I could do.

“He can eat his fill if he’s hungry.”

The skinny godfather was making it clear that he was boss. But it was strange the way he was telling me what he was supposed to be telling Hüseyin, as if Hüseyin weren’t even there, as if he were invisible.

We were now left alone.

“I’ve already ordered food,” he said. “Would you like anything?”

I was stuffed to the gills with
gözlemes
. Even the thought of food was too much.

“One Turkish coffee, no sugar,” I told the chief waiter who had approached the table. “And a mineral water.”

I couldn’t wait to get down to business. The godfather didn’t appear to be in any rush whatsoever.

He took a sip from his water and then licked his thin lips.

He took a business card out of his pocket. Holding it between his index and middle fingers, he gave it an artistic twirl before extending it to me.

“Cemil Kazancı, Textile Manufacturer.” And there was a phone number. That was it. It was one of the plainest business cards I had ever seen.

Men like this always did import-export, or were in the textile business. None of these cards would read doctor, architect, or engineer.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said.

The man had a solemn air about him, the kind that comes with arrogance.

A bowl of mixed-season salad was delivered to the table. The
salad looked delicious even though I was full. Arugula leaves, mint, and lamb’s ears topped with pickled beets, cherry tomatoes, thick slices of green and yellow bell peppers, and finally pieces of walnut sprinkled on top.

“Now…” he said, ruining the marvelous appearance of the salad with his fork. He was pushing the walnuts to one side. “It’s actually rather complicated…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, he put a piece of beet pickle and pepper in his mouth. He started chewing with his mouth open. I hate this. In fact, I despise it. Each time he opened and closed his mouth I could see his food getting crushed. I tried to look the other way.

“This mister from the television show…”

He made noises as he chewed. No wonder he dined alone.

“Süheyl Arkın,” I said, as if I’d score a point for answering question number one.

“Please, no names.”

He must have thought he belonged to the Russian Mafia, so paranoid was he. “Well, in a couple of the programs he hosted, he showed things he shouldn’t have shown.”

That was Süheyl’s job. To go digging wherever there was dirt.

Now he was chewing a mouthful of arugula and parsley. A piece of parsley got stuck on his front tooth.

“It was a detail only eyes that knew would catch.”

He paused again when the waiter approached.

My mineral water and his main course,
hünkar beğendi
, had arrived.

He pushed the salad away, indicating that he was done with it. He had ruined that darling of a salad. He began separating the fat on the meat, with the delicacy of a surgeon.

“But you see, after that show, the wheel started turning. A series of events; you could never guess…”

He tossed a tender, trimmed lump of meat into his mouth and began chewing, leaving nothing to the imagination, his inner mouth activities once again on display for all the world to see. The parsley leaf was still in place.

“There were some goods that shouldn’t have been there where he was shooting. With labels on them. It was dangerous enough, for those who saw.”

Certainly he wouldn’t loudly chomp on the
beğendi
that he was about to put in his mouth? After all, it was already in purée form.

“First we gave him a polite warning…”

God only knows what they had done.

No, the
beğendi
he did whirl around in his mouth, from side to side. Yuck.

“He didn’t listen.”

He took a sip of water to help it go down.

“He broadcasted it again on purpose…”

He set about operating on the lamb again. There it was, that awful sound of the knife screeching against the plate—oh, how it grated on my nerves!

“The rules of our world are crystal clear.”

I knew.

“This time we warned him in a way he would clearly understand.”

He put another newly trimmed piece in his mouth.

“But he’s seriously wounded. To my knowledge, warning bullets are generally aimed at the leg.”

He laughed. I saw everything he had in his mouth.

“It turns out the boy was clumsy. He got nervous and missed the target. By sheer accident.”

So what did it have to do with me? Why was I here? I already knew this much from the news report.

“The TV guy being shot has nothing to do with the threat you received. It’s just a coincidence.”

He was squashing the
beğendi
with his fork. As if he were searching for something inside it.

“So what about me?” I asked.

“You?” he said, looking at me as if he were setting eyes on me for the very first time.

“Where do I stand in this distasteful coincidence? What’s it got to do with me?”

He put the
beğendi
that hung from his fork into his mouth, as if he couldn’t possibly talk with his mouth empty.

“You are the reason why the police have taken an exaggerated interest in the matter.”

My coffee finally arrived.

“Through your connections the matter has turned into a complicated mess. They’re digging unnecessarily deep. We’re now connected too. Our boy was bound to get caught after their investigation.”

I always knew the police were into shady double-dealing, but I wasn’t used to it being expressed so openly. I now understood why he was so cautious about voice recorders. Selçuk getting involved upon my request, and the way the investigation was consequently being followed by those higher up in command, had served to make the case more urgent. No wonder they were incredibly disturbed by their man being caught.

“Now…”

I silently begged for him to finish what he was saying without putting more food in his mouth. The look I gave him had the desired effect. His fork remained suspended in midair.

“What we ask of you…”

Aaaand the fork reached his mouth.

“…in the hope that you won’t turn us down…”

“I’ll try,” I said, lowering my head to stare at my coffee.

“Don’t avert your eyes. It makes you seem insecure,” he said, bestowing upon me a few crumbs of his infinite wisdom on the topic of body language and psychology.

“Right,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “Your request?”

“Have a word with your connection. Have them stop meddling. The boy has already confessed and surrendered.”

“That’s even better,” I said. “He’ll plea bargain and get a reduced sentence.”

“They said you had a strange sense of humor. But we’re serious.”

His gaze was as cold as ice. If what they called charisma meant making people tremble with just one look, then this man definitely had it.

“Somewhere down the line, we’ll be of help to you too. I gave you my card. You’ve got my private number.”

I had already understood when it was handed to me what a great privilege it was to possess this card.

Now was the time for negotiation, if I played my cards right.

“I’m the one who’s stuck with the psycho that made the threatening call,” I told him. “He’s claimed responsibility for shooting Süheyl Arkın and killing Sermet Kılıç.”

He put his knife and fork down on the table, making a loud clatter.

“I thought we agreed, no names.”

“Sorry,
ayol
,” I said. The “
ayol
” had slipped out of my mouth out of sheer nervousness.

“Your psycho is lying,” he said, taking his knife and fork and placing them across his plate, which was still only half empty. So that’s as much as he ate. No wonder he was so skinny.

“But he’s continuing to threaten me,” I said, leaning toward him over the table. He quickly pulled back.

“We’ll see what we can do,” he said.

That was the best answer possible.

“You’ve made a promise,” I said. “I could remain silent until you help me.”

His tongue, which had discovered the parsley leaf on his tooth, kept moving around underneath his upper lip. When his tongue failed to do the trick, he stuck his finger in his mouth and swiped the parsley leaf off his tooth. And then he wiped his finger on a tissue, nice and clean.

“This is a pointless negotiation,” he said. “It has nothing to do with our case.”

“You said you’d see what you could do.”

He reached out to pick up his glass and took another sip of water. He was thinking.

“I could assign you a bodyguard.”

The solution he had offered was not appealing. I had already grown tired of Hüseyin, and now the last thing I needed was a bodyguard following me around like my shadow.

“That’s no solution…” I said.

“So what is it you want, then?”

I could sense that he was getting angry.

The waiter was bringing him a dish of sunchokes cooked in olive oil. It would be a good idea if I left before he started eating. I was already beginning to feel sick.

As I stood up, I waved his business card curtly in the air.

“I’ll call you when I think of something.”

I
summarized the situation for Hüseyin, who was dying of curiosity, without going into too much detail. I only told him as much as he needed to know. It’s never a good idea to know too much when involved in sordid affairs like this. If you do, one slip of the tongue and you could end up in big trouble.

I had to think of something quick, decide what I would ask Cemil Kazancı for and let him know. My delay gave me some power, but unwanted events for them could lead to undesired trouble for me. Right now they owed me. The tables, however, could turn at any moment.

I didn’t know how much influence I could exercise over Selçuk, but if the wheel had already started turning, and if they really had obtained important clues, then it was going to be impossible to stop the police. Still, I was going to have to give it a shot.

But later. We had other business to attend to right now: like visiting Melek, who wore a large snow-white ribbon in her hair, but was horribly ugly nonetheless!

I had switched my cell phone off before handing it over to the bodyguards, and as soon as I turned it back on, I received a text message from that oh-so-familiar number.

“Switch your phone on, or else…” It was official, now confirmed by both the police and the Mafia: my psycho had not carried through with his threat. He was a liar and a coward. So much for
his power to threaten me; he was scary no more. He could call me when he felt like it. I had a couple of things to say to him too.

Hüseyin was totally confused.

“So now there’s two of them, right?” he asked. “And the one who was caught is the one who’s not after me.”

The phone rang and I grabbed it, thinking it was the liar psycho, but it wasn’t. It was Ponpon. I answered.

“
Ayolcuğum
, something reeeally strange is going on,” she said.

“Like what?”

“I received an envelope. Through the post. But it’s got your name on it.”

“What? What do you mean? In my name but to your address?”

“That’s right, cream puff.”

This expression was new.

“Who from?”

“Now, that I don’t know,
ayolcuğum
. It doesn’t say on the envelope. I can tell from the stamp that it was posted from Taksim. But there’s something tiny in the envelope. I can feel it. Something like a button.”

“Open it and see,” I said.

“Well, if there’s something private in it, don’t go moaning afterwards!”

“
Ayol
, Ponpon, what do I have to hide from you? Open it, I’m telling you.”

“Okay, then I will. But don’t think I just believed you. You hide lots from me. I know you do.”

She deliberately held the envelope near the handset so that I could hear the tearing sound of paper clearly.

“What is it?”

“A rosette” she said. “And there’s a note.”

“What kind of rosette? What does it say in the note? Read it to me.”

We were just pulling in to Hüseyin’s parents’ marvelous estate. There were more cars than there had been that morning, and a great many more children.

“I’m reading it…The note, I mean…‘I know this place too. You’ll remember this.’ That’s it. No name, no signature, no addressee. Nothing. I mean, you end a letter with ‘good day’ or ‘kind regards’ or something. I’m telling you, these days, people’s manners have gone to pot. They used to teach etiquette in school, back in the old days. Nowadays they don’t give two hoots about it in school. The right education is really very important—”