The Kiss Murder (23 page)
“I swear I haven’t got a thing,” I said. “Someone broke into that flat before I got there. They must have taken whatever was there.”
Her voice grew harsher and she sat up straight. “Let’s not start playing games again. Don’t you understand? I’m trying to save you.”
“Why?”
“I still love you, even if you don’t realize it. You’re like my own child. I get cross, I tell you off, but I still have motherly feelings for you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sofya! I’ve never known you to love anyone. Your whole life is a series of cold-blooded calculations.”
“It’s hard for you to understand, but that’s the way I feel. I have no intention of trying to convince you. Believe what you will.”
It was true that at one time she had acted like a rather oppressive mother. She had transformed me from an intellectual and naïve fag into a ravishing transvestite. Still, unless all the ingredients had been in place to begin with she’d never have managed it. She’d acted as my protectress and mentor for a while, advising me on everything from what to wear to which creams and lotions to apply. She’d even decide who I should sleep with.
Next came our adventures in Paris. It’s true, there had been something maternal about her. But I ask you, which mother, no matter what the relationship with her child, would pimp her daughter to a string of men just to fatten her wallet? That’s exactly what Sofya had done.
She’d have me believe that her maternal instincts had led her to handpick my gentleman callers. Accepting that she had acted out of love was as attractive an option as lapping up a puddle of vomit.
We stared at each other. She had aged. She looked terrible without makeup. Without false lashes, there was nothing striking about her bleary green eyes; she had bags under them and a wattle developing under her chin.
“So, you’re saying that unless I hand over the photos and letters they’ll kill me, too?” I asked.
“It’s possible . . . anything is possible. They think you have them.”
“Is that why you sent Süleyman after me? He tried to kidnap me. He was taking me to talk to someone. Of course, I got out of it, he was such a blockhead. Tell your friends that they should consider hiring more professional help.”
Now she looked stunned.
“I don’t know a thing about that,” she said. “They’d never tolerate amateurs.”
With her index finger, she traced a line across her throat.
“Do let them know. I kind of feel sorry for the poor guy.”
“I didn’t know anything about it. Mind you, there’s a lot going on I know nothing about. But they’d given me full responsibility for the photos. This is a surprise. I should have been informed. They must be running out of patience. They’ve been pushing me up against the wall . . . They’ve tortured me.”
Suddenly, she was wracked with sobs. It wasn’t an act. Blubbering and snot mixed with her tears. After each word she’d bawl, or at least whimper messily.
“If I don’t get you to hand it all over they’ll blame me. They expected me to get it from Buse, but I failed. I’m in a tight spot. First they accused me of holding on to it, of keeping something that lucrative for myself. They came after me . . . came down on me hard . . . tortured me . . .”
“Are you telling me it’s up to you and you alone to recover the pictures?”
“Yes . . . I was given the job right from the start, and I’m expected to finish it. But how much power have I really got? How much influence do I have? Compared to them, what can I be expected to do? Who am I? I’m just a washed-up poor old transvestite.”
This was hard to swallow. It’s true that she’d aged, and I agreed that she no longer worked her old magic, but the last word I expected to be used in connection with Sofya was “poor.” If that was true of Sofya, what could be said about the other girls, the ones who were truly hard up?
“Just look at me!” she said, rising, turning around and lifting up her T-shirt. She was badly bruised.
“I’m so sorry.” I murmured.
It’ll pass, no one stays bruised forever,
was what I said to myself.
It’ll pass, no one stays bruised forever,
was what I said to myself.
“If I manage to locate and hand over the pictures and letters I’ll be back in their good books. They won’t regard me as just another low-level foot soldier. I could become one of them, a real part of the system. And I’ve always dreamed about a big payment, a comfortable retirement. The chance to travel around the world a couple of times, to go on a cruise . . . If I don’t find those photos, I’m afraid they’ll kill me.”
She let out a great sob to punctuate that final sentence.
“You mean the way they killed that old lady upstairs?” I had to ask.
“Look, that whole thing’s a bit complicated. One of our men went to the wrong floor, as you know. When the lady made trouble . . . it was unfortunate but necessary.”
She illustrated her point with a finger cocked at her head.
“It’s terribly sad, of course, but it was too late by the time they realized they’d entered the wrong flat. Naturally, the person responsible was punished. When they went down to the floor below they were unable to find either the blind woman or a single piece of paper.”
“So where is Sabiha, then?” I asked.
“We didn’t do a thing. We’re asking the same question.”
“Well, if you didn’t take her off somewhere, who did?”
Now it was time for both of us to be astonished. I was suddenly wide awake.
Chapter 26S
ofya and I just sat there staring at each other. She scrutinized me suspiciously; I did the same to her. The minutes passed.
ofya and I just sat there staring at each other. She scrutinized me suspiciously; I did the same to her. The minutes passed.
“I might as well make some coffee,” I said, breaking the silence. “It looks like we could both use a cup.”
“That’d be great,” she said.
“A little fat wouldn’t do me any harm, I suppose. Look, I’m still thin as a whip.” I stood up and ran my hands up and down my body as I said this. A girl has got to retain her sense of poise under all circumstances.
I went to the kitchen. Before I’d even filled the machine, she was at my side.
“If Buse’s mother took the pictures and ran—” she began.
“She’s a sharper woman than we thought,” I said. I threw in an extra measure of coffee.
“But that’s impossible,” Sofya protested. “The woman’s blind. What would she see, how would she understand what was going on?”
“I don’t get it, either,” I admitted. “What’s more, Buse told me her mother didn’t know a thing about what she got up to. That it was possible to get away with anything at her flat, or to hide anything she wished.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said.
It was getting light. I felt the morning chill, and shivered.
“I’ll go and put something on.”
“You’d better,” she said. “Running around like a third-rate porn star, half your ass showing. A real woman retains an air of mystery.”
“Weren’t you the one who advised me to show off my assets?” I asked. “Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing. And it’s hard as a rock, crisp and fresh.”
In view of the fact that our lives were possibly in danger and we had no idea how to proceed, our dialogue was beyond belief. I put on my long-suffering pashmina. I’d been wrapping it around myself at every opportunity for the last two days. I returned to the kitchen.
“Sofya,” I said, “you didn’t kidnap Sabiha Hanım, I saw no sign of her, even the nosy neighbor didn’t notice a thing. So how did she manage to just up and disappear without a trace, especially being blind and all?”
“Good question. I suspected you. I even had you followed for awhile.”
“I don’t believe it, Sofya! You had me followed?”
“What’s the big deal, sweetie? How else was I supposed to know what you were up to?”
“So you’re saying you sent a man after me?”
Sofya was totally unpredictable. Her moral code inclined her to view as fair and square absolutely anything she chose to do. In that sense, she was a completely unfettered person. She’d do whatever she had to in order to get her way. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“It would be more accurate to say ‘men’ rather than ‘man.’ I’d hoped you’d lead us to Sabiha, but instead you foolishly wasted all your time in that building.”
“But I had no idea she was missing.”
The coffee was ready. I handed her a mug. She could pour it for herself.
We sipped our coffees in silence. Sofya lit a cigarette. One of those thin More cigarettes that so beautifully accent her long, tapering fingers. By the time we finished, the sun had come up. My flat was filling with the morning light I love so much. I got up and turned off the lamp. Sofya’s makeup-free face looked even worse under the natural light. I was getting sleepy.
“I’m not sure whether or not to believe you,” she said. She fixed that piercing stare on me again.
“Do whatever you want,” I said. “I’m tired. I’ve had it. Just when I thought I was free of those thugs you’d sent after me I found myself leaping out of a moving car. I couldn’t care less anymore. All I want to do is sleep.”
“So you’re telling me to go.”
“Implying you should go, yes. Of course, you can stay here if you like. I’ll put you in the guest room, last slept in by Buse. You’ll be comfortable. God knows I stayed at your place often enough.”
“Do you realize that if I leave here empty-handed there’s no saying what’ll happen to me? I can’t bear the thought of it. It’ll be a lot more difficult for me to convince them than it was for you to convince me. They expect me to come up with those pictures.”
“So are you saying there’s someone waiting outside the door even as we speak?”
“I don’t know. There shouldn’t be. I didn’t station anyone outside. But there’s no way for me to know for sure. I’m not in on everything. If someone else is now involved I have no way of knowing what they’ll do.”
We exchanged a long look.
“Sweetie,” she said, “no one gives a damn about the blind lady, but if you have the letters or photos and you hand them over, it’ll make your life a whole lot easier. They might even make you a handsome payment. You wouldn’t have to hang out at the club all night. If there’s some guy you fancy, just tell me his name. You can keep him at home, use him all you like. Whatever your heart desires.”
“Sofya, you really don’t believe me, do you?”
“I can’t decide. I don’t know anything anymore. I want to believe you, but I can’t. My instincts are sending mixed signals. Something tells me you haven’t been completely open with me. I’ve got no idea what it is; it’s just intuition. So I just can’t decide whether or not to believe you.”
“Maybe it’s because of what we went through together all those years ago.”
“It could be,” she admitted. “Whatever. At the moment, I believe you. But that could change later. That’s why I’d better get going. I don’t know how to handle them. I’m sure I’ll find a way. Or at least I’ll try. I suggest you use your head, keep your ears pricked, and call me the second you hear anything.”
She stood up and walked toward the door. When she caught herself in the mirror, she stood up straight, pulled back her shoulders, and ran her hand through her hair. It would take a lot more to bring back the old Sofya, but that bit of effort did her good. She took a pair of sunglasses from the little basket next to the door and put them on. Then she examined herself in the mirror once again. It was most definitely an improvement.
“It’s light outside. I can’t go out like this. Lend me the glasses. I’ll return them.”
In order to get rid of her as soon as possible I’d have been prepared to throw in my favorite dress with the sunglasses.
“But of course. You’re welcome to them.”
Blowing kisses over each other’s shoulders, we said our farewells. She turned and left.
I took a deep breath. It had been an eventful and tense night, but it had ended calmly and easily. Handling Sofya had been as easy as pulling a hair out of soft butter. That was strange. I was too tired to ponder it. It was nearly seven.
Not even bothering to take the mugs to the kitchen, I headed straight for the bedroom. The flat was a mess in any case. I’d sort it out later. After all, some people lived like the lady journalist. Two mugs and a Napolitano coffeemaker were no big deal.
On the way to the bedroom, I noticed the envelope I’d prepared for Ali. If I went to bed now, there was no telling how late in the afternoon I’d get up. It would be best to call the taxi stand now and arrange for the envelope to be dropped off at about ten.
Using my final ounce of strength, I called the stand, explaining what I wanted. I asked for someone to be sent over immediately. I would, of course, tip them extra for their courier services. Hanging up the phone, I proceeded to the bedroom, where I drew the heavy curtains. I heard the taxi honk in front of the building.
I decided against my usual practice of tossing the envelope from the living room window with shouted instructions. If I was really being followed, as Sofya claimed, it might cause a misunderstanding. I didn’t want the driver to get into trouble. Sleepy or not, I had apparently retained my faculties. But I hadn’t asked for the driver to come to my door. He’d honk the horn until I appeared at the window.
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