be pointed and unless someone makes sure that proper evidence is collected, DNA or whatever it is, then someone could end up getting hurt or worse. They do their best in Nevşehir, but they don’t have your level of sophistication . . .’
‘Or my budget,’ İkmen said with a sigh. ‘Menşure, I cannot tell the police in Nevşehir how to do their job! They will do their best with what they have available to them. They will make decisions they feel are appropriate.’
‘Some of them make decisions in line with how much money certain people are willing to pay them. The police are poor here, Çetin. Even you are wealthy in comparison.’
‘Menşure, I can’t get involved with this!’ İkmen stood up and threw his arms wildly into the air. ‘I have no power in Cappadocia! And anyway, I need to get back to my own life. Fatma is alone and, as you have so rightly said, I need to at least try to put Alison behind me now. I need to accept, maybe, that I will never know the truth about her. But I think I have to do that at home.’
‘Well, then, we’ll all have to live with the possibility that we’ll never know who really killed Aysu Alkaya, won’t we? Innocent people will have to deal with malicious whisperings, pointing fingers and knocks on their doors at midnight! I thought of you immediately that body was discovered. I thought about the English girl and how desperate you have been to learn the truth about her. I’ve kept your secret for many years despite my own misgivings. You could at least repay my thoughtfulness.’
İkmen lost his temper. How dare she try to effectively blackmail him like this! ‘You could have told me the body wasn’t Alison’s before I even got on that bus! You knew and you didn’t call me, Menşure!’ he cried. ‘That is very manipulative, you know!’
She stood up and walked towards him. She was almost a whole head taller and for a moment İkmen thought that she might just shout him down. But in fact, when she spoke, she used a very gentle tone: ‘Just talk to Haldun Alkaya, Çetin,’ she said. ‘Please.’
İkmen sighed and then sat back down again with his chin in his hands. Well, what an unusual day this had turned out to be! No sleep, no Alison and now Menşure was begging for something from another human being. He took his gaze away from her face and looked out at the fairy chimney across the road. A woman wearing a long coloured headscarf was pulling a goat up a flight of outside steps into what İkmen knew was, traditionally, the family room in houses like this. What on earth was she going to do with a goat up there? And then he realised that he couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. This was, after all, rural Turkey, out among the chimneys where peris laughed and djinn danced and where anything and everything was possible. For just a very small moment he felt a tingle of excitement.
Quickly, before he changed his mind, he looked up at his cousin and said, ‘All right. I’ll talk to this Alkaya man but I’m promising nothing beyond that. Understand that, Menşure? Nothing.’
‘I understand,’ she said with a smile.
‘And if I am staying, I may as well make some inquiries about Alison,’ İkmen continued. ‘After all, if I am to move on, I do have to know that the past is really behind me. I mean, what if she’s living in some tiny hamlet hereabouts?’
Menşure viewed her cousin narrowly. ‘I think it’s unlikely,’ she said. ‘But if you must then you must.’
It had been a long day and what Mehmet Süleyman really wanted to do was go home and go to bed. But curiosity had got the better of him. And so here he was now, in the lee of a tall, brooding building belching steam from a rough steel chimney pipe, surrounded by several furtive-looking men.
When he had finished with Duruşan Efe, he’d decided to go on and visit the peeper’s first victim who lived in Kumkapı above his uncle’s restaurant overlooking the Sea of Marmara.
‘Or my budget,’ İkmen said with a sigh. ‘Menşure, I cannot tell the police in Nevşehir how to do their job! They will do their best with what they have available to them. They will make decisions they feel are appropriate.’
‘Some of them make decisions in line with how much money certain people are willing to pay them. The police are poor here, Çetin. Even you are wealthy in comparison.’
‘Menşure, I can’t get involved with this!’ İkmen stood up and threw his arms wildly into the air. ‘I have no power in Cappadocia! And anyway, I need to get back to my own life. Fatma is alone and, as you have so rightly said, I need to at least try to put Alison behind me now. I need to accept, maybe, that I will never know the truth about her. But I think I have to do that at home.’
‘Well, then, we’ll all have to live with the possibility that we’ll never know who really killed Aysu Alkaya, won’t we? Innocent people will have to deal with malicious whisperings, pointing fingers and knocks on their doors at midnight! I thought of you immediately that body was discovered. I thought about the English girl and how desperate you have been to learn the truth about her. I’ve kept your secret for many years despite my own misgivings. You could at least repay my thoughtfulness.’
İkmen lost his temper. How dare she try to effectively blackmail him like this! ‘You could have told me the body wasn’t Alison’s before I even got on that bus! You knew and you didn’t call me, Menşure!’ he cried. ‘That is very manipulative, you know!’
She stood up and walked towards him. She was almost a whole head taller and for a moment İkmen thought that she might just shout him down. But in fact, when she spoke, she used a very gentle tone: ‘Just talk to Haldun Alkaya, Çetin,’ she said. ‘Please.’
İkmen sighed and then sat back down again with his chin in his hands. Well, what an unusual day this had turned out to be! No sleep, no Alison and now Menşure was begging for something from another human being. He took his gaze away from her face and looked out at the fairy chimney across the road. A woman wearing a long coloured headscarf was pulling a goat up a flight of outside steps into what İkmen knew was, traditionally, the family room in houses like this. What on earth was she going to do with a goat up there? And then he realised that he couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. This was, after all, rural Turkey, out among the chimneys where peris laughed and djinn danced and where anything and everything was possible. For just a very small moment he felt a tingle of excitement.
Quickly, before he changed his mind, he looked up at his cousin and said, ‘All right. I’ll talk to this Alkaya man but I’m promising nothing beyond that. Understand that, Menşure? Nothing.’
‘I understand,’ she said with a smile.
‘And if I am staying, I may as well make some inquiries about Alison,’ İkmen continued. ‘After all, if I am to move on, I do have to know that the past is really behind me. I mean, what if she’s living in some tiny hamlet hereabouts?’
Menşure viewed her cousin narrowly. ‘I think it’s unlikely,’ she said. ‘But if you must then you must.’
It had been a long day and what Mehmet Süleyman really wanted to do was go home and go to bed. But curiosity had got the better of him. And so here he was now, in the lee of a tall, brooding building belching steam from a rough steel chimney pipe, surrounded by several furtive-looking men.
When he had finished with Duruşan Efe, he’d decided to go on and visit the peeper’s first victim who lived in Kumkapı above his uncle’s restaurant overlooking the Sea of Marmara.
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