Divorce Turkish Style (31 page)

“Doesn't everyone have ex-lovers? All youngsters have them – even in the villages. I don't understand why you're making such a big deal out of this. So what if Orhan had a girlfriend all those years ago?”

Of course everyone had ex-lovers, but how many of them died in suspicious circumstances, especially if, in the whole of Istanbul, it happened in the house right opposite? However, I didn't pursue the point because, as I said, I wasn't finished and didn't want to upset her. Instead, I merely said, “We wanted to talk to Orhan Bey because your house is right opposite Sani's.”

She didn't look convinced, but let the matter drop.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“If it's no bother,” I said.

The woman disappeared.

Fofo and I sat alone for ten minutes in the sitting room. Perhaps we were meant to get up and leave. I'm sure that's what she hoped we'd do. However, neither of us were prepared to concede defeat just when we were on the home stretch, so we continued to sit there in forlorn silence.

Finally, a man entered, rubbing his hands together to get warm. Saved at last!

“Who are you?” he asked abruptly.

“We're investigating the death of Sani Ankaralıgil,” I said, feeling sure that his manner would change on hearing these magical words. After all, she was both his former and his recent lover. Surely he'd want to know exactly how she died.

“Yes, my wife told me that much. What do you mean by ‘investigating her death'? Are you the police?” said Orhan.

“We're private detectives.”

“Private detectives?” said Orhan, pulling a face. “You must be very private indeed, given that you're here in my house on a Sunday evening.”

I was beginning to get annoyed. True, we'd turned up at his door without phoning to make an appointment beforehand, but there was no need to be so rude. After all, the person who
died had been his lover. He should have been more concerned than anyone that the cause of Sani's death was investigated properly.

“Get out of my house,” said Orhan, pointing to the door. It was an awkward situation. We gathered our belongings. I knew that unless I said something to defuse the situation immediately, we might never get another chance to speak to this man, and it would be goodbye to getting to the bottom of Sani's suspicious death for us!

We were almost at the door when, as a last hope, I said, “Has Naz been in touch?”

“Naz?” he said, looking at us through narrowed eyes. “How do you know Naz?”

“Naz hired us to look into her sister's death,” I said, lying without a qualm.

I reached out for the door handle. If Orhan didn't respond, we'd be out in the street within thirty seconds.

“Wait,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Naz hired you?”

“I thought you weren't interested,” I said, waving my hand dismissively.

“You should have told me that to begin with,” said Orhan.

“To begin with? You didn't give us a chance to say anything.”

“You're right,” he said. How I love it when people are able to admit to being wrong, but he didn't need to know that. I opened the door, and even put one foot outside.

“Goodbye,” I said. “Let's go, Fofo.”

“Actually, there's no need for you to go,” said Orhan.

“But I thought that's what you wanted,” I said.

“Well…er…” he stuttered and murmured something unintelligible. I also love it when people realize they're cornered.

“Are we going or not?” asked Fofo, looking at me with admiration.

“Ask Orhan Bey,” I said.

“Let's go back inside,” said Orhan.

We returned to the chairs where we'd been sitting before. While Orhan lit a cigarette, I took the opportunity to look him up and down. Had I become less critical, or did Sani and Naz have exceptionally handsome male companions? Orhan was tall, with light brown hair and an athletic build. But that wasn't all. He exuded self-confidence in the way he moved and even sat, and seemed to radiate light. Yes, that was it. He radiated light in a way similar to Rembrandt's figures of Jesus. I couldn't help wondering what this man was doing with his cartoon wife. But that's real life for you. Married couples often seem mismatched.

“I believe you were abroad when Sani died,” I said.

Orhan raised one eyebrow, clearly curious as to how I knew this.

“I'm working on several construction projects abroad at the moment,” he said. “I'm away for two weeks of every month, sometimes three.”

“In the Balkans?” I asked.

“The Balkans or Russia. What difference does it make?” he said.

“None at all,” I said. “Except that I thought you might have some connection with the TLF.”

I admit it was a strange link to make, but I was trying to startle him by posing questions that caught him off guard – a tactic that was usually successful, as you'll have noticed. However, if Orhan was startled, he gave no sign of it.

“In that case, anyone doing business in the Balkans is under suspicion,” he laughed.

Why didn't he ask what the TLF was?

“Do you think the TLF might have been involved in Sani's death?” I asked.

“If you can explain your reasons for thinking that anyone at all was involved in Sani's death, I'll try to be of help.”

Ah, of course, he thought Sani's death was the result of an accident, like everyone else. The ripples of that press statement had spread far and wide. I explained how she had died.

“So you're saying that someone was with Sani when she died,” said Orhan, rubbing his temples.

“Who would you suspect, given the situation?” I asked.

“Definitely not the TLF,” he said. “How did you find out about the TLF, anyway? Did Naz tell you?”

I shook my head in an ambiguous manner that could have indicated yes or no.

“It was Naz, wasn't it?” said Orhan. “Actually, it doesn't matter how you found out.”

“Is the TLF involved in this?” I asked.

“Goodness, no,” said Orhan, laughing as if it was a ridiculous idea. “I have no idea what you've been told about the TLF, but I can assure you that we're not a gang of murderers. If Naz suggested in any way that we could have been involved in Sani's death, then…Well, that would be very strange.”

“But the TLF is a secret organization,” I said.

“There's nothing secret about it at all. In fact, we're about to publish a journal, but Naz wouldn't know about that. The first edition's coming out next month,” said Orhan, rummaging through a pile of magazines and papers on the coffee table. “There's a draft here somewhere. You should take a look at it. We're a group of professionals – architects, economists, doctors and environmental engineers and so on – and we all write under our own names. Do you think anyone intending to commit murder would write articles for such a magazine?”

“But a regional body like that…” I muttered, feeling very confused.

“If the people of Erzincan can have a Citizens' Association, why shouldn't the people of Thrace?” said Orhan.

“Did you always intend to publish a journal?” I asked.

“No, not exactly. Let's just say that, at one time, we got a bit carried away with our ideas and dreams of preserving our identity as Thracians.”

“Mmm, dreams can…” I said and stopped, not knowing what more to say.

“I want to show you something,” said Orhan. “Let's go for a drive.”

We'd actually seen all there was to see and heard all there was to hear, so I had no wish to go out into the cold.

“Fine,” I said.

We didn't speak again until all three of us were seated in the Audi parked outside Orhan's house. I sat in the front next to him.

“What are you going to show us?” I asked.

“Nothing, but I didn't want to discuss this in front of my wife,” said Orhan. “All this hasn't exactly been good for our marriage.”

Aha! Was this an admission of his relationship with Sani?

“I'm sorry. We shouldn't have come to your house,” I said.

“Simin's aware of what's been going on, of course, but accepting it is another matter,” said Orhan. “And it's better if the neighbours don't hear about it.”

I nodded.

“So your relationship with Sani was back on,” I said.

This time Orhan nodded.

“Since when?” I asked.

“A few months ago.”

What did he mean by a few months?

“How many month ago?” I asked.

“It started around April or May.”

So a few months meant five months.

“You arranged for Sani to rent that house, didn't you?” I asked.

“She had no money. When she left her husband, she was penniless and homeless. I offered to find her somewhere to live,” said Orhan. “I searched everywhere and eventually found this house right opposite us. I didn't think anyone would remember that she was an ex-girlfriend of mine. How was I supposed to know that people have memories like elephants?”

“It's natural for people to be interested in the private lives, past or present, of people like the Ankaralıgils,” I said.

“I realize that now.”

“How did you meet up again?” I asked, out of curiosity.

“I wanted to speak to Sani in connection with the TLF,” said Orhan. “Naz wasn't interested, but we thought we could get Sani onside.”

“Was she with her husband at that time?”

“They split up a few months later,” he said.

“Exactly how many months later?”

There was something strange about Orhan's use of the term “a few months”.

“If I'm not mistaken, I spoke to her in February, maybe January,” he said.

“Sani left her husband in March.”

“It had nothing to do with me,” said Orhan, obviously realizing what I was thinking.

Was this really credible?

“She was with someone else at the time.”

“Who?” I asked.

“A young singer. But he wasn't the reason she left her husband,” said Orhan. “Her marriage with Cem was an open relationship and Sani had a regular turnover of lovers. At least, that's what I was told.”

It was the first time I'd heard anything about an “open relationship”.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“That's what Sani told me. They both had relationships with other people.”

I turned to look at Fofo.

“Did she ever mention her husband's sexual preferences?” asked Fofo.

“Are you asking if I knew that Cem Ankaralıgil was gay?” asked Orhan.

“Did you hear it from Sani?” I asked.

“A lot more people knew about it than the Ankaralıgil family realized,” said Orhan. “I told Sani that, but she insisted it was a big secret. They'd got married to conceal Cem's homosexuality.”

“Sani told you that?” asked Fofo.

“Of course Sani told me. I have better things to do than waste my time in Istanbul listening to society gossip.”

“Did she say why she suddenly decided to get a divorce?” I asked.

“Haven't you found that out yet?” said Orhan.

“She didn't talk to anyone other than you,” I said.

“Sani didn't trust anyone. She was perfect material for that kind of marriage. Nobody could ever get a word out of her,” said Orhan.

“Apart from you,” I said.

“We'd known each other very well for a long time, which I regard as something of a privilege,” said Orhan.

“Why did she want a divorce?” This time it was Fofo who asked.

“Sani had a cousin whom she cared for a great deal. He's called Tunca, and is the son of the uncle she grew up with,” explained Orhan.

“The boy who was born after Sani went to live with her uncle?” I said, remembering that Naz had mentioned him to me.

“He's eighteen or nineteen now,” said Orhan.

“Ah!” said Fofo. “Did Cem have a relationship with Tunca?”

How had Fofo worked that out?

“A friendship would have been fine, but Cem came on to him,” said Orhan.

“But everyone says what a good person Cem is,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to digest this piece of information.

“You obviously haven't met Cem Ankaralıgil. He's like a child. Very naive and innocent,” said Orhan.

“What kind of innocence is that?” I cried. Why did I have such difficulty comprehending situations since I'd given up smoking?