Belshazzar's Daughter (20 page)

‘I’ve just been talking to the Israeli Consul about the Meyer case.’ Ardic/s tone was accusatory rather than informative.

‘That must have been pleasant for you, sir.’ It wasn’t downright impertinence, but almost.

The Commissioner, puce to the ears, ushered ikmen

into his office. He sat down at his desk and relit a thick cigar sitting in his ashtray. Then he twirled his moustache nervously. ‘It was hideously embarrassing! I had to make up excuses for you.’

ikmen sat down and flicked the end of his cigarette on to the floor. Ardic didn’t deserve good manners, he was too stupid. ‘I should have thought the Consul would have been pleased that I was out working on a case in which he has so much interest.’

‘It’s not the point!’ Ardic roared. ‘You’re supposed to be in charge of this case! It’s you everybody wants to see: the Israelis, those bastards from the press—’

‘I’m sure you handled it, sir.’

The Commissioner took off his glasses and threw them petulantly on to his desk. ‘Look, ikmen, like it or not, you have a certain - I won’t say fame, but notoriety. I didn’t want you on this case as it is, but while you are on it, you should play by the rules!’ He flung his hand out in the direction of the corridor. ‘I’ve given you men to do the job with! You’ve a sergeant sits about on his arse all day looking like some sort of male model! You are based here, ikmen, and you should be here. Get them to do the work! You’re the fucking boss, or supposed to be.’

ikmen lit a cigarette and turned a hard eye on his superior.

If Ardic was going to go straight in with heavy boots on, then so was he! He’d had enough of this fat, strutting little desk rider! What did he know about the job? ‘Now look here, sir, it’s the way I work. You know that! Second-hand reports from pimply constables may be good enough for people like Yalgin, but I earn my money! A case in point’ - he stood up and started pacing, lionlike, in front of the Commissioner’s desk - ‘yesterday evening I interviewed an acquaintance of the murdered man. Now what the woman in question had to say was, on the face of it, of scant importance. If I had not been possessed of a little knowledge about her country and its history, her conversation would not have meant much to me. Also, how she answered me, what her mood was like, what her body did were’ - he struggled for the right word - ‘interesting. If I hadn’t been there I would have experienced none of this! Her ambience, if you like, alerted me to something, I still don’t know what it is, but what I have learnt from other sources today has only proved to underscore my unease about this woman!’

‘What things?” Ardic emphasised the last word with a coating of pure contempt.

‘Meyer was involved in some sort of purge against the bourgeoisie back in his own country, Russia. He killed people. The subsequent guilt tortured him all his life.

Guilt or fear, I don’t know which. Now this woman I met last night claimed that in Russia she was his lover and that she and Meyer, at some point, left the country together.’

‘So?’

‘Meyer murdered people like her! May even have killed people in front of her! And if she did know anything about that, it could well mean that she had considerable power over him. She, or if not her, then someone else obviously had to have had some influence in order to persuade Meyer to leave Russia. Nice little Jewish Bolsheviks like him had the world at their feet. It was people like this Maria Gulcu who had to leave the country then, not Meyer.

Even given the guilt attendant upon his act, he would have to have been absolutely mad to leave. I mean, guilt is one thing, but to jeopardise your new, powerful life in the Jew-favouring Soviet Republic is quite another. It makes no sense historically. It was 1918! The beginning of the new dawn! The slaves will always turn and when they do—’

‘Oh, for the love of Allah, ikmen, will you shut up about this nonsense before I really lose my temper!’

ikmen passed a shaking hand across his forehead and sat down.

Ardig pointed an accusatory finger towards him. ‘Now listen, ikmen, from what your little girly-boy sergeant tells me you’ve got something of a lead with this Smits character.’

‘As yet we’ve no proof that he—’

‘If this Smits is or was a Nazi sympathiser, I want to know about it and so does the Consul. And if he was, I want him in here giving a fucking account of himself!’

‘Well, yes, I agree, sir. But I will need time in order to see what Smits does from now on and—’

The Commissioner screamed, ‘With one dead Jew lying under a fucking two-metre swastika, time is not what we have, ikmen! We all know about your famous intuition, but forget it. Throw your confounded biographies into the waste bin and put some real pressure on this Smits man before anything like this happens again. I do not want this city crawling with Mossad agents. What I do want, however, is to please the Israeli Consul who, unless you’ve been in an alternate reality for the last few days, you will know is a very important man!’

ikmen looked down at the floor in silence. Knowing that Ardig was under intense pressure to secure an arrest, any arrest, as soon as possible was of little comfort to him.

Ardig took a deep breath and calmed himself, ikmen

was, at least temporarily, brought to heel. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘the press don’t know the more revolting details of this case and that is to your credit, but they still want to see you. The man was a Jew and there’s a lot of panic about Moslem fundamentalism in this country at the moment. So I want you to see representatives from the press tomorrow and reassure them. Make certain that the bastards don’t go crawling around Balat. Tell them we’re preparing to make an arrest, pursuing fertile lines of inquiry—’

‘Lie.’

Ardig flared once again. ‘Yes, lie! What do you want our wealthy Jews in Yenikdy and Bebek to do? Pack up all their money and fuck off to Israel?’

ikmen regarded him steadily. ‘And the poor ones in Balat?

They know, remember.’

‘Ah, but they’re not telling, are they, ikmen?’

‘No, sir, they’re too afraid. Closed communities are like that, sir. Vulnerable.’

Ardig growled. Little people with little money were not exactly his thing.

Ikmen got up out of his chair and made towards the door.

He didn’t want to be in the same place as this man for any longer.

‘If that’s all, sir?’

Ardig put his cigar back in his mouth and leant back in his chair. ‘Only one thing.’

Ikmen turned. ‘Yes?’

‘I had your sergeant with me when I was talking to the Consul. Even if he is a rather effeminate young man, he’s articulate.’ He dropped his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t give him too much autonomy if I were you, Ikmen. I think he might just be able to handle it.’ He sniggered, childishly.

Ikmen’s face whitened and he marched smartly out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Ardic’s laughter followed him all the way down the corridor and halfway up the stairs.

‘So, you and the Consul are best friends now, is that right, Mehmet?’ Cohen lit up a cigarette and smiled.

Suleyman scowled. ‘Hah, hah, very funny.’

‘Well, you must admit that it’s a bit of a plus point for you.’ Cohen perched himself on the edge of Suleyman’s desk and crossed his legs. ‘Could be the start of your rapid rise through the ranks.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Cohen laughed. ‘Oh, excuse me! Bright, articulate and good-looking? If I were you I’d push and scratch my way to the top and let no bastard stand in my way. I mean, just think what sort of effect the sight of a handsome inspector under thirty would have upon the females around here.’

‘Oh, give it a rest, will you!’

But Cohen was in his stride now. ‘Power excites women.’

His face dissolved into a leer. ‘I knew this girl once, had a thing about power and guns—’

‘I thought you were married,’ cut in Suleyman, sourly.

‘So?’ Cohen leant down across the desk and put his

face close to Suleyman’s. ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little bit of variety once in a while. They like the uniform too.’

Suleyman snorted. Cohen was so shallow it was almost a talent.

‘You always looked good in the uniform, Mehmet.’ He winked lasciviously. ‘You’re not telling me you used to iron your whole kit every day just for the benefit of the public!’

Suleyman nervously fingered his tie. Cohen put him on edge. He always had done, ever since they were constables together. Cohen was so … direct!

He changed the subject. ‘What happened with Mrs

Blatsky anyway?’

‘Not a lot. I didn’t do much really, she spoke just enough Turkish. The Old Man did most of the talking. She was ancient and had a bit of a beard coming.’

Suleyman removed his jacket. ‘I don’t suppose you listened, did you?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact,’ replied Cohen archly. ‘She said Meyer had killed some people back in Russia.’

Suleyman replied in kind. ‘Well, we know that!’

Cohen leant across the desk again and waved his finger in Suleyman’s face. He looked like a young child telling his best friend a naughty secret. ‘Ah, but did you know that he was a fully paid-up commie when he did it?’

‘No!’

‘Oh, yes. Went about killing the rich for the glory of Marx, he did. And what is more, someone who is still alive now knew all about it too!’

Suleyman frowned. ‘What, someone back in Russia,

or—’

‘No, here,’ said Cohen. ‘In the city.’

Suleyman suddenly felt his blood curdle in his veins. He knew a prime candidate for that role and so did ikmen.

The Inspector was, according to Cohen, now in with the Commissioner. He imagined the man’s impatience. Sitting there just itching to get over to the Gulcu house. And when he told him about Cornelius and his attack upon a lawyer.

A Jewish lawyer …

‘Not that the old Jew’s drinking cronies were any good.’

Cohen had changed the subject. ‘All they could do was try to ponce money off us. Although one of them did say that he saw a big black car behind the apartment block but he couldn’t remember whether it was last week or yesterday.’

‘Mmm.’ Suleyman wasn’t listening. His brain was too busy trying to cope with the range of possibilities this new piece of information had thrown up.

The door banged open and performed its customary

smashing operation against the side of his desk. Suleyman jumped. Cohen slid lazily to his feet and stood facing the door with his hands in his pockets.

‘Hello, Inspector.’

Ikmen stepped forward, grabbed Cohen by the elbow and threw him roughly through the doorway. ‘Get out of my office, Cohen, you perverted animal!’

As the constable dived into the corridor, Ikmen slammed the door shut behind him and stood in the middle of the room, fuming.

‘Cohen wasn’t doing anything wrong, sir!’ said Suleyman in an effort to protect his junior colleague.

Ikmen shot him a glance he was fortunate to survive. ‘I know that, but I’m angry and I need to take that out on someone! Would you rather I took it out on you?’

The sergeant looked down and mumbled in the negative.

‘Oh,

don’t worry, Sergeant!’ Ikmen said wearily. ‘I’ll make it up to Cohen some other time. When I don’t want to kill everybody and myself and you and—’

Suleyman remained calm. ‘Bad time with the Commissioner, sir?’

The two men looked at each other. The younger one was secretly amused and the older one knew it. He could vent his spleen on Suleyman as much as he liked, the shock value of his rages had ceased to have an effect many years ago. A grim smile caught the corners of his mouth and he sighed.

‘Oh, Suleyman, what are we going to do?’

‘Sir?’

Ikmen walked around his desk and sat down in his chair.

‘Ardic. wants this case wrapped up as soon as possible.’ He sneered. ‘The political dimension! The way I see it I’m supposed to produce some mindless Nazi, preferably the very convenient Reinhold Smits, on demand. Sorry, you’re supposed to produce some mindless—’

‘Yes.’ His voice was flat and grim. ‘Ardic wants me here for the benefit of the press. I believe he wants to turn me into some sort of media personality. You and the boys have got to do all the work from now on. I’m just supposed to sit about giving orders. I won’t, of course. He can stuff it!’ He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

‘I hear you did a good job with our friend the Consul?’

‘Did the Commissioner tell you that?’

‘Yes.’

Suleyman laughed. ‘I told him what he wanted to hear basically. I simply said that we were pursuing several lines of inquiry, including a possible Nazi connection, which is where I suppose I stupidly mentioned Reinhold Smits.’

‘Well, he was bound to find out sometime. Anyway, I’m glad you did well.’ And he meant it. His young protege was learning fast. Faster than he had, that was for sure.

‘Of course Ardic latched on to the Smits thing like a leech, but that’s not your fault. However …’ Only then did his face drop. He looked sad for a moment. He was pleased for Suleyman, but Ikmen knew that he was treading on very shaky ground with his superior. He knew how quickly a sergeant could be promoted, an inspector sent back into the wilderness.

Suleyman sensed his unease and changed the subject.

‘London called about Robert Cornelius.’

‘Ah.’ ikmen looked up. Back to the case. It was what he needed. ‘Well?’

‘He has a record. Assault upon a lawyer in 1987. A Jewish lawyer called Sheldon.’

ikmen nodded. ‘Interesting. Political?’

‘There were no details. Apparently Sheldon didn’t press charges.’ He paused. ‘There was an alleged assault upon a child too, in the same year. That didn’t go any further either. Lack of evidence. Mr Cornelius seems to

have something of a past. Do you want him brought

in, sir?’

ikmen considered. It was a very tenuous connection, but given Cornelius’s presence at the scene plus his surprise appearance at the Gulcu house, it wasn’t totally ridiculous.

If the child were Jewish too … ‘Ye-es,’ he said slowly.

‘Have one of the men pick him up first thing tomorrow.

He’s not going anywhere, is he?’