Belshazzar's Daughter (52 page)

‘Meyer?’

‘Yes, Arto, Meyer. I mean, why else would he rave and cry and carry on about it over seventy years later and why would he have stolen this lovely picture here - which from its age and condition would seem to be quite genuine?’

‘He could have taken it as a trophy of “battle”,’ said the doctor. ‘People do do things like that.’

‘I accept that,’ Cetin replied, ‘but bear with me. Now, .

I don’t know whether Meyer met the girl who was to

become Maria Gulcu before or after the events at the Ipatiev House, but whatever, somehow he came across this girl and somehow he convinced himself and her that she was the Grand Duchess Maria.’

Suleyman, who had been silently deliberating his superior’s rather shocking words for some minutes now felt that he had Ś

to speak. ‘Oh, look, hang on a minute, sir! I thought you’

dismissed all that Romanov stuff some time ago?’

ikmen smiled. ‘I did. When I discovered that there couldn’t possibly be a link between the spinster Anna Demidovaf and Mrs Gulcu, any Romanov connection with Meyer’s!

old crime, plus his gunpowder wounds, seemed to fall down around my ears. But in light of the history Smits instructed me to read, plus these photos, it all fitted that little bit too snugly.’

‘History? What history?’

‘He left me a book open at the page where that Belshazzar line was quoted. Apparently, just to enlighten you, it had been written on a wall of the Ipatiev House by one of the guards oddly in the original German. However, that page also told me that just before the execution, some of the guards were changed and that nobody now knows who they were. Only the major players, like the commandant, Yurovsky, were ever listed - a point frequently glossed over by most other commentators because, on the face of it, it is a very minor detail. And who, after all, would have bothered with a little nobody like Meyer?’

Suleyman still looked doubtful. ‘But then why and how would Meyer take some unknown girl and convince her that she was this Grand Duchess person?’

‘Perhaps he did it in order to assuage his own guilt. If this lovely girl were still alive, he could convince himself that his own part in the proceedings had never happened - it would seem to fit with what we know of his character. Perhaps he was actually the one who was solely responsible for her death - hence his obsession with her. But then again, maybe he simply saw her as somebody he could perhaps make money out of some day. Who knows? As to how? Well, maybe Maria Gulcu had herself been through some sort of trauma at around that time. It is more than possible; as we know she was from a wealthy family and her face was also covered with old scars.

If indeed her whole family had been murdered, as she always claimed, it could be that she was sufficiently traumatised to accept almost anything that he told her then.’ He paused in order to light another cigarette. ‘Anyway, at some point after these events, Meyer took the decision to take this girl, who may or may not have been his lover, out of the country.’

‘Yes, but if the White armies were advancing …’

‘If they had found out what he had done, they would have killed him. And in addition, they would have discovered that his “new” Grand Duchess Maria was a fraud and would therefore have completely destroyed his delusion.’ He looked around at his companions and smiled. ‘Because that’s where I believe we now are, gentlemen - in the world of delusion.

And, in fact, everything that happened in both Maria and Leonid’s lives from here on was circumscribed and informed by that delusion. It was very intricate. Even her “cover”

name, Demidova, the same name as the Tsarina’s maid, was connected, albeit in a not immediately obvious way.’

‘You mean,’ said Suleyman who was now struggling a little with the psychological intricacies, ‘that they both started actually to believe …’

‘Oh, yes. I think that, in order to understand why Meyer later died, basically because he had once been involved in an ultimately unforgivable crime against this family, we have to accept that they must both have become convinced. Yes, they believed and when Meyer came to this country and started working for Reinhold Smits, with whom he became acquainted, Smits believed also. In fact poor old Smits, it would seem, became infatuated with Maria Gulcu for a while.

Whether Meyer or Maria or both of them gave him that old photograph of Grand Duchess Maria and for what reason, I don’t know. But I do feel that Smits knew about and was fascinated by this great secret that the little Jew and the young woman shared.’

‘So why did he dismiss Meyer from his job? If he was, as you say, so fascinated by this pair?’

ikmen sighed. ‘That I don’t know either - unless of course it was as Smits said it was - he had become a Nazi and there was no longer a place for a Jew in his sphere of influence.

After all, Maria Gulcu was settled with her children by this time and was perhaps no longer in contact with Smits. Who knows? I do, however, believe that Meyer later blackmailed Smits about his old Nazi past. It is the only explanation I can see for his continued association with the German, plus the large amounts of money in his apartment. Allegiances like that have not been popular for some time - a fact which may have given Meyer the excuse he needed to take some sort of financial revenge upon Smits.’

‘And so who killed Meyer and why?’

‘Maria Gulcu, or rather some other more capable member of her family killed Meyer.’

‘But why?’

Cetin’s face took on a grave aspect. ‘You saw how that family lived, Suleyman. How far do you think you would have to retreat into a delusion like this to arrive at the conclusion that your “father’s” murderer must die?’

‘But why now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And why couldn’t it have been Smits?’

Cetin sighed. ‘Because the swastika, as it did, would have led us right to him and what did he, a dying man, want with trouble like that? Don’t forget that he killed himself because of all this - he knew everything, the lot.’

‘So why,’ put in Arto, ‘didn’t he tell you all this and get himself off the hook?’

‘I can only assume,’ Cetin answered, ‘that even at the end he didn’t want to give the lovely Maria away. Remember that if you follow the line of the delusion to its logical conclusion and if Maria Gulcu were indeed the Grand Duchess Maria, she must have been at considerable risk for much of her life.

Had she truly been genuine then the old Soviet Government would have wanted her dead.’

‘But they’re all gone now,’ said Suleyman, ‘so what was the point?’

‘The point is, Suleyman, that old men and women do not change. Smits had harboured this “great secret” for most of his life and he wasn’t going to let go of it now. Perhaps he even, deep down, feared that it was an illusion too and maybe he just couldn’t face that.’

‘So,’ Arto mused, ‘the swastika was daubed there to implicate Smits?’

‘I assume so,’ Cetin replied, ‘although as I think I’ve said before, it does have other, older meanings.’

‘Strange then,’ Arto continued, ‘that he should continue to keep Maria’s secret when she, obviously, had no regard for him whatsoever.’

‘He had wanted her once. He and Meyer had argued over her. Infatuation like that, particularly for a princess, dies a hard death. Although I must say that I think he was getting close to revealing something just before he died. He told us Maria “had” something on Meyer. He was almost ready, but not quite.’

‘And this Robert Cornelius, where does he feature?’

‘Robert Cornelius was totally ignorant of the events I have outlined. He had, for him, the double misfortune of being in love with Natalia Gulcu and being in the wrong place,
i.e.

Balat, at the wrong time. Having said that, however, I do believe he had some knowledge about who may or may not have killed Meyer. My personal opinion is that it was probably his girlfriend.’

Suleyman frowned. ‘How so?’

‘Remember when he asked us about penalties and sentences during that last interview we had with him?’

‘Yes?’

‘Remember how he went on about the death penalty and about people who might be excepted from it?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Well,’ Cetin continued, ‘if he didn’t have anybody in mind then why ask? I think that he had at least a vague notion of who might be involved in his mind. Perhaps he thought that if one of the more elderly members of the family were involved age might preclude execution.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘But then that’s only a theory too. Like everything else to do with this case, including the definite identity of the person who killed Rabbi isak, we can only theorise.’

‘Even though,’ Suleyman put in, ‘we know that it had to be Robert Cornelius.’

‘Even though we think we know that, yes. With his body in the condition that it is, quite where we start with regard to forensics, I don’t know.’ Cetin smiled. ‘And why he, poor soul, would have done such a thing, I cannot imagine.’

All three men sat in silence for a while after that and until Suleyman altered the subject slightly there didn’t appear to be anything more to be said.

‘So,’ Suleyman began, ‘why, out of interest, did you give me the day off yesterday, sir?’

Cetin and Arto briefly exchanged a knowing glance. The good doctor knew all about Cetin’s family and their little peculiarities. Therefore, rather gallantly, so Cetin later thought, he answered for his old friend. ‘Cetin’s reasons for doing that centred on certain beliefs he then had about what was about to take place. He feared for your life.’

Suleyman, who didn’t know his superior as well as the doctor, did nevertheless understand that this referred to ikmen’s rather unconventional belief in precognition. Not sharing such views he responded rather sourly, ‘I see.’ He could not help it.

Arto, who had anticipated a reaction of this type, went on to say, ‘And, as you are only too painfully aware, Suleyman, my old friend’s intuitions were, in part, rather borne out don’t you think?’

‘Yes.’ It was said slightly sulkily, but just accepting enough to indicate to all present that the subject was now closed.

‘Well, it’s been absolutely fascinating,’ said Arto as he rose, rather stiffly, from his chair, ‘but I really must go now, I’m afraid, Cetin. Those bodies of yours won’t formally identify 435

themselves, will they, and after all the trouble and confusion there has been over this case, I want to make sure that everyone is who we believe them to be.’

‘Oh, yes, please. I don’t think that I can stand any more mystery with regard to this one.’

‘No.’ The two men embraced warmly.

After the doctor had gone and Cetin was alone with

Suleyman, however, his earlier, almost jovial mood disappeared.

‘You know,’ he said as he went out to retrieve another soft drink for his colleague from the kitchen, ‘this case has been the nastiest one I have ever worked on.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because there was absolutely nothing to like about any of the people involved in it. For one reason or another they were all absolutely selfish.’

Suleyman shrugged. ‘I suppose you—’

‘Yes, they were,’ ikmen concluded, ‘even in the wildest reaches of their delusions.’

It was late and all the children were in bed. Fatma was sleeping too. Mercifully, the baby had gorged himself into a deep, open-mouthed slumber. Only Cetin and Timur remained in the living room, drinking and watching the wonderful rain wash down the window-panes. The air seemed so much

clearer now, as if a great thick blanket had been lifted from the city and flung into the sea.

‘So why did you try and get rid of that boy yesterday then?’

‘What, Suleyman?’

‘Yes, Suleyman. Well?’

Cetin pulled a miserable face and stared down into his drink. He hated explaining these things to Timur. ‘Samsun did a reading for me. She saw it. The boy falling from the window, the fire. Suleyman standing in the path of the falling body-the lot.’

The old man grunted. ‘Coincidence. Anyway, what was Samsun doing in town, I thought that Ahmet and his terrible tribe had moved away.’

Cetin shrugged. ‘Uncle Ahmet moved to izmir, but Samsun stayed behind, istanbul’s better for people like her.’

‘Him.’ Timur spat the word out contemptuously. ‘Your mother’s family are weird. You should stay away from them, Cetin.’

‘You married her and I’m like her!’

‘Yes, you are, cursed witch-boy!’ Timtir paused for a second, wishing he hadn’t said it, knowing that it was too late. ‘But you’re also like me too, Cetin. Your mother wasn’t clever. She was artful, but she was no intellectual.’

Cetin lit a cigarette and looked at the reflection of its glowing tip on the window-pane. ‘I know. But they are my family and they are the only people I can talk to about …’

He changed the subject. ‘Anyway, Suleyman is safe, that’s all that matters. How is not important. Now his mother can marry him off to his boring cousin and watch helplessly as he has affairs, just like Cohen.’

‘Cohen?’

‘One of my constables. Jewish. His hobby is chasing young Swedish tourists. I despair.’

The old man took a cigarette from his son’s packet and lit up. ‘I never did that to either of you.’

‘I’m grateful, OK?’ He was still smarting from being called a witch-boy. Only Fatma could do that and expect to get away with it. Timiir always claimed to understand Cetin’s ‘gift’ but he couldn’t, not really.

The old man realised that the time had come to change the subject. ‘You know I heard all of your explanation of the Meyer murder, don’t you? I listened at the door before I came in.’

‘I guessed you were probably there.’

Oh, they knew each other so well! Timur laughed. ‘It was good, Cetin, but there was one possibility that you didn’t consider.’

Cetin raised a tired eyebrow. ‘Oh? And what was that?’

‘Well, remember you said that you didn’t know what Maria Gulcu was doing in Ekaterinburg?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, did it never occur to you that perhaps she was supposed to be there?’

It was very late for this cryptic kind of talk. Cetin rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘What are you talking about?’