by Oliver Tidy
‘Maybe I’m just very good.’
‘If you were very good you wouldn’t be wasting valuable time and have every law enforcement officer in Istanbul looking for you.’
Sansom wasn’t in the mood to listen to the criticisms of a man who he believed knew or cared little for how events were unfolding. He said, ‘I can’t talk now.’ and rang off. The soldier reflected that Smith was remarkably well – and quickly – informed for a man fifteen-hundred miles away. Smith had probably got what he wanted anyway, confirmation that Sansom was alive and at liberty.
He was halfway through his meal when his phone rang again – Eda’s number was illuminated on the screen. He knocked his fork clattering to the floor in his haste to answer, raising his hand apologetically to those who looked around at the disturbance.
‘Eda? Are you all right?’
‘This isn’t Eda, obviously,’ said a male voice in good but heavily-accented English. ‘Eda has asked me to call you. I’m a good friend of hers. Of course, you will wonder whether you can believe and trust what I say. She said that you would naturally be suspicious. She has simply asked me to pass some information on to you. Whether you accept it or not is up to you. Frankly, if you are anything to do with the trouble that she is in, you should hope that we never meet. I’m only doing this as a favour to her.’
Sansom was quickly tiring of being threatened by people. ‘How is she? What’s happened to her?’
‘How do you think she is?’ said the man. ‘She hasn’t been arrested,’ he added, in a less hostile tone. ‘Eda is being interviewed at the police station, giving her statement. She has a good lawyer. They don’t have any evidence to hold her with or charge her, yet. She has asked me to pass some information on to you, as I said. Whether you accept it or not is up to you. She said that your friend has gone on holiday to Bodrum.’
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said Sansom. ‘Where is it?’
‘You must be one of the few English who hasn’t,’ said the caller. ‘It’s on the south coast.’
‘Of Turkey?’
‘Yes, of Turkey.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sansom. ‘Will you give her a message for me?’
‘No,’ said the man. ‘I will not. I suggest that you stay away from her.’ He hung up.
*
Thirty minutes later Sansom was sitting in the Audi and he had decided his next move. He had transport, which he gambled would not be reported as missing. He felt it was a risk worth taking when measured against his travel options. Flying would be too dangerous and public transport would be too problematic. In any case, he would soon be clear of Istanbul and more importantly its police. And the Audi had satellite navigation. He activated it, holding his breath, exhaling gratefully when he was welcomed in English. He typed in his destination and received information on his route, distance and projected journey time. He checked his watch. If he drove through the night he would probably arrive sometime around noon the following day.
He stared ahead into the darkness. Bodrum – things could have been worse.
***
11
Detective Inspector Tallis spent much of his night on the telephone and then packing. He was a good policeman who’d had a tough year. There was nothing in his workload that couldn’t be shifted across to a brother officer. His Super had no qualms about granting him some leave with immediate effect for personal reasons. That done, he organised himself a last-minute, open-ended and extortionately-priced flight to Istanbul, scheduled to leave the following morning. Unable to sleep, he then sat in his favourite armchair, with his favourite tipple (a single malt whisky) and his pipe, reserved for his more tranquil and prolonged periods of contemplation. He sat and tried to imagine what he would do when he arrived in Turkey.
*
Eda spent much of her night in a police interview room wearing a disposable all-in-one suit provided by the authorities. She answered more questions, was physically examined by both medical and forensic officers, and then made a statement. She then sat alone for what seemed like hours before her lawyer decided that she had been helpful enough and that the police could either charge or release her. With the evidence, or rather lack of it, they were obliged to release her. When she returned to her apartment building, unable to face her own flat, she took the key to her friend’s from her bag, let herself in and showered for a long time. She borrowed a towelling robe and, unable to sleep, poured herself a glass of wine left over from the previous night, lit one of her cigarettes and curled herself up in a chair. She cursed herself for forgetting to retrieve her mobile phone from her lawyer. Unable to contact Sansom, she instead reflected on what had happened that day and worried about the next.
*
Sansom spent most of his night driving. He stopped at a petrol station on the outskirts of Istanbul to fill the Audi with fuel, buy energy foods and water, and withdraw as much cash as he could from the ATM. He then settled into the comfort of the luxury vehicle and pulled out into the light traffic. The prospect of the long drive did not perturb him. On the contrary, in his past life he had enjoyed driving, especially solo long-distance trips. He found that it gave him the opportunity to think and unwind, and he needed to do both.
*
Victor Botha slept little and restlessly that night, despite his pleasant distractions – a multi-million-pound yacht, an open calm sea, cordon bleu cuisine, fine wines and the company of his wife and children, to whom he was devoted. He was also waited on by staff and protected by a team of the best of his own security. Yet his mood reflected none of his trappings.
He listened in stony silence as his head of security briefed him on the unfolding events of the last few days. He stood up and paced when he learned that three of his men had been killed – the first had finally succumbed to his wound – by some as-yet-unknown assassin who was still on the loose. He shouted and bawled when he learned what the assassin claimed to be his objective.
He sat in the lounge of the main cabin, an expensive Cuban cigar clamped in one hand with a cut glass tumbler of fine cognac, and a telephone in the other. The Istanbul police officer on his payroll, to whom he was speaking, was left in no doubt regarding his own future should the mystery killer remain at liberty for much longer.
*
Smith slept well that night. He slept the sleep of the untroubled, of the seasoned manipulator of people and circumstance, who had long since ceased to allow his work to interrupt his periods of rest. This state was achieved through the meticulous care and extreme lengths to which he would go to maintain an official outward appearance of distance from whatever unsavoury episode he was involved in, thus ultimately and always ensuring deniability. Not everything that Smith became embroiled in turned out quite as he had hoped – one could never plan for every eventuality, especially when people were involved – however, one could make sure that loose ends were tied and no paths of investigation would ever lead to his office door. He was a careful man. One did not last long in his business unless one was very, very careful and one got one’s rest.
*
Eda awoke late in her friend’s bed and for a moment or two felt rested and relaxed. And then the memories of the previous day flooded into her consciousness, sending her spirits plummeting. She curled herself up and wished it away like a bad dream. The longer she lay there the worse she felt until, unable to bear it any longer, she threw back the covers and dragged herself off for her morning rituals – coffee, cigarette and shower.
An hour later, her mood was little improved. Hanging over her thoughts like a wet blanket was the mess in her own flat that she still had to face. The police had told her they had finished their analysis of the crime scene and that she could clear up when she liked. It was something she neither wanted to do nor leave until later.
Outside her apartment door, she found the building’s door-keeper, who she suspected had been loitering for her arrival. He was a great admirer of her father and felt protective towards, and genuine affection for, Eda. He
wouldn’t entertain the idea that she should clean up the detritus of the previous day’s unsavoury events. It would, he impressed upon her, be his duty and honour to spare her such unpleasantness. Grateful beyond words, she embraced him for this kindness.
Averting her eyes from the mess of the living room, she visited her apartment only long enough to change her clothes, make a few phone calls and collect some items. Fifteen minutes later she was threading her way anxiously through Istanbul traffic towards her lawyer’s offices and her mobile telephone.
*
Sansom arrived in Bodrum in the early afternoon. The events of the previous day and the hours of non-stop driving had combined to catch up with him in the small hours of the morning, when he had suddenly become emotionally and physically exhausted. He had found a quiet spot off the main road and dozed fitfully for a while. As dawn began to break around him, he realised that he would get no more sleep and pressed on.
He drove into the centre of town searching for an underground car park to hide the Audi. He didn’t want to abandon it just yet and he didn’t want it on show. He found what he was looking for in a busy tourist district, took a ticket from the man in the booth, chose a half-concealed parking bay in one corner and, after carefully wiping down surfaces he had touched, walked away.
He found a street of cheap nondescript small hotels and then spent time visiting several before he found somewhere suitable. The desk clerk gave Sansom the impression that the establishment was his own. There couldn’t be many hoteliers who would employ an unshaven, vest-wearing, cigarette-smoking frontman for their business.
Sansom paid cash for a week in advance. At the mention of identification, he produced two hundred-lira notes – double what he had just paid for his stay. A paper trail was not something that he sought to encourage now. The man hesitated for a moment before reaching out a grubby hand for the money. Sansom withdrew it, tore the notes in half, gave two to the man and tucked the others inside his top pocket. The man smiled understanding at him, exposing a set of discoloured, uneven teeth. He passed a room key across to Sansom and pointed towards a narrow unlit stairwell. Sansom felt the man’s eyes on his back as he walked away. His belief in human greed gave him confidence that the man would not be reaching for the telephone, but one could never be certain.
*
Mr Tallis, a single mature Englishman on holiday in Istanbul, followed the directions given by the airport information desk that would take him to the Havaș bus service. For a meagre ten lira, it would transport him with dozens of other holidaymakers to the centre of the city.
Having tracked the man he had had in custody and then lost, he felt a small satisfaction at being once again close to Sansom. However, he soon realised such a notion was essentially ridiculous because on the plane he had been reading how Istanbul was one of the most densely-populated cities in the world. That statistic alone, coupled with the fact that Sansom clearly wasn’t expecting to be found, brought to mind images of needles and haystacks. Still, he reasoned, he was here and so was his man. It was a start. He owed it to others to be positive, hopeful and thorough. He knew something of what the soldier was here for and he was, after all, an experienced detective. He was also mindful of the fact that he was here in no official capacity; he had no authority and no jurisdiction. He was essentially a holidaymaker and alone, and he needed to remember that.
*
Eda tried Sansom’s mobile phone once again, let it ring until the answering service cut in and then terminated the call. She had already left two messages. Her dinner companion – her lawyer and family friend – read the concern on her face as he returned to the table from the restroom.
‘No answer?’ he said. She shook her head. ‘There could be a number of reasons why he isn’t picking up.’
‘I know. Ordinarily I wouldn’t be worried about such things. But this is not ordinary.’ She resumed picking at her salad without enthusiasm.
The lawyer tried again: ‘Eda, you really must take my advice seriously and follow it. From what you’ve told me, this man is exceptionally dangerous. You’re already in a great deal of trouble. You could go to jail for a very long time for what you’ve conspired in.’
She met his urgent gaze and held it to affect what she had to say to him. ‘He probably saved my life last night. He didn’t have to.’
The lawyer put down his fork. It clattered on the plate. ‘This whole business that you’ve got yourself mixed up in is…’ he fumbled for the right words, gesturing with his arms, ‘…is idiotic. What do you really hope to achieve by standing up so openly to a man as powerful and immoral as Botha?’ He cast a look around at their fellow diners. Perhaps he was speaking too loudly. He steadied himself for what he had to say to her then. ‘Eda, I’ve spoken with your father this morning.’
Her eyes flared at him. ‘What? You had no right to do that.’
‘Don’t be so naive,’ he said, thirty years her senior and starting to act it. ‘Of course I had to inform your father of what you had got yourself into. It’s him who pays my fees, remember, and it is to him that I answer.’
‘What did you tell him, exactly?’
The lawyer sighed and relaxed a little. ‘I told him the truth – that you are potentially in a great deal of trouble.’
‘Did you tell him about Sansom?’
The man shook his head. ‘I told him what he needed to know for now. You know your father. Details are not what interest him. He’s a busy man.’ Instantly, he regretted this last remark. The admission that a father would be too busy to concern himself with the details of a double murder in his daughter’s apartment was further evidence of the lack of relationship between them.
In an exasperated tone, the lawyer said, ‘I wish you two would sort out your differences. Hasn’t it gone on long enough?’ Eda ignored this remark and reached for her cigarettes. ‘Your father was most concerned, Eda,’ continued the lawyer, trying to recover something. Eda made a face, indicating what she thought of that. ‘He has instructed me to insist that you distance yourself from whatever you have become mixed up in. You are to follow my advice and cooperate fully with the authorities in their investigations.’
The lawyer’s whole demeanour hinted at his lack of optimism that Eda would do as she was told, but he had to carry out his instructions. His instructions, in fact – from a proud, bitterly disappointed and unforgiving father – had merely been that he deal with it. His last speech to Eda, he had completely fabricated to that end.
Eda stared at her plate for a moment longer and deflated. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s too dangerous. It’s not my fight and he’s not my responsibility.’
The lawyer brightened. ‘Excellent,’ he said, pleased beyond measure at his success. ‘Then the first thing that we must do is to go to the authorities and tell them the truth about what happened last night. You must tell them everything about this man and how he has used you.’ Eda, subdued, nodded, her eyes still on her plate. ‘Your father still has powerful connections within the establishment. Any difficulties, I’m sure he will be able to assist,’ he added.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said. ‘Let me go to the bathroom and then we can go to the police.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said the lawyer.
Eda retrieved her bag from the seat next to her and left for the restrooms. As she moved away, she heard the lawyer calling for the bill. She pushed through the double doors that led to the toilets, passed the door to the ladies’ and followed the corridor to a fire escape door that opened out on to the car park. The door was wedged open. A couple of waiters taking a cigarette break eyed her suspiciously as she emerged.
‘My date is boring the hell out of me,’ she said. They smiled back, appreciating her style.
Back in her car, she tried Sansom’s phone again. It rang twice and was answered.
*
Sansom plugged the charger into the wall socket, annoyed at himself beyond words for allowing the phone to have run out of batte
ry. He inputted the phone’s pin code and the colourful display of his mobile phone sprang to life. Then it began ringing.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a little more cautious,’ said Smith, apparently holding no resentment for the way that the phone call of the previous evening had been terminated. ‘I’ll get straight to the point: we are more than a little concerned at the way that you’re going about this. Your methods are showing, shall we say, a lack of finesse?’
‘My methods at the moment are purely reactionary, driven by events. I’m improvising. Things became a little out of my control, that’s all.’
‘That’s all,’ repeated Smith. ‘Three men are dead and the target is now fully aware of your presence and intentions. Not to mention that you also have the whole of the Istanbul police force looking for you.’ He sighed, theatrically. ‘We are beginning to wonder if we haven’t made a mistake in recruiting you. Perhaps you’ve just been out of the military way of thinking for too long. Are you going to be a liability for us?’
Sansom’s temper was even when he replied, ‘Surely, you know yourself, as ex-military, that once a soldier, always a soldier. The ball is back with me, so you can stop worrying about whether I’m up to this. Remember, I have a lot more invested in it than you have.’
‘Years of experience, laddie,’ said Smith, ‘have taught me that the only kind of investment that counts for anything in this sort of operation is financial. Emotional is always a hindrance.’
‘Was there anything else?’ said Sansom.
‘Give me an idea of what you propose now. Where are you?’
‘You don’t know?’ said Sansom. He tried Smith out, ‘Istanbul, of course.’
‘Really?’ said Smith. ‘If we are going to assist each other, we are going to have to trust each other, and that will mean a certain amount of honesty. Understand? It might be difficult for us to continue to help otherwise. Think about it – seriously this time.’ Smith terminated the call.