The Kiss Murder (30 page)
We were both silent. Süleyman and Sabiha appeared to have lost their tongues. I turned around, facing front. If the interior of the car hadn’t been so cool, my churning stomach would have long since got the better of me. Air-conditioning is a wonderful thing.
“Where shall we drop you off?” he asked.
I had naturally expected to be taken to my flat. I was a bit miffed at his question, but I didn’t let on.
“The first taxi stand will be fine,” I said.
There was no need to give Süleyman directions. He took the next exit, driving toward Esenler. We approached the city bus terminal. I had no intention of getting out there.
“I’d really rather not get out at the bus terminal,” I said, perhaps a bit sharply.
We continued on toward Davutpaşa. There was a taxi stand at the mouth of the road leading to the post office. We approached the first taxi and stopped.
“Thank you for your interest. We will not forget your actions,” he said.
I shook the extended hand.
“And we would also appreciate your taking no further interest in these matters,” he added.
That last bit was pronounced in bone-chilling tones. My hand was still in his; he was looking into my eyes. I understood once more why I had never been able to stand the man. Those dark eyes were terrifying.
I once again extended my condolences to Sabiha Hanım. She automatically extended her hand for me to kiss, which I did. Süreyya Eronat handed me my hat. Although he didn’t deserve it, I wished Süleyman a good day as I got out of the car.
They drove off the second I got out. Fabulous hat in hand, dressed to the nines, I stood in the middle of the Topkapı Industrial Zone.
But before I even had a chance to arrange a taxi, a Corolla stopped right next to me.
Chapter 32F
rom the back window Sofya cried out, “Quick, get in!” Without thinking, I did. We drove off.
rom the back window Sofya cried out, “Quick, get in!” Without thinking, I did. We drove off.
“Have you been following me?”
“Sweetie, don’t play dumb with me. No, it’s not a coincidence that we’re here.”
The car was being driven by an ill-tempered man I’d never seen before. Hasan sat in front, next to him, and said not a word. If Sofya had allowed him, he would no doubt have greeted me.
“Listen, sweetie,” she said. “Things have gotten more out of hand than you can possibly imagine. I need you.”
“I handed over the tape—”
“Don’t start with me. You just got out of his car. I doubt you were playing doctor. I need to know everything he told you. While it’s still fresh in your mind; before you forget a word. Otherwise, he won’t believe me.”
Outdoing herself, Sofya said all of this in a single breath.
“Please speak more slowly, one word at a time. You’re overwhelming me.”
The tentacles of the blackmail Mafia were fully extended. Sofya, perhaps Ferruh, maybe even that literary sensation Refık Altın, were all part of it somehow. Even I had become involved, with my name jotted down in a file somewhere.
The other set of powerful, far-reaching tentacles belonged to Süreyya Eronat. It was a classic battle of wills. Süreyya Eronat now expected me to extract myself completely from the matter.
“He didn’t ask me nicely. I had to go with them.” I said.
“Naturally. So?” asked Sofya.
I had hoped she’d continue. She didn’t.
“What do you mean, ‘so’? The man threatened me. He implied that if I got mixed up in this any further he’d have to take measures himself.”
Chatterbox Hasan couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. He blurted out, “Didn’t he tell you what they planned to do?”
“Idiots! Both of you. Do you think he’d tell me anything? He gave me no indication of their plans.”
We sat in silence.
“Now,” said Sofya, beginning again, “you’re coming with me; you’ve got some explaining to do!”
“To whom?” I asked.
“To someone who no longer listens to me, who tells me at every opportunity that he doesn’t trust me. Your dear friend Mehmet Sebil.”
I swallowed hard. Mehmet Sebil was a businessman I’d known for years. He used to do business in the former Eastern Bloc countries. Occasionally, he’d require my services to provide some unusual entertainment for his guests. I’d send him the girls he requested. It was profitable for all concerned. Although I’d known him for years, we’d mostly only spoken on the phone.
“So he’s at the head of all this?”
“No, dear . . . But he’s responsible for me. Even he doesn’t know who’s at the top. I’m not sure there is such a person. It’s all so complicated.”
“What makes him a friend of mine?” I asked. “I’ve rarely met him in person.”
“How do I know? That’s what he told me.”
“The pimp!”
Sofya cackled. “Really! You call him your friend, you provide him with your services. You see, sweetie, not everyone is as naïve as you. It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Perhaps it’s time for you to grow up.”
It hadn’t taken Sofya long to regain her former composure. She was as sharp-tongued, as haughty as ever.
“So what am I supposed to tell him?”
“Whatever you talked about with Süreyya Eronat. First I’ll tell him, then you say the same thing. That way, we’ll cover each other’s backs. If necessary, this pansy can chime in, too.”
The “pansy” was none other than Hasan.
“Why don’t you just come out and say it? We’ll vouch for each other’s lies.”
“I prefer not to put it like that,” Sofya said, distancing herself. “It’s a golden opportunity for both of us. It’s the only chance we have to get them off our backs until we put all of this behind us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What’s there not to understand,
ayol
?”
ayol
?”
“It’s just that you’re looking so vacant.”
“I’m thinking.”
She flashed me a look of scorn. Rather than using her eyes, she made economic use of her lips to get the message across. Meryl Streep would have been wracked with envy.
“And if I don’t come with you?” I asked.
“This is no joke. It’s not up for discussion. Pull yourself together and wise up. Your days as an amateur sleuth are over, sweetie. Now it’s your ass on the line! Your life hangs in the balance. If you value it, you’ll act accordingly. Won’t you?”
Meanwhile, we had passed in succession Merter, Bakırköy, and Ataköy as we proceeded along the E-5 motorway. We exited at İkitelli. Because I don’t consider the area to be part of Istanbul, it’s a shock to me every time I see it. The city silhouette had completely changed since my last visit. I realized that I passed through the area so rarely that each visit represented the passage of a few more years.
The huge media holdings that had, one by one, cleverly moved out to the city outskirts now found themselves creeping back toward the city center. We turned onto a side road and bumped along a succession of smaller roads, each more badly paved than the previous one.
Once we had passed the sleek media towers, things became less orderly. Dotted here and there among the well-maintained modern headquarters were an increasing number of crumbling maintenance centers, iron foundries, and depots selling construction materials. The buildings became fewer and farther between. If anything happened, a quick escape, especially in the costume I wore, would be impossible. I was like a lamb blissfully heading for the slaughter.
I felt less and less confident that Sofya and Hasan could protect me.
“Here we are!”
We’d arrived at a place surrounded by high walls, the only entrance a sliding metal gate. As we approached, the door began to open. We drove through an inner courtyard covered with gravel. I dislike walking on such gravel and in the shoes I was wearing, I’d be unable to do so.
We parked in front of a new two-story building. There was no sign of life inside, or even in the vicinity.
As Hasan made to get out of the car, Sofya snapped, “Stay here! We’ll call if we need you. We don’t need to get you mixed up in this.” Apparently, she still retained a trace of humanity.
Climbing three steps, we entered the building. Sofya led the way with her driven, resolute stride.
Our footsteps rang out as we crossed the imitation granite floor, echoing through the spacious, empty interior. The feeling of spookiness increased with each additional detail.
“Are we the only ones here?” I asked, instinctively whispering to avoid any echoes. Sofya didn’t even turn around to acknowledge my question.
Two large double doors swung open directly in front of us, and out walked a plump, round-faced, bespectacled man. He advanced toward us. As far as I remembered, he didn’t look at all like Mehmet Sebil. He couldn’t have changed this much since our last meeting.
Dispensing with the usual greetings, he moved to one side and said, “Go in, he’s expecting you.” The plump man’s solemn face was belied by a pair of mischievous, darting eyes.
The room we entered had clearly been designed as an executive office, with the usual showy furnishings on display. A corner room, it afforded a view of both a green garden and the inner gravel courtyard through which we had arrived. In other words, our every step had been monitored.
Sitting in easy chairs in the section of the room reserved for meetings were Mehmet Sebil—my dear friend!—and a man I didn’t recognize. Tension fairly radiated from them both. My pal gave no indication of any kind that he had any idea who I was. He didn’t greet me at all, let alone rise to his feet.
Just like Lotte Lenya in
From Russia with Love,
Sofya adopted a pose that was as deferential as it was absurd: both knees slightly bent, a single foot pulled back a bit. I looked on in pity and surprise.
From Russia with Love,
Sofya adopted a pose that was as deferential as it was absurd: both knees slightly bent, a single foot pulled back a bit. I looked on in pity and surprise.
The plump man had followed us into the room. He sat stiffly on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the corner, demonstrating his relatively low ranking.
The voice of the man I didn’t know was mechanical:
“Sit down, please.”
That “please” was not of the variety used when making a request, presenting a gift, or displaying hospitality. From his airs, he was clearly top of the pecking order in the room. And he made certain everyone knew it. Perhaps that explained the hesitance of my old friend Mehmet Sebil to greet me.
“
Merhaba,
Mehmet Bey. It’s been a long time,” I said as I approached him and extended a hand.
Merhaba,
Mehmet Bey. It’s been a long time,” I said as I approached him and extended a hand.
“It has . . . really . . .” he mumbled as he shook it.
I turned to the other gentleman.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said. “
Merhaba
.”
Merhaba
.”
“I know you well enough,” was the scornful reply. My hand remained in midair.
Her eyes on my every move, Sofya flashed me a look that meant I should sit down.
“I spoke to Süreyya Eronat,” she began. She implied that the little talk had been her idea, her achievement.
Süreyya Eronat had openly threatened our Sofya, warning her of the consequences if she didn’t shape up. She pointed to me. “She witnessed the whole thing.”
I contented myself with a stupid nod.
“So?” asked the smirking, antisocial creature.
“You know better than I do, sir. I’m merely conveying what I was told. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“So you’re suggesting that we shouldn’t do anything? That’s not the way things work.”
“Two people have died,” I interrupted. “Isn’t that enough? And what’s more, one of them was totally innocent.”
He pretended not to have heard me. I didn’t exist. I was invisible, inaudible. Frowning, he stared off into space. I supposed this was his thinking pose. We all watched him. I got goose bumps.
“Actually, Buse was innocent as well,” I added. I couldn’t understand how my voice had been reduced to a murmur. Again, no one heard me.
“I’m sure you had her killed.” I didn’t know if I said this out loud or just thought it. The man’s icy stare suggested the former.
Sofya looked at me anxiously. Fabulous lips slightly pursed, eyes narrowed, she was telling me to shut up. The goose bumps were increasing in number, despite the warmth of the room.
I glanced over at Mehmet Sebil. The look he gave me was a masculine version of Sofya’s. That is, I didn’t mistake the pursed lips for a kiss blown in my direction. Sebil seemed to have grown somewhat slovenly—sluggish, even. Either that or I hadn’t noticed it before.
I did as they wished. I was quiet. The menacing atmosphere seemed to have worked its spell on me, as well.
Frosty continued staring into space, apparently deep in thought. I, too, began thinking. Who knew the unsavory ways the girls I had arranged for Sebil had been used for blackmail purposes? Fortunately, most of them must have been blissfully unaware. Otherwise, I’d have heard about it by now. Never again would I send him one.
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