Divorce Turkish Style (5 page)

“What about money? Or gold?”

“No. What would money and gold be doing here? This is an association.”

“What kind of association? I've never heard of it before.”

“An environmental association. We fight environmental pollution.”

“No offence,” said the short officer, covering his mouth to hide a smirk, “but wouldn't you do better to fight poverty and let environmental pollution wait its turn?”

“Each to their own,” said the secretary stiffly, obviously in tacit agreement. Everything about her demeanour suggested that she regarded environmental issues as no more than an amusement for the rich. “But it's my bread and butter. I work here.”

“Whoever's in charge here needs to come to the station and make a complaint,” said the tall policeman. “Then forensics will be sent to take fingerprints. But don't get your hopes up. We rarely get a result.”

“Because most burglars take the precaution of wearing gloves,” said the other, still smirking.

“But there's something unusual about this,” I said, despite my intention to remain silent. “There could be evidence of a possible homicide on those computers.”

“Does this lady work here too?” asked the short officer, addressing the secretary.

For some reason, nobody had yet asked who I was.

“I came to sign up as a member of the association,” I said.

“Are you an environmentalist?” asked the officer.

“Yes,” I replied.

Both officers looked at me as if that explained everything.

“What's the homicide that the lady referred to?” asked the short one, again addressing the secretary.

“I know nothing about any homicide,” said the bewildered woman.

“Possible homicide,” I corrected. “This is the head office of an association of which the late Sani Ankaralıgil was president.”

“Ankaralıgil? You mean of the industrialist Ankaralıgils?”

“She's the daughter-in-law. The press said on Friday that her body had been found at her house.”

The two officers exchanged glances, then the short one looked at me as if to say “Bingo!” and the other took out his mobile.

“Police Constable Gündüz here. Put me through to the superintendent,” he said, his voice becoming more serious as he continued. “Good day, Commander. Police Constable Serkan and I visited the scene of the incident, sir. The perpetrators had fled… Yes, sir. But there's a matter I'd like to discuss with you, sir. A lady here…” The officer turned towards me and asked, “What's your name, lady?”

“Kati Hirschel,” I said, wondering how I'd managed to get mixed up with such matters yet again.

“Ms Kati Hirshem—”

“Kati Hirschel,” I corrected.

The officer waved his hand as if to indicate that it was of no consequence.

“She said that the crime scene here is the office of Sani Ankaralıgil, whose body was found at her home the other day. It's an environmental association, sir.” Turning to the secretary, the officer asked, “What's the name of this association?”

“GreTur. Short for Green Turkey,” said the secretary.

“The name is GreTur, short for Green Turkey, sir,” repeated the policeman. “The computers have gone, sir. And some documents may also have been taken. There's one employee here, sir.” He paused and nodded as if he was listening to instructions in full view of his superintendent and continued, “Yes sir. Will do, sir.”

The policeman then hung up and said, “My superintendent will inform the officers investigating the death of Sani Ankaralıgil. We must all remain here until they arrive.”

“Us too?” asked Fofo, anxiously. I hadn't heard a peep out of him for a while, and was missing the sound of his voice.

“We must all remain here,” repeated Constable Serkan.

“Would it be okay if I moved the papers off this chair and sat down?” I asked.

“Nothing is to be touched,” said both officers in unison.

“Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Sit here. I'll send out for some tea,” said the young secretary thoughtfully, offering me her chair.

“If they do toasted sandwiches, could you order some? On me, of course,” I said. “When do you think the other officers will arrive?”

“It'll take a while,” said Gündüz.

It was almost an hour before the officers investigating the death of Sani Ankaralıgil arrived. We waited in silence, trying not to touch anything. Every so often, the secretary looked at me as if wanting to ask a question, but when our eyes met she looked away and continued staring out of the window. Was it because she didn't want to speak in front of the police officers? Or was there some other reason?

As for me, I spent the time watching the two policemen chain-smoke. Having given up the habit eight months previously, I couldn't decide whether to ask for a cigarette or convince myself that smoking was no remedy for the boredom I was experiencing. Unfortunately, I hadn't thought of putting a book in my bag when we rushed out of the shop.

We were all just about at the end of our tether when the door opened.

“Oh no!” I thought.

Was it good luck or misfortune that out of all the detectives in Istanbul who could have been leading the murder investigation, it had to be him?

Yes, you've guessed correctly. It was Batuhan.

I hadn't seen him for about four years, but he looked as fit as ever. He had a few grey hairs around the temples, which was only to be expected, and a slight paunch, but only very slight. Islamic Turks wear wedding rings on their right hand, secular Turks on their left, so I looked at both hands, in case unbeknownst to me Batuhan had undergone a religious conversion. Neither hand sported a wedding ring.

“Kati Hanım, so you're here too. You've beaten us to yet another incident in the Tünel district,” he said, and laughed out loud.

Fofo, the police officers and the secretary looked at us in amazement.

“Is this
the
Superintendent Batuhan?” asked Fofo.

“Homicide Detective Commander,” said Batuhan.

“So you've been promoted,” I said. “Congratulations.”

Since it was me rather than him who'd solved the two murder cases on which we'd collaborated, I couldn't help thinking that, had I been a member of the police force, I too might have been promoted to a senior rank at Police HQ by now.

Supposing I had been promoted, what then? Would I have been a happier person? I didn't think so. I could never forget the police raids in Berlin, when they tried to force us to vacate the properties we'd occupied. However, I had to admit that Batuhan was an exception.

Homicide officers were different anyway. Even in films it was obvious that the smartest and most proficient candidates were cherry-picked for this department.

“You haven't changed at all,” said Batuhan. “It must be over three years since we last saw each other.”

“I believe so,” I said.

Batuhan turned towards the other officers, who were still
gazing at us in bewilderment, and asked, “Are you from Karaköy Police Station?”

“Yes, sir,” said Gündüz.

“You can send me your report. Return to your duties now,” said Batuhan. Then, looking at Fofo and the secretary, he asked, “Do you work here?”

“Fofo works at my shop,” I said, placing a proprietorial hand on my friend's shoulder.

“I work here,” said the secretary, the colour draining from her face.

“What's your connection with this incident, Kati?”

“We have no connection. We just read about it in the press.”

“You read about it in the press and thought, ‘Ha, I'll bag that one. Another murder waiting for me to solve.' Is that it?”

“Who said anything about murder?” asked the secretary. “It was an accident, wasn't it? Sani Hanım slipped, didn't she?”

The three of us pretended not to hear her.

“Wait outside, all of you,” ordered Batuhan. “We need to conduct a search of the place. I'll speak to you when we've finished.”

“We haven't touched anything,” I said.

“Maybe. But you've been walking about, drinking tea, opening windows, smoking, and so on.”

“I've given up smoking,” I said.

As we filed out, Batuhan leaned into the corridor and summoned three men wearing jackets with “incident scene analysis” written on the back.

We lined up in the dark corridor of the business centre like a row of suspects.

“What makes you think Sani Hanım was killed?” whispered the secretary in my ear.

“I didn't say she was killed. I said she might have been. There's a big difference.”

“Okay, but what made you say that?”

“We're just talking about a possibility. Why are you so upset?”

“I liked Sani Hanım,” she said. “It's terrible if she's been killed. Of course I'm upset.”

Not only was she not an aggrieved secretary, she was actually on good terms with her employer. It certainly wasn't my day for character assessment.

Batuhan reappeared with a small notebook in his hand, and addressed the secretary.

“What's your job at the association?”

“I'm the secretary. I take care of all the calls and correspondence.”

The poor woman spoke as if her role as secretary was indispensable, when all she did was answer the phone and write a few letters.

“Your name?”

“Sevim Mercan.”

“Can you tell us what's been stolen, Sevim Hanım?”

“They took the computers. But I don't know what else has gone, because everything's been scattered all over the place.”

“What was in the computer files? Did you make backups?”

“It was all stuff to do with the association. Sani Hanım didn't go anywhere without her laptop. She never wrote anything by hand, even claimed to have difficulty signing her name. All correspondence was put on her computer.”

“So Sani Hanım had a laptop.”

“It might be at her house,” said Sevim, giving Batuhan a questioning look. When Batuhan didn't respond, she added, “It's a Toshiba.”

Batuhan remained silent as he wrote something in his notebook, and then asked, “What happens at this association? What does GreTur mean?”

“It's an abbreviation of Green Turkey,” said Sevim, and continued as if reciting a memorized text. “We're fighting environmental pollution. As well as planting trees, we seek to have penalties imposed on factories that pollute the environment and to make the installation of purification plants compulsory. We're trying to get parliament to pass an environment bill that complies with European standards. The main focus of our work has been against the pollution in the Ergene Basin.”

“Is that so? What about Yatağan and Dilovası? Why the Ergene Basin?” asked Batuhan.

Sevim stopped her little speech to think of an answer, then replied, “Probably because Sani Hanım's from Lüleburgaz, and her family still lives there. She used to say the Ergene Basin would become as bad as Dilovası.”

“Was it just you and Sani Hanım working at the association?” asked Batuhan.

“Sani Hanım was president, and there's Aylin Aköz, our vice-president. There are three of us.”

“Can I have Aylin Aköz's phone number?”

“Aylin Hanım went abroad after the funeral. I'll give you her number, but I don't know it from memory. I need my handbag.”

“Recep, bring me the lady's bag, will you?” called Batuhan to one of the officers working in the office.

“It's on my desk,” said Sevim.

When the bag arrived, Sevim gave Batuhan mobile numbers for both Aylin Aköz and her husband.

“Where do you live, Sevim Hanım?” asked Batuhan.

“In Bakırköy.”

“I need your full address, for the report.”

“Altıkuyular Road, Mektep Street, number 21/6.”

“And would you also give me your phone number? Then you can go.”

Since I couldn't take notes under Batuhan's watchful eye, I memorized the secretary's phone number. At some point, I'd need to talk to her without any police hovering over us. The numbers for Aylin Aköz and her husband could always be found through directory enquiries.

“Now it's your turn,” said Batuhan, turning to us as soon as the secretary entered the lift to leave the building. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, ages. I've lost all track of time,” I laughed.

Batuhan laughed too. He looked very handsome when he laughed. Some things never change. However, other things do. He was clearly not quite as well disposed towards me as he'd been in the past.