Hard Rain (16 page)

‘Really. You up on the class action?’ I asked.

‘She’s an ex, not a current. All I know is that the defendant, the Department of Defense, believes depleted uranium oxide – that’s the stuff left after a DU penetrator burns – is safe enough to sprinkle on your Cheerios.’

‘That’s almost funny,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘Almost.’

‘What’s your ex got?’

‘Actually, it’s what she hasn’t got,’ said Cain. ‘Two kidneys. One of them died – necrotised, I think they called it. They had to cut it out. The one remaining only works at fifty per cent. She hangs out on a dialysis machine most of the time these days.’

‘What’d she do in the life?’

‘Spent a year in one of those clean-up teams the army would send in after the Warthogs, Apaches and Abrams had stopped shooting shit up. Afterwards, she believed she was pissing pure uranium. Back when we were an item and she was on active duty, I remember her saying she wore protection on the job, but not a lot of it and not always. Only wore a Tee when the temps climbed past a hundred, which in summer was every damn day. You got any friends taking on Washington over this stuff?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. And you’ve just reminded me to give him a call.’

‘Y’know, it’s none of my business, Vin, but I thought
you
and Masters had something special going on,’ he said as an aside, going back to his laptop.

I was going to say he was right – it wasn’t any of his business. But I was curious. ‘Where’d you get that idea from?’

‘Beats me. Just an impression, I guess.’

The phone on my desk rang. I didn’t recognise the caller ID, but I picked up. Cain was getting a little too close for comfort anyway. ‘Cooper,’ I said into the handset.

‘Special Agent Cooper?’

‘That’s right, ma’am.’ I knew the voice, but couldn’t put a face to it.

‘This is Doctor Merkit speaking.’

I remembered the Doctor Merkit face. As faces went, it was a pretty damn attractive one. ‘What can I do for you, doc?’ I said.

‘Special Agent, I have been studying the reports on the two crimes prepared for me by Captain Cain, and I would like to talk to you a little more about your theory.’

‘The one about there being two killers?’

‘Yes.’

‘You got our office bugged, doc?’

‘I am sorry?’

‘Never mind. What are you thinking?’

‘If it’s possible, I would rather meet to discuss,’ she replied.

‘It’s possible, doc, only Special Agent Masters and I are leaving for Incirlik in the morning.’

‘Well, perhaps it can wait, but it would be better to talk soon, I think.’

‘Then that just leaves tonight,’ I said.

‘If you and Special Agent Masters are not busy, perhaps we could meet for dinner? I will bring my nephew.’

‘Sure,’ I replied, ‘only Special Agent Masters has another engagement.’

‘Well, then, Nasor can find someone else to have dinner with,’ she said with the hint of a laugh. ‘Perhaps I can show you a little of Istanbul also. Do you know it at all?’

‘I know the murder here is spectacular.’

‘We do other things here besides that.’

We agreed to meet outside a mosque called the Aya Sophia later in the evening. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said I’d just scored a date. I tried not to think about it, because I still had some chores to take care of. Like book a couple of seats on a plane to Adana, which was the city in the far south of the country close to Incirlik Air Base – the sprawling NATO facility utilised by US forces transmitting to and from Afghanistan, the place where both Portman and Bremmel had worked together on the Turkish Air Force F-16 upgrade.

‘You need a hand with anything here while you’re out of town?’ Cain asked as I finalised the tickets. He’d camped over on Masters’ desk and was now closing the lid of his laptop.

‘Yeah. You could do my job for me,’ I said.

‘Sure, especially if it means standing in on all outstanding dinner engagements with beautiful doctors.’

‘You’ve just reminded me – are you and the doc seeing each other?’

‘I wish. Been putting in some work, but it hasn’t paid off. Why do you ask?’

‘I think you’ve got a fan there.’

‘Really?’

I handed Cain the shipping schedule. I told him I had no idea whether it would prove in the least bit useful to us, or what to look for when he went through it. But he understood the relevance, particularly now that the killers’ leave-behinds had been pulled from the Bosphorus. They’d come and gone by boat. Just maybe that boat was on the schedule.

After I’d finished briefing Cain, I still had half an hour to kill before the rendezvous with Doc Merkit. I checked the clock. The time difference with Ocala, Florida, made it just after midday there, so I decided to put in the call to Tyler Dean that I’d been meaning to make for a while.

Their answer machine kicked in with a recorded message from Tyler’s wife, Katie. Behind her voice were the screams of a couple of toddlers – twins. ‘Hey, great to hear your voice. Can’t come to the phone right now, diapers to change and all. But we’re five minutes away. Leave a message and we’ll call you right back. Promise.’

I left a message, just to say I’d called, and gave the number for the cell I was carrying.

T
made it to the rendezvous with ten minutes to spare, enough time to stand around stamping on the spot to keep the blood circulating and watch the floor show. The puddles on the sidewalk were frozen, the procession of folks walking past seeming to breakdance as they slid around on the black ice, their feet suddenly running on the spot before they half fell, grabbing for partners who then broke into similar routines as they tried to stay upright.

A sign said the mosque I was loitering around was called the Aya Sophia, so I had the right one. It was familiar – I’d run here with Masters yesterday morning, approaching from another side. The vast area dedicated to buses indicated that the mosque was a popular attraction. Its many domes and walls were flooded with yellow light, and from across the road in the park, regular flashes pinpointed tourists taking artsy night shots. I couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. To me the place looked like a giant clump of mushrooms.

‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ said a woman’s voice.

I didn’t recognise the triangular shape standing in front of me, on account of the fact that it was dressed all in black, with a black veil over the head, covering most of the face, and a black coat that brushed the ground around the shoes. ‘Who is?’ I replied.

‘Aya Sophia.’

‘That you in there somewhere, doc? I asked.

‘Of course. Who did you think it was?’

‘I wasn’t sure. Not every day I meet a shadow that talks.’

‘Yes, it’s me.’ She pulled the fabric away from her face. ‘See?’

Yep, it was her all right. I hadn’t pegged the doc as a Moslem fundamentalist. In fact, I’d have been less surprised if she’d turned up in a bunny suit with a drink on a tray. ‘So,’ I said, striving for normalcy. ‘Where to? Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, but first I want to show you some of Istanbul’s attractions.’

I’d seen Doc Merkit without the veil and the coat. As far as I was concerned, she headed the attraction list.

‘Have you heard of the Aya Sophia before?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘But it is famous . . .’

I didn’t need to see her face to know my ignorance took her by surprise. It couldn’t have been that famous, otherwise there’d be an Aya Sophia near the Eiffel Tower in Vegas. I kept this to myself.

She continued: ‘It was built by the Emperor Justinian more than fifteen hundred years ago. When he came inside for the first time, they say he cried out, “Oh, Solomon, I have outdone you!”’

‘Who was Solomon?’

The shadow turned to face me. Again, I didn’t need to see the expression on her face.

‘Just kidding, doc,’ I said.

I heard her give a small laugh. ‘You do not like to be serious.’

‘I guess not.’

‘Why is that?’

I shrugged. We began to walk.

She said, ‘Perhaps you have too much to be serious about.’

‘Maybe,’ I agreed.

‘People say I am too serious. Would you like to hear a Turkish joke?’

‘That depends. Is it funny?’

‘Yes, very.’

‘Okay, let’s hear it.’

‘Temal and Akasma are newly married. On the wedding night, Akasma says, “Temal, if I gather up my hair, it means I don’t desire whoopee. If I gather my hair up halfway, it means if whoopee happens that’s okay, and if it doesn’t happen that’s also okay. But if my hair is completely down, that means I definitely desire whoopee.”

‘Temal thinks about this and says to Akasma, “Akasma, if I drink one glass of raki, I don’t desire whoopee. If I drink two glasses, then it’s okay if whoopee happens, and if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. But if I drink three glasses, I don’t really care which way you wear your hair.”

The doc was laughing, even though the joke flew like a three-bedroom house. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’

‘A rib-tickler, doc.’

‘So, we can go inside if you like. I have a cousin who runs the security here.’

‘Do you have a cousin who could sell me a rug?’

‘Do you want to buy a Turkish rug?’

I was about to say that I was only fooling around, but then I thought, What the hell . . . Perhaps it was the thing to do in Turkey after all. ‘I’ve been thinking I might,’ I replied.

‘Yes, when visiting Turkey you should buy a rug. I can arrange it,’ she said. ‘Everyone in Istanbul knows someone who sells Turkish rugs.’

‘Really? I never would have known.’

‘Shall we go to see inside?’

‘Perhaps some other time, doc.’

‘Yes, in the daytime would be best. You can miss much in the dark.’

I had to agree there. I was almost missing her in the dark. We crossed the road where the buses parked, and walked towards another mosque, a newer one lit up like night roadworks.

‘Looks like Sophia’s younger, prettier sister,’ I ventured, gesturing at the building.

‘It is much newer, built only five hundred years ago. Tourist books call it the Blue Mosque.’

It looked white to me. ‘Why is that?’

‘Inside it is covered in many beautiful blue tiles.’

‘Like a giant bathroom.’

‘No, nothing like a bathroom!’ The doctor gave a sound like she didn’t know whether to gasp or giggle.

‘Sorry, doc,’ I said. ‘Didn’t mean to give offence.’

‘Your humour . . . sometimes it makes me want to run away.’

‘I’ll try to keep a lid on it.’

‘No, it’s okay. I like it . . . I think.’

I became aware of the ache in my fingers, the ones encased in fibreglass. ‘We should find someplace to eat and talk,’ I suggested. ‘I think it’s going to snow.’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so. It is too cold for the snow. But yes, let’s go. I know a restaurant near here.’

Around ten minutes later we were sitting at a table in a tourist joint half a block from the Hotel Charisma. Doc Merkit had removed the veil so that I could see her face. I left the ordering to her. After she was done, I got things rolling. ‘So, doc, these two killers . . .’

‘Yes. As I said on the phone, I’ve been going over Captain Cain’s reports, and having two killers makes more sense than one, but –’

‘But you don’t think that’s what we’ve got,’ I said.

‘No.’

‘I agree with you. I’ve been thinking about those patterns. The only consistent element seems to be the use of chloroform to disable the victims. But it’s noted in the medical examiner’s report that the amount of chloroform used to knock Bremmel out was much less than Portman had pushed down his throat. At first I thought this wasn’t significant, that the accomplice with the anaesthetic would have been the same person involved in both crimes. But now I’m thinking it’s possible that two
different
people administered the stuff – someone who knew what they were doing with Bremmel, and someone who didn’t with Portman.’

Doc Merkit was agreeing, peppering this monologue with, ‘Hmm . . . hmm . . .’

I continued: ‘I’d thought perhaps the person who did the cutting and the person who splashed around the anaesthetic simply traded
places, but, as you rightly pointed out, the MO of each murder was so different.’

‘Yes, you and I have been having similar thoughts,’ she said. ‘Re-examining the little evidence we have, I am starting to believe that there were not two killers. Yes, the Portman murder and the Bremmel murder were both bizarre and ritualistic, but the manner of each murder and the nature of each ritual were
so
different . . . I am now thinking it is more likely there were two
teams
of killers – four or even five murderers.’

Was it so hard to grasp? The more I thought about it, the more I thought the doc was on to something. The mists surrounding these cases seemed to part a little. ‘It’s possible.’

‘Whatever is going on here, it is something I have no experience with,’ she added.

I informed her about the items pulled from the Bosphorus – the blast blankets and the two pairs of disposable coveralls.

‘What size were the coveralls?’

‘I know where you’re going with that question. The suit size was large, which doesn’t mean a hell of a lot. Gives us no real clue to body type. As you know, we believe the killers wore them over Gore-Tex drysuits and they could have worn them tight or loose, or maybe one wore it tight and the other loose – or any combination like that. They also could have chosen the same size so as not to give us any leads. Forensics couldn’t narrow the description on the suspects from the Hilton surveillance footage either – “a couple of adult males” was all they were prepared to say. The Fiat the killers used has also turned up but, like everything so far in this case, it’s taking us nowhere. The vehicle was thoroughly torched, which made it useless for forensics purposes.’

The waiter arrived with dinner. We both picked at it. I noticed a table of tourists sitting at the window pointing at the street outside, excited. It was snowing.

‘See?’ I said to Doc Merkit when she turned to observe what the commotion was about, gesturing at the window. ‘My fingers are never wrong.’

‘How did you break your arm?’ she asked.

‘My knuckles, actually.’

‘What happened?’

‘A friendly reminder from my last case,’ I replied.

‘Do you always get injured on these investigations?’

‘Lately, I’ve been unlucky.’ Or lucky, depending on how you looked at being cut out of a parachute and surviving the fall.

‘Oh,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘So, you are going to Incirlik tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wish you better fortune there.’

‘Thanks, I hope you get your wish.’

‘Where is Special Agent Masters tonight? Nasor was disappointed.’

‘Her fiancé’s in town.’

‘She is getting married?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Please give her my congratulations.’

‘I take it you’re married, doc?’

‘No. In this country the husband must provide a dowry. I could not find one with enough goats and camels to satisfy my father.’ The doctor laughed. ‘Why do you think I am married?’

‘The veil. Isn’t it something married women wear?’

‘Yes, and no. And in Turkey, what you call a veil we call a
türban
. Wearing a
türban
can mean that you are married, or engaged, or widowed, or devout, or old, or any reason you choose.’

‘By “devout”, you mean fundamentalist?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you are devout?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m surprised,’ I told her.

‘Why?’

‘Because, in the West, we view Moslem fundamentalists in a certain way.’

‘You don’t have to worry – I am not wearing a bomb,’ she said.

‘I was getting ready to run.’

‘The West has much to learn about Islam. And perhaps it also has much to learn
from
Islam. But that is another argument. Turkey is a secular Moslem country. If you are in the public service, for example, you cannot wear a
türban
to work – it is against the law. Sometimes, when I am feeling close to God, I wear a
türban
while I am working, because I am not in the public service. When I met you the first time, I was not wearing it. I did not think it was something I had to warn you about.’

‘Not at all, doc. Just curious, is all.’

‘In Turkey, we are still an Islamic country, and most Turks follow the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed, may his name be praised. My family is also from the country. My father and brothers are religious and wearing the
türban
in public does them honour. So when I am out walking, I always wear a
türban
.’

‘You don’t find the whole veil/
türban
thing a little, y’know – anti-woman?’ I felt uncomfortable asking the question, but Doc Merkit just didn’t seem to fit the mould as I perceived it, and I was interested to see what made her tick – bomb or no bomb.

‘Anti-woman? I am surprised! You are sounding like one of your feminists.’

‘Just trying to get in touch with my X chromosome, doc.’

‘The veil, as you call it – it liberates me. I am a rich, educated, professional woman. Istanbul is a modern city, but independent career women like me are still unusual and there is some prejudice. So this is another reason why I wear the
türban
. Men do not harass me; they think I am either married, or devout, or perhaps both. I can come and go as I please, unnoticed.’

‘So it’s a kind of camouflage,’ I said.

She thought about that before answering. ‘Yes – but it is also more. I
am
one of the faithful.’

The waiter arrived and asked if there was anything else we wanted.

‘Look at the time,’ said the doctor, suddenly aware of it. ‘You are getting up early tomorrow. You should get some sleep. I must go.’

I wondered why the sudden rush. ‘Sure,’ I replied. ‘The mini-bar back in my room is probably wondering where I am.’ The doctor
began fishing around in her bag, I guessed for her purse. I said, ‘Let Uncle Sugar get this, doc. It’d be his pleasure.’

‘Are you sure?’

I nodded.

‘Thank you. Well, then . . . shall we go?’

The doctor and I made our way to the door, the waiter hovering and wishing us a good night. We stood outside the restaurant, beneath its awning, and looked on a changed world. Everything was covered in a layer of white. The flakes floating down from the green-black cloud layer above were smaller than I’d seen falling earlier, but there were infinitely more of them. Vehicles were marooned on the roads, which had mostly disappeared beneath the falls. A motorcycle parked nearby had a pillow of snow on the tank and seat at least a foot high. A cab down on a far corner tried to move but instead skidded into another parked car, the deadened sound of the impact reaching my ears as a brittle crunch. The doc was marooned on the Sultanahmet.

I put the problem to her. ‘How am I going to get you home, doc? The only things moving out on the roads are idiots, and walking a few miles in this doesn’t seem such a good idea, either.’

‘Yes. I don’t know,’ said Doc Merkit, neck craned out, checking up and down the street.

I could only think of one solution, but even as I voiced it I wasn’t exactly sure of my motives. ‘My hotel is near,’ I offered. ‘We could go there for a while.’

‘And if the weather doesn’t improve, yes, I will take a room for the night.’