Divorce Turkish Style (10 page)

“Of course. I spent my student days in Istanbul and have lots of friends there. I'm even thinking I might stay in the city for a while. I came back to Lüleburgaz to recover after the funeral. I also need to get the forensic report, and there are a few people I want to see.”

“Will they hand the report over to the family?”

“They should do. In any case, the people who write the forensic reports are friends of mine. I'm sure they'll give it to me.”

“If you get the report, might we see it?”

“You're not allowed to have a copy of it without official status, are you? My father told me that you're not the police. You don't look anything like the police, anyway.”

What a smart father and daughter! I was beginning to like this family.

“Actually, it would be great if we could go to Sani's house,” I said, taking courage from her comment.

“The police have sealed it off, which I presume is just routine while they conduct a forensic search,” said Naz.

“They might have sealed it off, but they won't have thought of changing the locks,” I said.

“Sani's keys should be at my parents' house. I'll get them tomorrow, and we can go together.”

“Apparently there was a laptop,” I said. “Her secretary Sevim said that Sani never let it out of her sight.”

“She certainly didn't,” said Naz. “Sani hung on to that laptop as if it were physically attached to her. What's happened to it?”

“It's disappeared, apparently,” I said.

“Disappeared? How could it disappear?” said Naz, frowning.

“It wasn't in her apartment or her office. Have the police said anything to you about it?”

“No, they haven't. My mother was taken ill at the funeral and we had to rush back to Lüleburgaz. They might be trying to contact us.”

It seemed to me that Batuhan was failing in this investigation. He hadn't even seen the victim's family yet! Still, I suppose I'm always hypercritical of the Turkish police.

“Might she have left her laptop in her car?” I asked.

“Sani didn't have a car,” said Naz. “She sold it recently because she wanted to buy a newer model. What you said about her laptop
is very strange. I suppose it must have been stolen. I wonder if anyone was in her apartment when she died?”

“Or maybe a burglar entered the apartment after she died that day and omitted to tell anyone. I know it's unlikely, but not impossible. Things will be clearer when we get the forensic report,” I said.

It was past six o'clock.

“We must go,” I said. “We're going to get caught in the evening traffic, and we should at least try to get home before midnight.”

“It takes less time driving from Lüleburgaz to Istanbul than it does getting home after reaching the city,” remarked Fofo.

“It can't be that bad. You're exaggerating,” said Naz.

“It is that bad,” I said. “And it gets worse by the day. Throughout the month of Ramadan, there's complete gridlock during the hours before the evening meal.”

“I don't know if I can get things sorted for tomorrow, but I'll definitely be coming to Istanbul the following day,” said Naz, walking alongside us.

“In that case, come and see us,” I said.

I described where the shop was, gave her my phone numbers and said that I'd be at the shop until noon on Friday.

On the way back to Istanbul, Fofo and I quarrelled four times, because he kept criticizing my driving. Perhaps I was going a little fast, but old habits die hard. And anyway, it wasn't my fault that German motorways had no speed restrictions.

We arrived home feeling disgruntled with each other and with Istanbul's endless rush-hour traffic. I spent a long time under the shower.

After setting the alarms of both my clock and my mobile, with the intention of waking early the next morning to get some work
done, I drifted off thinking how the best thing about a tiring day was being able to get a good night's sleep.

As soon as I entered the shop the next morning, I went online to look up the group Sniff and its lead singer Sinan. Various websites showed that they were appearing at the Kara Bar in Beyoğlu on Friday night. Thinking I might be able to have a few words with Sinan after their performance, I decided to go there and take Fofo with me.

I looked on Skyrat, but there was nothing new of any interest. Then, to fill in time, I googled the Ankaralıgil family, Aylin Aköz and her husband, the contamination at Ergene Basin, the GreTur website, and the Mercedes bought by the industrialists for the Kocaeli governor. Once I'd started, it was difficult to stop. To give myself a break, I phoned Lale, who was about to go into a meeting and had no time to talk. We agreed to meet at the weekend.

Fofo finally showed up at the shop.

“I've only just woken up. How did you get here so early?” he said, his eyes still puffy with sleep. “Hasan phoned. He wants the car back so that he can take his mother to the airport, and you've still got the keys.”

“Well, don't be too long. I might need to go out,” I said.

Fofo paid no heed to what I said, as usual, and was gone for over two hours. The moment he returned, I left the shop and went home.

The next day, Naz turned up just before noon.

“What a lovely shop,” she said on entering. “So you specialize in crime fiction?”

She sat down in my rocking chair, something I normally don't allow anyone else to do. However, I let it pass.

“Would you like some tea?” I asked.

“Please. And would it be possible to order something to eat as well? I came out without having breakfast, so as not to be late.”

“Cheese or pepperoni toasted sandwich, doner kebab sandwich or borlotti beans,” I said, listing the snacks that were on offer in Kuledibi.

“Pepperoni toasted sandwich, please.”

Recai, our tea boy, had retired the previous year and been replaced by his idle son Muslum, who spent the whole day sitting next to the stove betting on horses and making no attempt to sell teas. It irritated me that I had to press a buzzer several times to place my order, instead of being greeted by Recai, tray in hand, the moment I set foot in his teashop. Occasionally, Muslum was given a stern warning by his father and things would improve for a few days, but he soon reverted to his old ways. At least two days must have passed since the last warning, because Muslum was still nowhere to be seen when the sandwiches arrived from Petek Snack Bar. I gave up and went over to the stove to pour out the teas myself.

While I was busying myself putting the sandwiches on a plate and pouring teas, a text arrived on my mobile, saying “R u alone?”

The message was from Fofo, who was obviously wondering if Naz had turned up. I felt no need to satisfy his curiosity, and didn't reply.

Naz brushed the crumbs off her skirt and also asked if we were alone. Did she think someone was hiding behind the curtain in the kitchenette?

“We're alone,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

She went over to the shop window and stood gazing into the street, like a KGB agent in a Cold War film worrying about being followed.

“I need to talk to you about something. But it must remain between us.”

What did she mean? That I shouldn't tell Fofo?

I was ruffled by this. There were of course certain things I might choose to keep from Fofo. I might criticize Fofo and fall out with him, but I didn't let anyone else treat him that way. If someone told me a secret, I didn't expect to make it a condition that I couldn't tell him. Surely my darling Fofo was to be trusted. Anyway, I certainly wasn't going to let a stranger dictate such matters.

“I can't promise not to tell anyone at all. Fofo and I work together, as you know,” I said, looking annoyed.

“Oh, I didn't mean Fofo,” said Naz. “It's just that I don't want this information getting out. The safety of someone I care about might be in jeopardy.”

Oh dear!

“If I told anyone, it'd be Fofo,” I said, thinking that perhaps she knew about Sani's relationship with Sinan.

If that was the big secret, I thought, what could it have to do with the safety of someone Naz cared about? In my mind, I concocted a scenario in which this person was Sinan and she was afraid that Cem Ankaralıgil might have him bumped off too, as an honour killing, if the relationship were exposed.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. Yet I had doubts about Cem Ankaralıgil being the type to commission an honour killing. In my experience, it was only primeval idiots who took such action. Normal Turks, like most people, waited for their spouse to return, and if he or she didn't, then they got divorced.

“You don't need to worry about your secret getting out,” I said, wanting to reassure Naz, whether or not she'd been referring to Sinan and Sani's secret love affair. “I can guarantee that.”

“That's what I wanted to hear,” said Naz, but she still looked uneasy.

“You don't seem comfortable here. We can go to my place to talk if you like. It's not far away,” I suggested.

“Yes, I'd like that. It's very nice here, but it is a shop, after all. Someone could walk in at any moment.”

“I'll phone Fofo and ask him to come over. He's at home at the moment, but can be here in no time.”

“Good,” said Naz. “And I suggest we start using the familiar ‘you' from now on.”

“Good idea,” I said, as I dialled Fofo's number.

I went to make coffee as soon as we entered my apartment. Naz followed me into the kitchen.

“My father wants to pay you and Fofo – or at least take care of your expenses.”

“No way! What are you thinking?”

“But you must be out of pocket with all this.”

“Yes, and you've been spending your money fighting the industrialists,” I said. “I thought your father and I had a tacit agreement over this. If Sani was murdered, then the perpetrator is of interest to me too, and to Fofo.”

Fofo hadn't actually spent a cent of his own money so far, but I wasn't going to mention that.

“It all started because of my curiosity, but now—” I added.

“Yes, and now?” interrupted Naz.

“Now that I've met you and your father, and seen what you're doing—”

“You haven't really seen anything, because we haven't been able to achieve anything,” said Naz sadly.

“But you're trying to, which is worth a lot. You could also say that I knew Sani. We used to run into her several times a week at lunchtime.”

“At that little restaurant downstairs in the business centre?”

“Do you know it?”

“Of course. Sani used to take me there when I came to Istanbul.”

“What's more, I like what I've heard about Sani – the way she went to stay with her uncle after finishing primary school so that she could go to middle school. Was there no middle school in your village back then?”

“No. We had to go to Lüleburgaz. It's not very far, as you know. A minibus used to go round all the villages collecting the kids to take them there. My uncle and aunt offered to take care of my sister's education because they didn't have children of their own, and my parents accepted. But then a few years after Sani went to stay with them, my uncle and aunt had a child of their own, so she brought them luck.”

“Did you go to middle school in Lüleburgaz?”

“I was in Istanbul, as a boarder at Galatasary Lycée.”

I poured out two cups of coffee and said, “Let's go back into the sitting room.”

“Can I smoke in here?” asked Naz.

“Why not? I've only just given up. There's an ashtray up there on the shelf.”

“I wish I could give up too. I don't actually smoke very much.”

We sat down at either end of my large red sofa, facing each other with the tray of coffee between us.

“So, what's this secret?” I asked.

“I don't know if you remember an armed organization called the KLA, the Kosovo Liberation Army, which sprang up during the Kosovo War.”

I nodded. I might claim not to read newspapers, but I'm not completely ignorant.

“The organization continued to be active until 1999, but when the war came to an end, so did the KLA. A few of its members were put on trial, and it's claimed that some took up official posts in Kosovo while others were taken into the American army. Meanwhile, the KLA, which in 1997 had been branded by the Americans as a bunch of terrorists, was taken off the list of terrorist organizations in early 1998. Later, it transpired that not only had the KLA been trained by the CIA, it had also received support from Germany in return for protecting German interests in the Balkans.”

“Interesting, but what does all this have to do with us?”

“Be patient. I'm explaining. There isn't a direct link, of course. Despite many disclaimers, certain myths grew up around the KLA. For instance, it was said that the KLA obtained arms from Bin Laden, that they killed any Albanians who objected to violence, that they organized narcotics cartels throughout the Balkans and ran the Albanian mafia. But all that still didn't prevent them being perceived as heroes.”