Harem

by Barbara Nadel

  She smiled. ‘Well, you have.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned his attention back to the road. After a short silence he said, ‘And then afterwards we can go to the apartment. I’ve told Aysel I’m working tonight. We can fuck until morning. Get in practice for how it will be when we’re married,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘We will be married, won’t we, Orhan?’ she said, happy but still touched with anxiety. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve told you before. I want a woman, not a child.’ He looked across at her again. ‘Someone who likes sex as much as I do.’ He paused. Still looking at her. ‘Did Süleyman like sex as much as I do?’

  She turned away, stung by his question. ‘Orhan!’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I, I don’t . . .’ she stammered, both embarrassed and hurt by his question about a man she still had feelings for.

  ‘Not as big as me, though, is he?’ Orhan said. ‘Not many men are.’ He took one of her hands in his and pushed it down onto his crotch. Just thinking about it had made a large organ even bigger. ‘When we’re married that will be yours whenever you want it,’ he said. ‘But tonight we’ll eat at Rejans and drink champagne. Then I’ll make love to you. You can be my odalisque, if you like.’ He laughed again. ‘Pleasuring your very grateful Sultan – your husband to be!’

  His words and the feel of him under her hand inflamed her. With trembling, eager fingers she unzipped his fly and then took him in her hand.

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ he said, as she moved her hand up and down the shaft of his penis.

  ‘You do love me, don’t you, Orhan?’ she asked as he quickly drove the car into a deserted side street.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered thickly. He turned the engine off and reached across to massage her breasts. ‘Sorry, Ayşe, I can’t wait.’

  ‘And we will be married?’

  ‘Yes, we will,’ he gasped. ‘I promise. Your mouth, quickly.’

  Ayşe lowered her head and Orhan dug his fingers hard into the back of her neck as he climaxed. This hurt Ayşe but she didn’t mind. It was just another demonstration of how much he needed her.

  And later, at the restaurant, he showed that he loved her in another way, with beautiful gifts and a meal she calculated cost him a week’s salary. He counted the banknotes out in front of her so that she could see how much he cared.

  They left Rejans at ten and he took her to Pertevpaşa Sokak, which was just a few minutes’ walk from the apartment. It was unwise for them to be seen entering the place together and so she agreed to walk from there.

  Ayşe Farsakoǧlu liked the dress she was wearing. It flattered both her tan and her large, full breasts and she knew it. Ostensibly for Orhan Tepe’s benefit, this dress had originally been purchased with the intention of pursuing Mehmet Süleyman again – she’d even worn it to his wedding. But it had had no effect. The proud Ottoman had married his doctor and now he had a child and there was an end to it, except of course in Ayşe’s head. When she had sex with Orhan, even when he talked of marriage as he had done earlier, she usually fantasised about Mehmet. Later, in Orhan’s brother’s apartment, she’d make him fuck her while she wore the dress. Just thinking about it made her hasten to get to the apartment in Çemberlitaş.

  She was just crossing from Pertevpaşa Sokak onto Piyerloti Caddesi when the distinctive sound of an appreciative male hiss reached her ears. Looking as she did, it was not the first time she had provoked such a reaction. And usually she just ignored whatever was hissed or said to her. But on this occasion, possibly because she was feeling so very sexual, after a short tantalising pause she looked round to see who was appreciating her. Unfortunately the men involved were not to her taste. But they were known to her.

  Celal Müren, though little more than a child, was an unpleasant individual. He’d spent more time than she suspected he had liked in police custody. On one occasion she had actually arrested him herself – for brawling. And although none of the offences he’d committed were serious in themselves, Ayşe knew that it was only a question of time before he did something really big. After all, with an elder brother like Ekrem, who was standing, smirking, next to him, it was almost a foregone conclusion. Ekrem Müren, like his father, was a gangster. And like his father, Ekrem didn’t just confine himself to one kind of illegal trade. During the course of his short life he had been implicated in prostitution and protection rackets, drugs and, it was rumoured, contract killing.

  Celal, whose tongue was now literally lolling from his mouth, didn’t recognise Ayşe, which was really quite delicious. Everyone knew what the Müren family were even if little could be proved against them – dead people don’t give evidence – and so it would be nice to shock Celal and Ekrem just a little. Ayşe Farsakoǧlu walked over to them, her long legs now moving casually in lazy, provocative strides. As she came to a halt in front of them, Ekrem ran a hand through his thick waxed hair, licking his lips in appreciation of her.

  Smiling, she turned her attention on Ekrem’s brother. ‘Hello, Celal,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you for quite a while. What have you been doing?’

  Taken entirely by surprise, Celal just stared.

  Ekrem moved forward, in front of his brother. His eyes were level with the top of Ayşe’s breasts. He put his hands out towards them, his fingers stopping just short of actually touching.

  ‘And how does a beautiful bird like you know my brother?’ he said. ‘He’s just a boy.’

  ‘Oh, I arrested your brother last year,’ Ayşe said, enjoying the sight of the blood running out of Ekrem Müren’s face.

  ‘You are a policewoman?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Mr Müren,’ a deeper, male voice answered.

  Ayşe Farsakoǧlu turned and saw Orhan Tepe standing behind her. His face, even through the darkness, looked flushed with fury.

  ‘She’s a sergeant,’ he continued, his eyes fixed on Ekrem Müren’s hands which were now moving quickly away from Ayşe’s breasts.

  Celal Müren looked at his brother with fearful eyes. ‘I don’t remember her,’ he said. ‘I would have remembered her, Ekrem.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘On your way,’ Tepe said coldly and then added, ‘boys.’

  ‘We weren’t doing anything, officer . . .’

  ‘No, but you’re scum,’ Tepe said and waved the brothers away from the perfumed orbit of his lover.

  With one sideways smirk which Ekrem shot at Tepe, the brothers moved off in the direction of the main Okçularbaşı Caddesi. Returning, or so Farsakoǧlu at least felt, to their father’s apartment in Beyazıt, the family’s base.

  When they had gone she looked at Tepe, a smile breaking across her face.

  ‘Did you come back to follow me, Orhan?’ she said, pleased at the prospect.

  ‘No.’ But he looked away from her as he said it.

  As a rule they didn’t meet in the street. He approached his brother’s apartment, or wherever they had agreed to meet, via one route and she via another. It had always been that way. Meetings outdoors could be dangerous – Orhan’s wife had many friends and relations – and they, or rather Orhan, always wanted to avoid that eventuality. That they had now come across each other just when she had decided to have a little fun with the Müren brothers was unusual and, Ayşe felt, extremely amusing too. If he had indeed followed her, perhaps he was jealous.

  ‘The Mürens are dangerous,’ he said as they began to walk. ‘You should keep away from them.’

  ‘I arrested Celal last year,’ she said. ‘He’s a nasty boy, I admit, but—’

  ‘Keep away from them!’ He turned quickly and grabbed the tops of her arms.

  ‘Orhan!’

  ‘They’re scum and I won’t have scum looking at you like that!’

  ‘But Orhan, I was only having a joke with them.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t very funny,’ he said through his teeth. ‘And you will not do anything like that again, not with any man.’ And then, taking one of her hands in his, he pulled
her towards him so that his face was level with hers.

  ‘Get in the car. I don’t care who sees us tonight. I want you now. I have everything you’ll ever need.’

  And although she had felt passion for Orhan before, this time it was overwhelming, this time it blanked out Mehmet Süleyman from her mind completely.

  Chapter 13

  * * *

  ‘It was definitely suicide.’

  İkmen looked his old friend hard in the eyes, not because he disbelieved him, but because he wanted to make sure that Arto himself harboured absolutely no doubts.

  ‘Not just because of the note that he left,’ Arto continued. ‘Everything about the scene, not least the fact that the room possesses only one entrance, tells me that suicide has to be the only explanation.’

  Mehmet Süleyman sighed. Because he had been the one who had actually found Şeker’s body the previous evening, he had joined their early morning conference.

  ‘But if he did, as the note says, kill Hatice İpek,’ he said, ‘then—’

  ‘Nobody actually killed the girl,’ İkmen cut in quickly. ‘She died during or just after sex acts were performed on her by several men.’

  ‘One of the chambers of her heart became blocked. Her death was entirely natural,’ Arto added.

  ‘Which means that, when Şeker took responsibility for her death in his note, he had to be lying,’ İkmen said.

  ‘Or else he just felt responsible because he was one of the men who assaulted her,’ Arto offered. ‘I mean, was he ever told that her death was natural?’

  İkmen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I told my daughter and the girl’s mother of course, but unless they told him . . .’

  ‘We never did get a semen sample from him when he was alive, did we?’ Arto said. ‘Perhaps he was afraid of that after all. Time will tell.’

  They all passed several minutes in silence, the doctor, the two inspectors and the young constable, Yıldız, who had been first on the scene to assist Süleyman the previous evening. İkmen particularly was troubled. In view of the note Şeker had left admitting to having been responsible for Hatice’s death, there was now no hope at all that Ardıç would allow any further work to be carried out on the İpek case. And yet İkmen was still very unsure. Not just because Hassan Şeker, for all his faults, didn’t seem to be that kind of man, but also because he had no reason at all to do this. More than one person had seen him go home that night, after Hatice had left.

  ‘Of course there could be another explanation for his death,’ said Yıldız, who had been quietly smoking in the corner.

  They all turned to look at him.

  ‘And what’s that Constable?’ İkmen asked, frowning.

  ‘Well, there was some sort of connection with the Müren brothers.’

  ‘Celal and Ekrem Müren?’

  ‘Yes.’

  İkmen blanched. ‘But they’re family, Yıldız! What do you mean, a connection?’

  Yıldız shrugged. ‘I don’t rightly know, sir,’ he said innocently. ‘All I do know is that when we went to the pastane the second time, the Mürens and some other lad were talking to Mrs Şeker in a rather, well, serious fashion. I mean, Mrs Şeker didn’t look happy. She looked across at her husband’s office door sort of furtively before she spoke to them, like she wanted them to go away quickly. Sergeant Tepe was in there with Mr Şeker.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ İkmen yelled. ‘If the Mürens wanted Şeker then money must have been involved.’

  ‘Or drugs or prostitution or contract killing,’ Süleyman added, completing the set of likely Müren family crimes.

  ‘Absolutely.’ İkmen turned back to Yıldız. ‘Well?’

  The young man looked down at the floor before speaking, ‘Sergeant Tepe told me to forget it, sir, the Müren thing.’

  All three of the other men in the room exchanged glances before İkmen looked back at Yıldız and asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he said it wasn’t important,’ Yıldız said.

  ‘Oh, did he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Before anything else could be discussed, the door to İkmen’s office opened and Orhan Tepe stepped over the threshold. Although rather tired-looking around the eyes, he was nevertheless smiling. İkmen could see instantly that he hadn’t been home to change his clothes. He’d obviously slept elsewhere, hence the smile on his face. It wouldn’t take İkmen long to wipe that off.

  He waited until the doctor, Süleyman and Yıldız had left before he began.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me that Hassan Şeker was mixed up with the Müren brothers?’ İkmen said in the controlled tone he always used prior to exploding.

  Tepe smiled. ‘Because he’s not,’ he said calmly. ‘Who says—’

  ‘Hikmet Yıldız has just told me what happened when you visited the pastane for the second time, Tepe,’ İkmen said. ‘About how he saw the Mürens talking to a fearful looking Mrs Şeker.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’

  ‘I don’t care whether you saw it or not!’ İkmen roared. ‘When Yıldız told you what he had seen, it should have set off sirens in your head!’

  ‘I—’

  ‘What possessed you to tell the boy that seeing the Mürens at the scene was unimportant? Family are always important! If you paid as much attention to your work as you do to your sex life . . .’

  ‘Sir!’

  ‘Oh, don’t get offended with me!’ İkmen growled. ‘Don’t—’

  He was interrupted by his telephone. İkmen pointed Tepe towards his own desk. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said. ‘I haven’t finished with you.’

  He picked up the receiver. ‘İkmen.’

  ‘It’s İskender.’ The voice at the other end of the line sounded uncharacteristically nervous.

  İkmen’s eyes were still disapprovingly on Tepe. ‘Yes?’ he said into the phone.

  ‘Vedat Sivas has gone missing.’

  İkmen sat down, his face white. ‘Tell me this is a joke, İskender,’ he said softly.

  ‘It isn’t. I wish it were. Men disappearing without trace, gruesome boxes appearing from nowhere – am I going fucking mad or—’

  ‘Look, try and hold yourself together until I get there,’ İkmen said, interpreting İskender’s uncharacteristic use of swear words as well as the obvious nervousness in his voice as signals to get over to the Sivas house very quickly. ‘Does Ardıç know?’

  ‘No.’ İskender sighed. ‘He stayed here until after midnight last night. I don’t suppose he’s in yet, is he?’

  ‘Not yet,’ İkmen said as he cast a nervous eye towards the door lest his superior be lurking somewhere outside. ‘I presume you have Miss Hale Sivas with you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I haven’t managed to lose her yet,’ İskender replied wearily.

  ‘Well, just keep hold of her until I get there.’ İkmen grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and started to put it on. ‘She doesn’t even get to go to the toilet on her own, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ İkmen said and then without another word he replaced the receiver and threw a set of car keys across to Tepe. After all the shocks he’d had in the last twelve hours, he felt driving was far too stressful for his nerves. ‘You drive,’ he said. ‘To the Sivas place.’

  Tepe stood, ‘But sir . . .’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry that I’ve finished berating you, Orhan.’ İkmen checked his pockets for smoking requisites. ‘I’ll carry on when we get in the car.’

  ‘Sir . . .’

  ‘You drive, I’ll shout, but when we get to the Sivas place we act like professionals. Apparently Vedat has gone missing too, Allah alone knows where.’

  ‘Vedat Sivas? The brother?’

  ‘Yes, Tepe.’ İkmen shook his head in disbelief. ‘First Hikmet, now Vedat . . . All this on top of Hassan Şeker.’

  Tepe frowned. ‘Hassan Şeker? What do you mean?’

  There hadn’t been time to tell Tepe why Süleym
an, Yıldız and the doctor had been in his office that morning. İkmen had intended to tell him when he was interrupted by İskender’s call. After all Şeker’s death was entirely germane to the argument he had put forward to Tepe regarding the Müren brothers. Had he known of their involvement he could have got them off the street and away from Şeker, which might have prevented their leaning on him for money or whatever else had caused Şeker to end his life. It occurred to İkmen that Hassan Şeker may have killed himself and left that incriminating note in order to remove all suspicion of family involvement in Hatice’s death, because of threats against his wife and children. Nasty and violent as they were, Ekrem and Celal Müren were hardly godfathers; that honour belonged to their father, Ali. But they could certainly frighten someone like Hassan Şeker, and bugger little Hatice İpek. Once he’d dealt with İskender’s latest incompetence, İkmen intended to go looking for them.

  ‘Hassan Şeker is dead,’ he told Tepe baldly. ‘He committed suicide yesterday evening. And before we leave here I’m going to ask Inspector Süleyman to speak to the widow about the Müren brothers.’

  Tepe’s face drained of all colour and İkmen noticed that his hands had started to shake.

  Although large, Hikmet Sivas’s Kandıllı mansion didn’t possess any exits that couldn’t be easily observed. The front door had been under guard ever since the police had gone to the house with the movie star in the wake of Kaycee’s abduction. Men had been stationed in both the house and the garden day and night. And although the back of the property faced directly onto the Bosphorus, neither the boathouse beneath the yalı or indeed the craft within it had been roused from their dust-encrusted torpor for some long time. Unless Hikmet and Vedat had swum away . . .

  ‘A person would have to know this bit of Bosphorus very well,’ İsak Çöktin observed when İkmen put this possibility to him. ‘As I understand it, it’s easy to get pulled all over the place even in a boat. The currents are complex and very dangerous. If one or both of the men swam out, even close to the shore, they’re probably dead by now.’