Chapter Sixty-eight

CUMALI OPENED THE door wearing a casual shirt, a pair of jeans and an oven mitt. As she wasn’t expecting any visitors, she had dispensed with the scarf and tied her hair back in a ponytail – I have to say it suited her, accentuating her high cheekbones and large eyes, and I was struck again by how attractive she was.

She didn’t appear embarrassed about being seen with her hair uncovered and a shirt open at the throat, merely pissed off at being disturbed at home.

‘What do you want? ’ she asked.

‘Your help, ’ I replied. ‘May I come in? ’

‘No – I’m busy, I’m just about to serve dinner. ’

I was ready to start arguing – to be as insistent as necessary – but I was saved the trouble. The little guy emerged from the kitchen, saw me and started to run. Calling happily in Turkish, he came to a halt, gathered himself together and gave a perfect bow.

‘Very good, ’ I said, laughing.

‘It ought to be – he’s been practising every day, ’ Cumali said, her voice softening, pushing some wayward strands of the little guy’s hair back into place.

‘It’ll only take a few minutes, ’ I said, and after a pause she stepped back, letting me in – more for her son, if that’s what he was, than from any desire to help me.

I walked down the corridor ahead of them, making sure to look around, curious, as if I had never been in the house before. The little guy was right behind, chatting away in Turkish, demanding that his mom translate.

‘He wants to take you on a picnic, ’ she said. ‘He saw a programme on TV about an American boy. Apparently, that’s what best friends do. ’

I didn’t joke – it meant everything to the child. ‘A picnic? Of course, ’ I said, stopping to bend down to him. ‘Any time you want – that’s a promise. ’

We stepped into the kitchen and, using her oven mitt, she went to the stove and pulled a tagine – a Moroccan casserole pot – off the heat, tasted its contents with a short wooden spoon and served herself and her son. She didn’t offer me any – a real affront in the Muslim world, where, due to the prohibition on alcohol, most hospitality revolved around food – and it was clear she wanted to be rid of me as soon as possible.

‘You said you wanted my help – what is it? ’ she asked, as soon as she sat down and started to eat.

‘You remember a woman called Ingrid Kohl? ’ I said, thanking God for a cover story good enough to get me into her house.

She paused, having to think, while the little guy smiled at me and took a drink from his Mickey Mouse glass.

‘Ingrid Kohl, ’ Cumali said. ‘A backpacker … American … an acquaintance of Cameron, or something. Is that her? ’

‘Yeah. Have you got anything else on her? ’

‘She was peripheral; I don’t think we even interviewed her. You came here at dinner time to ask about her? Why? ’

‘I think she and Cameron know each other. I think they’ve known each other for a long time. I suspect they’re lovers. ’

She stared at me, her fork halfway to her mouth. ‘Do you have any evidence – or is this just wishful thinking? ’

‘You mean like the mirrors? ’ I said sharply. ‘There’s evidence – I just need to firm it up. ’

‘So you’re telling me she knows how to get on to the estate, that she’s a suspect? ’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. But I have to hear her voice. ’

‘Her voice? ’

‘I’ll take you through it when I know for sure, ’ I replied. I didn’t want to get into a long discussion about Dodge’s death, I just wanted to get her out of the damn kitchen and take the items I had already identified.

‘Can you get the two women down to the precinct house in the morning? ’ I asked. ‘I want to hear Ingrid’s voice then put some questions to her and Cameron. ’

Cumali was anything but enthusiastic. ‘Cameron has already given an extensive interview. I’d have to know more—’

‘I want to wrap it up quickly, ’ I interrupted. ‘I want to get out of Turkey as soon as possible. With your help, I think I can do that. ’

Maybe it was the hard insistence in my voice – more likely it was the thought of getting rid of me – but, for whatever reason, she gave in. ‘All right, I’ll call Hayrunnisa first thing tomorrow and get her to organize it. ’

‘Can you call her now, please? ’ I had already checked out the kitchen and couldn’t see her handbag or cellphone. I was hoping it was in another room.

‘Call her at home, you mean? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘No. Like I said, I’ll phone her in the morning. ’

‘Then give me the number, ’ I replied. ‘I’ll do it. ’

She looked at me, exasperated, then sighed, got to her feet and went towards the living room to get her phone.

I acted fast, meowing to the cat, which was watching me from the corner. It worked, making the little guy laugh and look in the opposite direction. I moved behind him and had the first item in my pocket before he saw it.

By the time he turned in my direction I was at the stove with my back towards him, and he couldn’t see me reach for the second item. In order to divert him, I pulled my phone out as I turned to face him and started pulling silly faces and shooting photos of him.

It made him laugh again, and that’s what he was doing when his mother walked back in, cellphone to her ear, talking in Turkish to Hayrunnisa. Cumali hung up and looked at me.

‘She’ll call them at eight in the morning and tell them to be in the office at ten. Satisfied? ’

‘Thank you. ’

‘Now, can my son and I have our dinner? ’

‘Of course, ’ I said. ‘I’ll let myself out. ’

I bowed to the little guy, turned and went out the front door. I made a right, headed towards the nearest main road and started to run. I only stopped when I was lucky enough to find a vacant cab going back to town from the port.

I told the driver I wanted to go to some souvenir shops, and directed him towards the ones I had seen on my first day in Bodrum. It was getting late, but I knew they stayed open all hours and that the largest of them was an agent for FedEx.

Inside, I bought half a dozen souvenirs and told the old guy behind the counter I wanted to express courier them to New York – all I needed was a box to pack them in. I addressed it to Ben Bradley at the precinct house and included a note so that if anybody in Turkey inspected the parcel they would think it was innocent enough – a cop on assignment was sending the guys at the office a few mementoes to make them envious.

I told Bradley to distribute the claret-coloured fezes among the other detectives, the plastic belly-dancer lamp was for his desk and the other two items were for our mutual friend. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll get the joke, ’ I wrote.

Of course it was no joke – in another hour I would call Bradley and tell him exactly what I wanted done with the wooden tasting spoon and the Mickey Mouse cup.

Lift off the dried saliva and have it DNA-tested as fast as possible, I would say. Only then would I know the exact relationship between Cumali and the little guy.