by Joseph Kanon
“Just what you needed then,” Leon said.
“You’re making fun of me, but it’s true, so why not say it? And of course so implausible. A man like that. A great love? How can you imagine it? So maybe a local woman and he’s leaving her? Or an American friend. Just a cinq à sept, but now jealous. But someone.”
“You’re a romantic, Lily,” Leon said.
“And you’re not? Everyone, I think, if they’re lucky. But this time, unlucky. I admit, to think of Tommy King as a lover—”
“Maybe it wasn’t about him. Maybe he just got in the way,” Kay said.
Leon looked at her, surprised, his mind’s eye suddenly back on the landing, tracking bullets, positions, playing it out again. If you see a chessboard from the other side, Alexei said. But nothing changed. It had only happened one way.
“You’re always reading things like that in books,” Kay said. “People see something they shouldn’t. Or they just happen to be—”
“But it’s terrible, no? A murder by accident. Not even interesting enough to be a victim. Just someone—in the way. Better, I think, the widow. Those hands.”
“He was shot, Lily.”
“The trigger, then. No problem, je t’assure. Listen. Again.”
A new arrival, Barbara in tears.
“Only the guilty cry like that.”
“Don’t have too much fun with this,” Leon said.
Lily lowered her head, reprimanded. “It’s true. Still a death.” She looked up at Kay. “But you’ll come to my party?”
“Of course. Thank you.”
“Maybe he’ll be there. Whoever it is.”
“What an idea,” Leon said.
“Why not? Maybe here too. Someone he knew. Not a stranger. It has to be.”
“Why?”
“Who goes to a place like that to meet a stranger? Someone he knew. And the shot was close.”
“How do you know that?” Leon said, alert.
Lily shrugged. “People talk.”
“People in the police?”
“People. I told you, nobody talks of anything else. Except here, maybe. Where you all want to think it’s a thief.”
Involuntarily Leon looked across the room. Frank had reached the drinks table, then made a half turn as the man with the moustache introduced himself. Polite, formal, maybe innocuous. Lily was asking Kay about her plans, a background noise as Leon fixed on the other conversation, too far away to hear. Coming out of Marina’s building. A client? Why Frank? Then Frank looked over, a nod in Leon’s direction, as if he were pointing him out.
“The hotel can arrange for a guide,” Lily was saying to Kay. “Of course, if Leon’s free—he knows it so well. Not the shopping, though. It was Anna who knew the shops.”
“Anna?”
“My wife,” Leon said.
“Oh,” Kay said, not expecting this. But she must have seen the ring. “She’s not here?”
“She’s been ill.”
“I’m sorry. Something serious?”
“Une maladie des nerfs,” Lily said. “A terrible thing. A long time now. But perhaps soon—”
“That’s the hope,” Leon said, cutting her off. “Frank has my number, if you’d like to see anything,” he said as Frank joined them.
Kay raised her head to say more, then nodded, letting it go.
“I’m sure you’ll be busy at the office,” Frank said. “She can use Cook’s. Nice if you could spot her a meal though.”
Kay shot him a quick, irritated glance.
Leon made a little half bow. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said, taking her hand.
“Yes,” she said, polite again. “And to the party,” she said to Lily.
“So—” Frank said, impatient now to go.
But Kay waited another second, looking at Leon. “Thanks. For the layers.”
He watched them say good-bye to Barbara.
“You’re interested in that girl?” Lily said.
“I just met her.”
“That’s your answer? To that question?”
“No,” he said, a formal answer. “Don’t play cupid. I’m too old.”
“Oh, old. She’s interested in you.”
“I’m married.”
Lily sighed. “Your faithfulness. So American. A Turk—”
“Would go to a teahouse and play cards.”
Lily laughed. “Yes, perhaps. Only up here.” She touched her head. “But you watched her. I saw. And she likes you.”
“You could tell all this in five minutes.”
“Two. And that husband. Ouf.”
“Well, that’s her problem.” He looked at her. “I’m married. So were you. Devoted. Everyone says so.”
“Of course,” she said easily. “He was the love of my life. And Anna was yours. But that’s not all there is in life. It’s unnatural, your faithfulness.”
“Not to me.”
She looked up at him, then put her hand on his arm, smiling a little. “As you like. But she’s interested. She wants to know you.”
“Know me.”
“Women like to know. Detectives.”
“And do you find out?”
“Eventually.” She patted his arm. “That’s the disappointing part. Oh no, more waterworks.” She nodded toward Barbara. “I should go. A mercy for both of us, I think.”
“She’s just had too much to drink. It’s a hard day for her.”
“You think so?” She turned to him. “It’s an odd thing, men. We know you, and you don’t know anything about us. She’s not upset. Why would she be? Oh, the inconvenience maybe.”
“Then so much for your crime passionnel.”
“Well, it’s amusing to think that. A man like that. With a woman. But of course it was political,” she said, matter of fact. “You know he was with the American—what do they call it, secret service, like the British, I suppose.”
“What?”
“Well, everybody was a little, weren’t they? During the war,” she said, waiting for Leon to respond to this.
“Not everybody.”
“No? All right. But Tommy—Hans Beckman always said so. You remember him, in the German consulate? He knew because he was in theirs. How, I don’t know. The most indiscreet man. Of course, they lost the war, so maybe that’s why.”
“Lily,” he said, drawing out the sound.
“Well, but it’s interesting, no? Spies. Spying on what? Each other. But now Hans is gone, all the Germans. Tommy goes home, with the faithful Barbara. So why now? That’s the question, n’est-ce pas? Some episode during the war maybe. And now it comes back. The Germans remember things. So maybe somebody’s still fighting. I don’t know.”
“You sound as if it doesn’t matter.”
“This business? Oh, during the war, yes, everything matters then. Now maybe not so much. One death. How important, really? In the scheme of things.” She paused. “Such a look. You think I’m terrible. It matters to you so much, this death?”
He turned his head, at a loss. Barbara crying across the room, maybe more upset than Lily imagined. Something you didn’t replace. Taken away with the pull of a trigger. His.
“I know,” she said, “we’re supposed to feel that. But in a month or two? Already something in the past. Time—it’s different here. You know I came to Istanbul as a slave. A slave. I had no idea then. It was just the way things were. They gave us new names, all the girls. Poetical names. Youthful Grace. Ever Young. I was Dilruba, Captor of Hearts. Well, so they hoped. Dili, my friends called me. Then after, I changed again. Lily. Then Refik’s name. And you think, well, life, all these things that happen, it feels like yesterday. But really, a long time ago. A slave. Imagine how long ago that was. Another time.”
He was quiet for a second, then smiled. “Captor of Hearts.”
“Yes, but not the one they expected. So who knows? Maybe something unexpected here too. A crime passionnel after all.” She looked toward Barbara. “Well, I’ll say good-bye and leave Niobe to her
grief.”
As she dropped her hand, the man against the wall started moving through the crowd.
“What Hans told me, that’s just for you,” she said. “Not that it matters now. Everyone will know soon.”
“Why?”
“It’s bound to come out. When they find who did it. Unless they keep it quiet. They always try, don’t they? Still, there’ll be something. Now don’t forget. Bring your friend to the party,” she said quickly, already moving away.
The man from the wall was making eye contact now. As he got closer, oddly, the moustache disappeared, another trick of the light. His face was dark with stubble, someone who shaved twice a day, but no moustache, the man on the tram again.
“Mr. Bauer?” he said, there at last. “May I introduce myself? Colonel Altan.”
Leon nodded.
“I thought perhaps we might have a cigarette together. Would you mind?”
“Outside, you mean?”
Altan moved his arm, after you, expecting Leon to move.
“Are you with the police?”
“No. Please.” Extending the arm again, now more than a suggestion.
They moved to the door, weaving through the crowd.
“A sad occasion,” Altan said. “A very popular man.”
Leon said nothing, waiting until they reached the street, then offered him a cigarette. “Colonel in what?” he said, lighting it.
“Emniyet,” Altan said simply.
“I thought you never announced yourselves.”
“A courtesy. To foreign guests.”
“To put us at ease. Talking to State Security.”
“Mr. Bauer, we are not Gestapo.”
“No, but not just police, either. Is this an official visit?”
“Not yet.”
Leon looked at him, trying to stay calm. Emniyet could do anything, detain you indefinitely, revoke a visa. Not Gestapo, no knocks on the door in the night, but just as privileged.
“How can I help you?”
“You had drinks with Mr. King the night before he died. What did you talk about?”
“His going home, mostly. He was looking forward to that.”
“He didn’t like Turkey?”
“No, not that. His job here was over. Now he had a new one, that’s all.”
“His job here. You worked with him?”
“No, Reynolds has had its licenses in place for years. Commercial Corp.—that was Tommy—was part of the war effort. Buy chromium. Embargo companies if they were selling to the Axis. Things like that. But now the war’s over, so’s the job.”
“I meant his other work.”
“His other work.”
“Mr. Bauer, it’s better to be candid in these matters. We know Mr. King’s work. We know you were sometimes—what, an irregular? It’s our business to know these things. We have to be the ears of Turkey.”
“Listening to Tommy King.”
“To many.”
“And now you want to know who killed him.”
“Not precisely. That’s a matter for the police.”
“Then why are you—”
“The police concern themselves with crime. Witnesses. What kind of bullet. Alibis. They do things in their way. Methodical. They will want to know about your talk at the Park too. Your movements the night of the crime. Bebek, so convenient, just down the road. A coincidence? The night before, drinks. That night, close by. They’ll be suspicious of that. They’ll think he might have been meeting you. They’ll ask when you came to the clinic, when you left. Police.”
“You think I shot Tommy?”
“I don’t care.”
Leon looked up at him.
“I’m not police. I’m not concerned with justice. My job is to protect the Republic. If you did, the police will find out. Or maybe not. They are not always successful, our police. Overwork, perhaps. I don’t care one way or the other. No Turks have been killed. If the ferengi want to kill each other, that’s their affair. Until it’s ours.”
“And when’s that?”
Altan bowed his head, a silent “now.”
“But you don’t want to know who killed him?”
“For the record, of course. But what I want, Mr. Bauer, is the Romanian.”
They had been walking back up to Tünel and now stopped at the wall near Nergis Sok, looking down toward the Horn. A haze was forming over the shipyards, blocking the pale winter sun.
“What Romanian?”
“More candor. A Romanian Mr. King arranged to meet. Of great interest to you. To the Russians too. A prize of war, so to speak.”
“And you think he killed Tommy?”
Altan shrugged. “It’s not important. What’s important is where he is.”
“Maybe he’s with the Russians.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.”
Leon looked at him. “The ears of Turkey?”
Another tip of his head.
“Everywhere.” A new thought. “With us too. That’s how you know Tommy was meeting someone.”
Altan stared at him, not saying anything.
“Did Tommy ever suspect?” Leon said.
Altan rubbed out his cigarette. “We can’t be everywhere. We have to choose carefully. Where there is likely to be mischief.”
“Mischief.”
“Look down there,” Altan said, nodding to the Horn. “Once the hinge of the world. Now all we can do is listen. To protect ourselves. The Russian bear would swallow us so we don’t offend. America is rich.” He turned to Leon. “They embargo industries. Their war, our industries. So we don’t offend them, either. A balancing act. Do you know what it was like for us, this war? The first one was a catastrophe. The Ottomans finished. Istanbul occupied. Greece invades. Only Atatürk saved us. Well, and the Greek soldiers being—Greek. Then a new one. Both sides say, come in. Maybe another catastrophe. So we walked a tightrope. One step, another step, always watching to see if someone might push, trip us. And now we’re still watching. A man is shot in our streets. The police have a crime. But we may have an incident, something that gets worse. Both of you pulling at us. So we want this man. Before you tear us apart to get him.”
“You mean the Russians have asked for him? They’re accusing—”
Altan shook his head. “They can’t do that. Officially such a man can’t exist.” He looked over. “For either of you. There is no Romanian. But what will you both do to get him? Already a man here from Ankara. The Russians offering money. Battle lines. And who’s in the middle?”
Russians offering. Ears everywhere.
“But if everybody’s still looking, then nobody has him.”
“That point has not escaped me.”
“What would you do if you got him?”
Altan smiled to himself. “A valuable thing to have.”
“You mean you’d sell him to the highest bidder.”
“No. We would advance our interests. Of course, it’s not for me to decide how to do that. Only to find him.” He paused. “It would be a good thing for Turkey, to stop this. Move the war somewhere else. We would be grateful for that, someone who helps.”
Leon looked at him. “I’m an American.”
“With interests here. A good life, I think. Your wife—you’re satisfied with her care?”
“I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. I never heard of your Romanian.”
“No? I’m sorry to hear it.” He reached for cigarettes, then stopped as Leon offered his again.
“And if you really know as much as you say you do, you know that I was nothing to Tommy. An errand boy when I happened to be going to the right place.”
Altan nodded. “Karpić’s.”
Leon said nothing, taking this in. How long had they been watching?
“You could have been deported for that, you know.”
“We were fighting Germany, not Turkey.”
“In Turkey.”
“I’m just a
businessman. You’ve got somebody inside, from the sound of it. Ask him. I wasn’t part of anything.”
“Just an irregular. But that’s what makes you so interesting. We don’t know you.”
“That’s what this talk is all about?”
“No, I would say it’s to warn you. Not to get involved.” He turned. “Unless of course you are. This is excellent,” he said, looking at the cigarette. “It’s superior, American tobacco? And yet you’re in Turkey.”
“It’s the blend. Virginia Bright is cheaper. But Turkish Latakia has a stronger flavor. It brings the blend up. And there’s a certain cachet to Turkish. People associate it with the rich. Custom blends.”
“Then it’s lucky for us.”
“Your real competition is Kentucky Burley Leaf. You can flue cure and flavor it.”
Altan drew on the cigarette. “So you know tobacco.”
Leon looked at him. “It’s my business. That’s what I do here.”
“Yes. You know,” Altan said, as if something had just occurred to him, “you see people and you think you’ve seen them before but you can’t remember where. And then it comes to you. I think I saw you yesterday on a tram. Maybe not. The hat, it’s hard to tell.”
“Where was this?”
“Beyazit. Was it you?” Not really a question.
“It may have been. I went to see a friend. At the university.”
“Yes? Who?”
“Georg Ritter.”
“Ah, our Marxist philosopher. There? I thought he was in Nişantaşi now.”
“His office. He still keeps one there.”
“He’s well?” The rhythm of conversation, eyes watching carefully.
“Actually, he wasn’t in. Stupid, I suppose, just stopping by like that but it gave me an excuse to go to the book market. You know, by Beyazit Camii.”
“You pronounce it correctly. The c, it’s tricky for foreigners. A valuable skill. So few Americans know the language. I’m surprised they didn’t call upon you more, on a regular basis. Not errands.”
“I prefer the tobacco business.”
Altan raised his eyebrows. “On that we agree. We prefer you in it too.” He began to walk, Leon following. “The book market. We had some dealings there once. You know the German bookseller? The corner with the old tree? Not just selling books. The Germans denied it, of course, but they stopped. It’s always better that way, to arrange things quietly.”