Chapter Seventy

INGRID EMERGED FROM the back of the station house, accompanied by yet another kid-cop in dazzling boots. She tied the dickhound to the handrail of the steps and climbed towards Cumali’s office.

I had left the café ahead of her so that I would be ready when she arrived and was sitting at a conference table in a corner of the office watching her out of the window. Cumali herself had begged off, saying she had to devote herself to a more pressing matter – the search for SpongeBob’s killer.

‘I was looking for Detective Cumali, ’ Ingrid said as she entered, not noticing me in the corner. It gave me another opportunity to hear her voice, but I was still too uncertain to call it.

‘I’m afraid the detective isn’t here, ’ Hayrunnisa replied. ‘I think this gentleman can help you. ’

Ingrid turned and saw me, and I watched her eyes drop to my dumb FBI-style shoes, run slowly up my shapeless pants then pause for a moment on the cheap shirt and unattractive tie. I felt like all I needed was a pocket protector.

Having seen her at the café, I had no need to return the appraisal and the cool indifference with which I stared at her gave me a small advantage.

Then she smiled and the advantage disappeared. ‘And you are? ’ she asked. I had a sense she already knew.

‘My name is B. D. Wilson, ’ I said. ‘I’m with the FBI. ’

Most people – even those without anything to hide – feel a frisson of fear when they hear those words. If Ingrid Kohl did, she showed no sign of it.

‘Then I can’t see how you can help me. I was told I was here to pick up my passport. ’

She gave Hayrunnisa the withering look and I realized that the secretary had told Ms Kohl whatever had come to mind in order to make sure she showed up. It was probably standard operating procedure in Turkish police departments.

Rather than let Hayrunnisa twist in the wind, I answered for her. ‘I’m sure we can do that. I just have a few questions first. ’

Ingrid dropped her bag on the floor and sat down. ‘Go ahead, ’ she said. She wasn’t easily flustered.

I placed a small digital video camera on the desk, clicked a button, checked that it was recording both sound and vision and spoke into it, giving her full name from the passport copy I had in front of me, the time and the date.

I saw her looking closely at the device, but I paid it no attention. I should have. Instead, I turned to her and told her that I was a sworn law-enforcement officer and that I was investigating Dodge’s death.

‘It’s now a murder case, ’ I said.

‘So I heard. ’

‘Who from? ’

‘Everybody. It’s the only thing American backpackers are talking about. ’

‘Where did you meet him and his wife? ’

She told me they had seen each other at various clubs and bars but had never spoken. ‘Then everything changed one night outside a club called The Suppository. ’

‘There’s a club called The Suppository? ’ I asked. I mean, you’d have to question it, wouldn’t you?

‘Not really. Its name is The Texas Book Depository – you know, Kennedy and Oswald – run by a couple of hipsters from LA, but it’s such a dump everyone calls it The Suppository.

‘Anyway, I’d just left with some friends when I saw a stray dog lying behind some trash. He’d been badly bashed and I was trying to work out how to get him on to my moped when Dodge and Cameron arrived.

‘They called for a car and we got him to a vet. After that, if I saw ’em around, we’d talk – mostly about the dog. ’

‘So you knew Dodge well enough that if you walked into his house one night with alarming news he’d know who you were? ’

She shrugged, appearing confused. ‘I guess. ’

‘That’s the dog, is it? ’ I asked, motioning towards the window.

‘Yeah. ’

I kept talking while I consulted my notes, just filling in the silence. ‘What’s the dog’s name? ’

‘Gianfranco, ’ she said.

I didn’t react. ‘Italian, huh? ’

‘Yeah, he reminded me of a guy I knew – some dogs have just gotta hunt. ’

I smiled and looked up. ‘Have you got family, Ms Kohl? ’

‘Somewhere. ’

‘Chicago? ’

‘All over. Married, divorced, married again, separated. You know the deal. ’

‘Brothers, sisters? ’

‘Three stepbrothers; none that I care to know. ’

‘And you moved on from Chicago, is that right? ’

‘I went to New York, if that’s what you mean – for about eight months – but I didn’t like it, so I applied for a passport and headed over here. I’m sure you’ve got all that on some database. ’

I ignored it and ploughed on. ‘You came to Europe alone? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘Brave, wasn’t it? ’

She just shrugged, not bothering to answer. She was smart, but far more than that – she was self-contained, you got the feeling she didn’t need anybody.

‘How have you been living – money-wise, I mean? ’

‘How does anyone? I work. Café s, bars, four weeks as a door bitch at a club in Berlin. I make enough to get by. ’

‘What about the future? ’

‘You know – marriage, a couple of kids, a house in the suburbs. The guy would have to dress sharp, though – somebody like you, Mr Wilson. You married? ’

Yeah, I could go for her, I told myself. With an axe handle. ‘I meant the more immediate future. ’

‘Summer’s almost gone. Maybe I’ll head to Perugia in Italy – there’s a university for foreigners there that a lot of people talk about. ’

I glanced up from my notes, checked the camera was working and looked at her. ‘Are you gay or bisexual, Ms Kohl? ’

She met the Defcon 1 full on. ‘And tell me, ’ she replied, ‘which side of the fence do you farm, Mr Wilson? ’

‘That’s not relevant, ’ I replied evenly.

‘Exactly how I feel about your question, ’ she responded.

‘There’s a big difference. It’s been suggested that Cameron is bisexual. ’

‘So what? You need to get out more. A lot of modern chicks are – I think they got so sick of men they decided to try the other team. ’

Before I could respond to the theory, I heard the sound of heels clicking on the linoleum in the hallway.

Cameron walked in.