Full-Bodied Wine : A Vintage Murder

by Biddy Jenkinson

  Chapter 10

  I went early to the office and put out the flag. As I struck yesterday's date off the desk calendar it hit me that today is Thursday. The Countess has not been seen since Tuesday. Walter came in at ten. At eleven thirty Ayse burst into Walter's office where we both sat drinking tea, having abandoned all pretence at work, waiting for the clock to reach noon.

  'I got through to Orhan's village, to the headman, just now.' she said, breathlessly. 'I asked him if I could speak to Orhan Ahmet and he said that I could, if I wished, but that it was not a good idea because it would only excite him: was I the nurse from the clinic? Orhan Ahmet is the village ahmak – simple minded – and he has never left home. I asked if anyone from the village had gone to Hacetepe University. He said that Derin Celebi had done so and had not turned out well, was wanted by the police. ''What would one expect?'' he said. His father before him was a Communist.'

  'My God!' I said, 'Orhan is a Communst and has taken the Countess hostage.'

  Ayse swayed against the desk. I jumped up and steadied her with an arm around her shoulder. Walter started to laugh. It was a horrid high-pitched howl that made my hair stand on end.

  'Stop it,' I shouted at him and thumped the desk in front of him with his paperweight.

  'Denis,' he sobbed, 'did you really hire a Communist activist who uses a false identity and is wanted by the police?'

  I told Ayse to ring the police while I fetched Walter a glass of water. I don't think they recommend brandy for shock any more. Things clicked into place: Orhan's perennial attitude of mild amusement, his reticence, a touch of irony in his deference to the policeman's gardening advice, his choice of reading material, his grace as a chauffeur, which approached that of an actor playing a role to such perfection that it became an ironic comment on itself. Ayse returned.

  'I spoke to the desk in the division that deals with political crime. Inspector Kadri Akin wishes to meet you in the residence directly. He speaks English.

  'As we walked there, I tried to think of Orhan as the kind of person who would kill or kidnap for political reasons. I could only remember him drinking my health in ayran in the kebab shop, quizzing me about Bernadette Devlin, putting out saucers of milk for the cats. The weather has turned thundery. My neck prickled as we went into the house. The hall door creaked.

  'How much do we tell them, Ambassador?'

  'Everything, Denis.'

  'About the ghost?'

  'That would not be relevant; no need to misdirect them.'

  'About Mrs. Brown's row with M. d'Aubine?'

  'That would be a red herring.'

  'About the gun?'

  'If they ask. Colette has been abducted by a left-wing militant. We answer questions fully and frankly but we won't clutter up the system with trivia.'

  Walter shows signs of strain. He nicked himself when shaving and has ignored the flecks of blood on his collar. We waited in the house over an hour before the police arrived. By then Walter had become angry.

  Detective Inspector Kadri Akin is tall, athletic-looking, extraordinarily handsome and has a great head of black, almost iridescent hair. He towered over both of us and I felt him to be even taller than he was because my imagination firmly fixed a hillman's turban on top of his head. He introduced himself, saying that he was from the division of the police with special responsibility for criminal political offences and the safety of diplomats. He is a Kurd who has spent some time in the United States. His manner irritated Walter, who became bossy and overbearing. The detective responded by turning officious. We spent an hour answering questions while Walter fumed at the delay.

  'Send out an alert for the car, Inspector. We can answer these questions at any time.'

  Walter's accent, which is normally refined Dublin, becomes quite British when he gets uppity, something to do with our colonial past, I suppose.

  'At what time did you leave the office on Tuesday, your Excellency?'

  'Early, because of the reception. Around four forty-five, I'd say.'

  Walter glanced at me for confirmation.

  'Yes. I was sorting the post, with Orhan, when you left. He went out with it just before five.'

  'At what time did you get home?''Around half past five.'

  'It took you rather a long time to walk a few hundred yards.'

  Walter's jaw snapped shut.

  'At what time did you leave the house to go to the

  Austrian/Turkish reception?'

  'Twenty past six. I had arranged to get a lift from Colonel Barbellini.'

  'Your wife did not go with you?'

  'No. She had another engagement.'

  'Was your wife in the house when you left?'

  'I presumed that she was out.'

  'Your wife was last seen by the policeman at the gate who saw the car, driven by your chauffeur, with Mrs. Brown in the back, leave the house at quarter to eight. Isn't it odd? She left twice – once at three, once at quarter to eight but doesn't seem to have returned between times. Where were you, Ambassador, at three?'

  'In my office.'

  'Where were you at quarter to eight?'

  'On my way from the reception to the restaurant where I dined. I walked there with the Austrian Head of Mission.'

  Walter barked his answers. I wished he could be calmer.

  'Was there a domestic incident recently?'

  'What kind of incident?'

  'A quarrel.'

  'No.'

  'Who else was in the house that evening?'

  'The cook and the housekeeper. The landlord's car was on the road outside as I left. I could hear work in progress in one of the spare bedrooms. He was shouting at the workman over the noise of the radio. I avoided meeting him.'

  'You did not notice last night that your wife and your car were missing?'

  'The carport is on the far side of the house from the Italians. I went in the front door and directly to my room. It was late – midnight, as I told you. The lights were out and I presumed everyone was asleep.'

  'Why did you wait for forty hours before raising the alarm?'

  'Until we discovered the real identity of the driver, we had no reason to suspect foul play.'

  'Did your wife taken any possessions with her – clothes, jewelry, passport?'

  'A handbag she uses frequently is missing. She would have keys and cash in it. She has not taken passport, check book or jewelry, other than what she was wearing.'

  'Keys and cash. Nothing else?

  'She may be carrying a small handgun.'

  'She carries a gun?'

  'We found, in her room, a case for two small pistols. Only one was in it.'

  'You didn't know, before that, that she had firearms?'

  'She may have mentioned them some time ago. Colette would have bought dainty, well-crafted pistols, because she liked them, as I might buy a chess set, though I don't play chess.'

  'Is it odd that she shouldn't have shown them to you?'

  'Don't presume lack of affection, if I tell you that personal privacy has never been sacrificed by either of us in the interests of matrimony.'

  'Can you give me a recent, clear photograph of Mrs. Brown?'

  Walter had one ready. I handed over Orhan's c.v. The Inspector sat and looked lethargically from one photograph to the other.'

  Aren't you going to do anything?' Walter snapped.

  'I'm thinking.' said Inspector Akin.

  He continued to think while Walter fretted.

  'You have received no communication concerning Mrs. Brown? No threat? No demand for money?'

  'Nothing.''If you get a call, try not to sound aggressive. Play for time. Don't reject any suggestion outright. We will have the phone tapped.'

  'You think she was kidnapped?''Derin Celebi is on our wanted list. A student intellectual turned leftist radical.'

  The phone rang. Walter picked it up.

  I could hear that the voice on the other end was agitated.

  'For you, Inspector.'

/>   After listening Akin said 'Hold it,' said the Inspector. 'I'm on my way.'

  'Stay there,' he said over his shoulder, as he went out the door.

  'Don't get his back up,' I urged. 'You know how powerful the police are.

  'Walter fumed.

  Inspector Akin returned after half an hour, sat, and thought a while – ostentatiously, I felt – before giving us the news.

  'Police headquarters received an anonymous phone call from Adana. Your car was abandoned outside the Caravansarai Hotel. The keys were left at reception, to be collected by the chief of police. Down behind the driver's seat and the back seat there was a pillow, wrapped in black and roughly shaped into a dummy, and a yellow hat. I must return to headquarters. We will contact you soon.'

  'Where is Colette?'

  Walter's voice was hoarse.

  Akin shook his head, lifted his briefcase and hurried to the door.

  'You may ring the Caravansarai Hotel if you wish. Here is the number.

  'Walter eventually got through to someone willing to reply and able to speak English. He asked if Mrs. Walter Brown was staying or had recently stayed at the hotel. The reply was voluble. He summarised it, for me, by shaking his head.

  'I am ringing from the Irish Embassy in Ankara. The car abandoned outside your hotel belonged to us. I can offer a reward for information.'

  He scribbled a name on a piece of paper and handed it to me, clutched the phone to his ear and listened intently.

  'Get Ayse to send a suitable reward,' he said when he put down the phone. 'The street is cordoned off. The police waited for bomb disposal experts from the army before going near the car. The hotel was cleared of staff. Only the bar in the courtyard has been left open as a centre of operations. The car has been opened now and the police are about to tow it away. There were no residents in the hotel last night. The season hasn't begun.'

  'When did they notice the car?'

  'It was there when the cleaner opened the gate at six o'clock. The hotel manager was curious about the CD plates. There was a shawl, a lady's hat and some pillows in it and a letter on the driver's seat. The letter was addressed in red ink to the local police chief. Red ink is the trademark of a left-wing guerrilla faction in Adana. A small boy delivered an envelope containing the car keys to reception at ten this morning and then ran away. 'Car to be collected by the police' was written on the envelope. The receptionist rang them. They took over the hotel and cordoned off the area. That is all he knows at present.'

  Pierre brought us glasses of chilled white wine.

  'Is it permitted that I should know what is happening?'

  The wine was a good local Kavaklidere. Its sturdy everyday character suggested normality. At least, I believe that was the intention. We brought Pierre up to date.

  'She left at eight, but only in effigy,' said Walter. 'When did you last see her, Pierre?'

  'She came into the kitchen before three o'clock. Gül saw her out to the car at three when she was going to the beauty parlour. She was dressed smartly, for cocktails perhaps, and carried the regrettable pink bag.'

  'Where do you think she is, Pierre?' 'Madame is dead.'

  'It is much more likely that she is kidnapped or taken hostage,' I said, sharply, angry that Walter should be forced towards the blackest conclusion.

  Pierre shook his head.'I feel she is here still. Dead.'

  The last mouthful of wine tasted warm and bitter. I had been clutching the base of the glass. 'I should ring my father at the Château,' he added.'You do that, Pierre. Contact M. d'Aubine He was at the Austrian/Turkish celebration. You will probably find him at the Ulus hotel. Then stay by the phone in case there is a communication.

  'Walter returned to the office to receive the courtesy call of the newly arrived Egyptian Ambassador. Pierre and I sat down again.

  'As I see it, Pierre, the business has become less complicated. The Countess's private affairs can no longer be considered relevant to her disappearance. Whatever has happened to her is incidental to the type of person she was. The investigation has moved into a sphere where only the police can do anything useful. Our care must be to minimise damage to her reputation. You agree with me?'The front door creaked. Then there was an explosion.

  'No. It isn't the return of the ghost,' said Pierre sourly. 'It is merely the return of Félix d'Aubine. He never can shut a door quietly.'

  Pierre met him at the kitchen door. They confronted each other and read each other's faces. The nuances escaped me but the body language suggested that antagonism had been recognised and put aside temporarily, without prejudice. I caught Pierre's warning nod in my direction and the compression of his lips. M. d'Aubine was not to talk of – whatever it was – while Denis was listening. Pierre said 'Alors'. Félix d'Aubine said 'Alors', added 'Que voulez vous?'and joined me at the table. My spine crawled, my dear Millicent, as he smiled at me. I remembered that the Countess had called him Lucifer. He sat in a slanting ray of sunlight that gleamed in his beautifully sculpted beard and sleek black hair. When someone chooses to look so handsomely sinister, he wishes to be thought tantalisingly wicked.

  'You remember Denis, M. d'Aubine? Our third secretary.'

  I ignored the possessive pronoun. d'Aubine nodded.

  'You have had no news of her, Pierre, or you would have told me, at once.'

  'Monsieur Félix, I had not permitted myself to despair until now for I hoped that she might have confided in you. If she has not done so, then the matter is serious indeed. Monsieur will have a tisane?'

  'Tell me the latest news, Denis,' M. d'Aubine said.I could scarcely refuse to do so but I was determined to have a few questions answered, to my own satisfaction, first.

  'When did you last see the Countess, M. d'Aubine?''The day I returned to Ankara, from Cappadocia. I have been busy since.'

  'You quarreled.'

  'We always do.'

  'What about?'

  'The quality of our Château Fontenoy wine,' he answered readily but with such a peculiar expression that I don't know whether I can believe him or not.

  'What is wrong with it?'

  'Turning the bottles is a ritual with us.' he continued easily.' It is a dance. One might almost say a sacred dance. It has been interrupted by delays in Customs. Our wine has been exposed to temperatures higher than we would wish. The Countess blamed me, but only in order to let off steam. It is still a most excellent wine but it lacks the perfect finish.'

  'Have you met her since that quarrel?'

  'No, Denis. Let me answer a question that you would like to ask. I was at the Wine Conference all day, Tuesday, except for the brief period I spent at the Austrian reception. You may check with the organisers.'

  He poured his tisane into a china cup and sipped thoughtfully as I told him what we know.

  'Has Walter gone to Adana?'

  'The car was abandoned there but there is no indication that the Countess was brought there, none that she ever left Ankara.'

  'Yet that is where the car was left, the end of the string. Walter must go to Adana.

  'I left d'Aubine with Pierre. I don't trust the man, Millicent. His natty little beard wiggles like a goat's.

  It was a relief to step out of the residence. The threat of thunder had cleared. Though the air was heavy, the sun shone and the young foliage was green and tender in the poplar trees. Sparrows chased each other over the gravel. I stood a moment enjoying the fresh air. A police car screeched around the bend at the top of the road, raced downhill and pulled up dramatically outside the Italians' house. A police van tore uphill and swooshed to a stop in a shower of gravel. Policeman sprang out. One of them was Inspector Kadri Akin. He marched up to the Barbellinis' hall door and rang the bell. Maria let him in.

  I stood in our side door, concealed by the poplars.

  The police took tall poles, rolled canvas sheeting and shovels from the van. The handles of shovels in Turkey are not mass-produced and are rarely straight. These were no exception. Any time I remember this hor
rible afternoon, I'll remember the warped spade-handles. Inspector Akin came out of the house, accompanied by Barbellini. The Colonel carried himself as if he were about to review a parade. He stalked past the poplars that shielded me, and opened the little side gate that, notionally, divides their front garden from their back garden. Then he stood aside and allowed the policemen to enter with their equipment. Inspector Akin gestured to a rosebed at the very back of the Barbellinis' garden. By craning my neck, I could see that the rose bushes were wilted. Barbellini went back into the house. I parted the lower branches of the poplars. The police set up poles and canvas around the rosebed. Presently one of them came out with ten uprooted bushes and tossed them down close to where I was standing. A shop tag was legible. Lively Lady. Colour: bright tangerine. The police started to dig. I sat down on the step and waited.

  Within minutes someone shouted. There was a rapid exchange that I could scarcely follow, but I caught the words for 'careful' and 'head' and the instruction to halt. I went back into the residence.

  M. d'Aubine and Pierre were deep in conversation, bent conspiratorially over the table, frowning in concentration. I caught the word vin.

  'The police have found a body in the garden next door.'

  'Colette's?'

  'They went straight to the spot. The body can't have been there long; the rose bushes were wilted, not withered.'

  'I knew she was dead.' said Pierre.

  'We'll see for ourselves.' d'Aubine said.

  'No,' I said.

  'The police would send you back here immediately. Besides, nothing is happening at present. They are waiting for cameras and a forensic expert before proceeding.'

  'The police, M. d'Aubine,' said Pierre, 'are best left to the diplomatic skills of our friend Denis.'

  'You are right, as always, Pierre. I am too agitated to be of use. Let Denis be our envoy.'

  'We don't know that it is the Countess's body,' I said.

  'Nothing in Colette's life should lead to her being buried in an Ankara rosebed,' said M. d'Aubine, bitterly.

  'You forget, Monsieur Félix, the role that chance plays in our lives,' said Pierre solemnly. 'The most gallant soul can end up, by accident, buried in floribundas. Madame liked to drink a glass of Château Fontenoy in the afternoons. Let us drink.'

  He fetched a bottle and three glasses. It seemed as good a way to wake her as any other. The first sip went against M. d'Aubine's breath. I caught a flickering glance between Pierre and himself and remembered a similar look between Pierre and the Countess over another glass of Château Fontenoy.

  'A damn fine wine, for all that. How did she get hold of it?' said M. d'Aubine.

  'We came to an arrangement with the Customs people,' I said, automatically.

  They both raised quizzical eyebrows. It occurred to me, for the first time, that there was a certain similarity in their features and a fleeting look of the Countess's face – in one of her expressive moments – in both.

  'It may be the driver's body,' I said, wishing to offer consolation.

  'You postulate that Colette killed and buried the driver and ran away?'

  'She might kill someone but she would never flee. Not to Adana, anyway,' Pierre added.I said I would go and see what was happening, call on Barbellini to see if Inspector Akin had given him any information.

  'He has a few more rose beds to fill,' mocked d'Aubine.

  The police were still behind the screen. Ankles and shadows moved in the small gap at the bottom. I knocked on the Italians' door. Colonel Barbellini answered. He looked blankly at me, as if trying to place me. Finally he pushed me into the drawing room and shut the door.

  'Keep your voice down. Angelina is resting.'

  'Is her room at the back of the house?'

  'No, thank God! At the front. The police are digging in my back garden. You saw them?'

  'What did they say?'

  'They asked my permission to search for a body.'

  'Did they say whose body?'

  'No. They say they were informed that a body has been buried in our garden and that they had instructions not to talk about it. For God's sake, tell me if you know more. I looked out of the window upstairs. They have found something. They are taking photos and measurements. They haven't uncovered it.'

  'Mrs. Brown has been missing since Tuesday.'

  'I heard that she had gone away. Walter called yesterday to ask if we had seen her. Angelina said you were asking about her at the Ladies Lunch. Have they searched the residence? Why do they think she is dead and buried in our garden?'

  He marched up and down the room, crackling with energy.

  'What does Walter say? Have they spoken to Walter?'

  I thought of Angelina's face when she looked across the room at the Countess holding hands with the Colonel at the 'exorcism', of Angelina's face when I told her yesterday that I was looking for Colette.

  It would have been cruel, and pointless, to withhold information that will soon become public knowledge. I told him that the abandoned, official Merc. had been found in Adana, that the driver and Mrs. Brown were missing.

  'Both missing?' he said hoarsely.

  'It now seems that she may never have left. Our driver was a political activist, in hiding, known to the police.'

  Barbellini was speechless.

  'It seems to have been a political crime,' I said, to reinforce the point.

  'Your driver? Left or right?'

  'Left.'

  'Then anything is possible. These people have no laws, no respect for anyone. They are anarchists, villains, murderers.'

  'Why should Mrs. Brown have been singled out? They might have found a more suitable target.'

  'Colette has a title and strong views on the need for law and order, unlike her husband and many of his colleagues.'

  This was news to me. Perhaps he has interpreted polite attention to his harangues as agreement with his views.

  'A letter addressed to the chief of police was found in the abandoned car. Given what is happening outside, I'd say the letter claimed the killing and told the police where to find the body.'

  'Why hide the body?'

  'To buy getaway time.'

  'Come upstairs. We will be able to see what is going on from the window – only be quiet; don't waken Angelina. She is lying down. Maria is with her.'

  'Was Maria, or anyone else, in the house after you left for the reception on Tuesday evening?'

  'No, Maria leaves at six. She was a little late leaving on Tuesday. She left at the same time as us.'

  'So anyone could bury a body in your garden, after that, without fear of being observed. There are few places in Ankara that are not overlooked.'

  'I am surprised that my garden is not a graveyard of irregular burials.'

  He led me into an empty bedroom and we both looked out the window.

  'My God!' I said involuntarily.

  The diggers were standing to one side leaning on their crooked shovels while a man in white overalls bent over a mummy shrouded in soil-stained white, laid on the lawn. There was a pink handbag beside it. One of the figures in overalls leaned over the body and pulled the covering from the face. It had been tucked, not wrapped around the figure. I recognised Mrs. Brown's dark hair and striking features. A shriek came from the room next-door, followed by another and another.

  'Angelina,' cried Barbellini, running to her. 'She must have been looking out the window.'

  Screams gave way to hoarse sobbing.

  'Maria, where are you?' yelled Barbellini.

  'Madame asked me to make tea. I am bringing the tea now. Here I am coming with the tea for Madame.'

  The doorbell rang.

  'Answer it, Denis. Say I'll be down in a minute. Maria. Come here. Pour the tea. Put sugar in it ... Sugar ... Not sweetener. She has had a shock. Fetch brandy. Denis, answer the door.'

  I ran downstairs. Detective Inspector Akin stood on the step.

  'Colonel Barbellini will be with you in a moment, Inspector. Wi
ll you step into the drawing room, please?'

  'Are you serving two masters, Mr. O'Gorman? Should you not be in the Irish Embassy rather than playing butler here?'

  'I called in the interests of good neighbourliness, Inspector.'

  'You were upstairs with our good Colonel watching the peepshow. Who screeched?'

  'You cannot expect us to be uninterested in your activities, Inspector.'

  'It was a female screech,' continued the Inspector.

  'The maid, or Madame?'

  I hesitated.

  'Don't bother to answer, Denis. Maids are not permitted to have hysterics. You recognised Mrs. Brown's face?'

  I nodded.

  'How did Barbellini react?' Akin asked.

  'Both of us were horrified.'

  The Inspector cocked his head, listening. The Colonel came into the room. He had sneaked downstairs and walked heavily to the door. I knew from the tiny quirk at the corner of the Inspector's mouth that he had noted the deception.

  'Everything is under control, Colonel Barbellini,' the Inspector said in conciliatory tones. 'Nothing to worry about. We located the body in question. I believe that, when we look closely at the site map, we will find that it was not actually in your garden at all but in the vacant lot behind your house.'

  I drew in a breath. That was a lovely little gerrymander. The Italian back boundary runs in a line with ours. They may have pushed the rosebed a foot or so back into the vacant lot, but it is still, very definitely, their rosebed.

  'Whose body is it, Inspector? And how did you know that there was a body there?'

  The Inspector hesitated. For a moment I thought he would treat Barbellini as he had treated Walter. Instead, he said in a careful voice, 'The body has not yet been identified, nor have the next of kin been informed, but we have been searching for Mrs. Brown who has been reported missing. The body fits the description.'

  'Where, when was she killed?'

  'We don't know yet. You will appreciate, Colonel, that we need to search the whole area, with your permission, of course.'

  'You are welcome.'

  'And perhaps, Colonel, you will be kind enough to allow me to return later and have a chat with you?'

  'Certainly.'

  The Inspector thanked him and turned to me.

  'Mr. O'Gorman, is your Ambassador at home?'

  'He is in the office.'

  'Then would you please come to the office with me.'

  As we left, he turned again to the Colonel to regret the disturbance and thank him for allowing him and his men access to the site through his garden.

  'I must collect my briefcase,' I told the Inspector and hurried into the residence before he could argue. Pierre and M. d'Aubine were still at the kitchen table. There was a bottle of brandy beside M. d'Aubine. I only had time to put my arm around Jean-Luc and tell him the bad news. M. d'Aubine flushed red and stood up, clutching at the bottle to steady himself.

  'You are sure?''I saw her face.''I'll kill whoever it is. I'll squeeze every drop of blood out of him.'

  I'm sure the Pierre matched him in angry threats, but I couldn't stay to hear them.

  The Inspector stood, waiting for me, his back to the police car, twirling his elegant moustache and gazing blandly at the Italian house.

  'Was she killed where she was found, Inspector?'

  'Oh, I doubt it. Very unlikely. The body was wrapped in sheets marked 'Embassy of Ireland'.

  That shut me up.

  Walter showed no emotion. He became more formal. This did him no service in the Inspector's eyes.

  'How did she die?'

  'Until after the autopsy, we cannot say.'

  'Where was she killed?'

  'At present we do not know. I'll send a car for you in two hours. We will want you to identify the body.'

  I am sitting at my desk, dear Millicent, writing, waiting for the two hours to pass. I told Walter what I had witnessed from Barbellini's window. He went into his office and shut the door. Ayse tried to work and failed. She has just come in with tea for me.

  The Inspector accompanied us to the mortuary. Walter identified her. I stood by, mesmirized by a small red hole in the Countess's right temple.

  'She was shot,' Walter said. 'Have you found the gun?'

  'I may not say anything, at present.'

  We stood in silence a moment. Then we left. What else was there to do? The Countess always filled the stage with her presence. She had withdrawn. Yet the figure on the trolley said something about her death. The gun had been fired close to her. I could see a darkening of the skin around the small puncture. Walter said nothing. I am glad that he restrained his grief in public. He is carrying his loss with dignity. The Inspector observed him coldly. I could almost hear him register 'no visible signs of sorrow'.

  'You may find it advisable to stay with friends tonight, your Excellency. We have a team of experts ready to examine the residence, if you agree.'

  'I contacted my authorities. I am permitted to allow you unrestricted access.'

  'We shall begin immediately.'

  'You examined the car?'

  'It is being examined by the Adana police. It has been confirmed, from fingerprint evidence in the car, that your driver was Derin Celibi, wanted by the police in connection with political offences. You have been harbouring a terrorist, your Excellency. Unintentionally, I presume.'

  'Has he, or has his organisation, admitted responsibility?'

  'Strangely enough, Ambassador, the killing has not been ''claimed''. We are keeping an open mind as to the circumstances surrounding Mrs. Brown's death.'

  Walter walked away. I hung back a moment.

  'Inspector, the wound was in the right temple. Isn't that where you would expect it to be if she killed herself.'

  'Correct, Mr. O'Gorman.'

  'And wouldn't the powder burn indicate that the gun was held close to the head?'

  'Close, Mr. O'Gorman, but – if you consider the pattern – not in contact with. Perhaps a foot away from the head. Suicides usually like actual contact. They seem to find it reassuring.'

  I caught up with Walter before he reached the car. I am sure, Millicent, that you could think of something appropriate to say to him. I couldn't. Ayse booked Walter into the Büyük Ankara. It is only eight months since we first stood at Reception, on our arrival in Ankara. I promised to bring him an overnight bag.

  'Gül will pack the necessities. Lend me some light reading material, Denis. I don't expect to sleep.'I hesitated. Walter smiled.

  'Of course, you are a detective story buff. I had forgotten. Well, why not? It is time I began to educate myself in the ways of sudden death. Make a selection for me.'The trouble is, Millicent, that almost every detective story I can remember casts suspicion on the spouse, however innocent he or she may prove to be in the end. All writers seem to churn out the hoary old chestnut that marriage is the likeliest cause of murder. I'll give him Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time. I took a taxi back to the office and rang Dublin immediately. Walter had contacted the Secretary earlier on but I knew that Seoirse, in Personnel, would be anxious to hear of the latest developments. For once, he listened without feeling obliged to set me right on points of protocol.

  'I met the Countess only once,' he said, when I had finished. 'She came in to return the standard issue, gilt framed, OPW photograph of the President, saying she couldn't possibly hang such a bad likeness on her wall. A very feminine woman. Walter will miss her.'

 

  When I got back to the residence, I found Pierre treating the investigators as guests. He had a tray of tea glasses and a kettle of tea ready for their refreshment. Gül preceded him with the sugar-bowl and he instructed me to go before, and open doors.

  There were eight policemen around the swimming pool. The place was brightly lit. Pierre and Gül advanced. An officer shouted at them to stay out of the area. Pierre has not learned Turkish – one barbaric language, English, is enough, he says. He advanced therefore, placed the
tray on the bar counter and poured tea, announcing that Madame would have so wished. They gave in. Perhaps it was time for tea. We left them to it. Pierre caught me by the arm and marched me to his kitchen.

  'Why are they all in the basement, Pierre? Have they searched the rest of the house?'

  'Two of them went through the house quickly. They are looking for some particular thing down there. It isn't the hole under the bar. I showed them that. You have been to the morgue?'

  'There is a gunshot wound in the right temple. Maybe the police believe that she was shot in the basement.'

  'While I was upstairs?' Pierre growled. 'If Orhan shot her here,' he continued, 'why would he bury her next-door?'

  'He would know that the maid was out and the Barbellinis were at a reception. That rosebed is the only soft bit of earth around.'

  'Orhan liked Madame. She wasn't a diplomat. Why couldn't he have killed you, or Walter, or both of you, if he was required to kill someone?'

  'Perhaps a blow against the family of a diplomat is more terrifying than the murder of an officer.'

  'Find out where she went on Tuesday afternoons, Pierre.'

  I said it more from the belief that he should have something to do than from a conviction that this bit of information could any longer be considered crucial.

  'She was scarcely having an affair, at her age,' I said, intending to provoke.

  He didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he smiled knowingly and patted me on the back.

  'Is that what she told you when she caught you making calf's eyes at her?'

  I allowed him his little triumph. It seemed to make him gloomy, however. He sighed and shook his head.

  'You see, mon cher Denis, I hoped in vain that in her escapes she might make an assignation with M. d'Aubine. After a row between them, there always came a reconciliation. I flattered myself that she might bestow her hand on him this time.'

  'Before disengaging it from Walter's?'

  'Ah my Denis, this matrimony lasted too long. What was the point of it? The Countess should have settled down and taken her responsibilities seriously.'

  'Did M. d'Aubine know of your expectations on his behalf?'

  'If only they hadn't fought about the wine....'

  'Why did they fight about wine, Pierre? What was wrong with the wine?' I asked, remembering that, on separate occasions, both the Countess and her cousin had jibbed when they tasted it.

  'Wrong with the wine? But nothing at all. What could be wrong with the wine? Madame thought that her cousin spent too much of his energies in the service of the Turkish wine growers instead of promoting Château Fontenoy.'

  'If the police ask about the Countess's movements, we will have to tell them that she sometimes came and went, incognito, without being seen by the guard at the gate and that she may have done so on the day she was killed.'

  'They may not need to know.'

  That is my own feeling too, Millicent. The Countess's adventures, however harmless, would catch the fancy of the worst kind of journalist. I phoned Inspector Akin and told him that Ambassador Brown could be found at the Büyük Ankara Hotel.

  'I will interview the Ambassador tomorrow,' he said. 'You may tell him that the police will issue a statement later today. It will announce that Derin Celibi, a member of the leftist militant organisation TUG, assassinated the wife of the Irish Ambassador to Turkey and fled.'

  I was surprised by the speed with which this conclusion had been reached and relieved that it was so unequivocal. The letter in the abandoned car must have left no doubt about responsibility.

  'So TUG has claimed the killing?'

  'At present, no comment.'

  'Did you find anything of significance in the residence?'

  'Blood, among other things. Tell your Ambassador that I will see him in his office tomorrow afternoon. Five o'clock.'

  I am deeply relieved Millicent, However tragic the killing, it has nothing to do with any of us. I filled an overnight bag for Walter and put in Tey's The Daughter of Time and Dorothy Sayers's Gaudy Night. He nodded when I gave him the Inspector's message. I persuaded him to join me, before the news broke, for a bite to eat in the hotel restaurant. The menu hasn't changed since the day I arrived in Ankara. Then I had 'goulash soup'. When the Countess came, a month later, the three of us had eaten the alternative, lemon yoghurt soup.

  'A festive soup for weddings.' the waiter had said, in response to the Countess' question. Tonight we had the goulash soup.Since observing the single bullet hole in the right temple, knowing that the Countess had a gun, I had feared that she might have killed herself. Nothing in her behaviour had ever suggested depression. Yet, who knows what lies behind the bravest smile? The idea must have occurred to Walter also. Better be killed, I feel, than to be so miserable that one kills oneself.

  'It must bring some small measure of relief to you, Ambassador, that a conclusion has been reached.'

  He did not respond. We planned tomorrow's schedule:

  Contact Dublin and report developments.

  Contact Father Delacroix at the oratory in the old French Consulate to fix the time for a Requiem mass.

  Check with the undertakers.

  Check with the Ministry about post mortem and inquest procedures.

  When will the body be released?

  Arrange with Air France to fly the remains to Lyons.

  Book Walter on the flight and offer to book a seat for M.d'Aubine if he wishes.

  There was never any question of bringing the remains to Ireland.

  I returned to the office and rang Walter's local colleagues, as a courtesy, before the eight o'clock news. Ayse returned to the hotel with me, as interpreter, in time for the broadcast. We went to Walter's room.

  The assassination of the wife of the Irish Ambassador was the first item on the television evening news: 'Leftist activists strike in Ankara.' Our photograph of Orhan, named as Derin Celebi, figured prominently. The Countess was referred to as an 'innocent victim of unscrupulous and bloodthirsty militants who were carrying out a war against the Turkish people, targeting diplomats in a new wave of violence.' A senior official from the Foreign Ministry told of tight security measures, and an Army spokesman said that it was necessary to combat aggression. I glanced at Ayse as Orhan's picture was shown on the screen. She did not seem more upset than she had been at the beginning of the broadcast. It may be that I mistook cordial working relations for a romantic attachment. The telephone rang. Walter motioned for me to answer it. The clerk at reception said that a M.d'Aubine was at the desk and wished to come up to the Ambassador's room.

  'Put him on the phone, please.'Félix had been drinking. His voice was aggressive, somewhat slurred but, unfortunately, far from incomprehensible.

  'I want to talk to the murderer. I'm coming up.'

  My ear sang as his phone clattered down on a hard surface. The clerk came on the line again. He expressed his apologies and said that Security would remove the gentleman from the hotel. I shook my head dismissively at Walter's look of enquiry. By tomorrow d'Aubine will have calmed down. Ayse gave me a lift home and came in to feed the cat. Otherwise the poor thing would have gone hungry. They don't eat bread. Though I am tired, I am happier than I have been since Wednesday morning. The media will dub the Countess a martyr who lost her life in the on-going struggle to maintain peaceful relations between nations. The phone rang just as I settled down.

  'Denis, darling, I thought I'd ring to let you know that you needn't worry about anything. Nothing will come out.'

  'Sharon, what are we talking about?'

  'Just between ourselves, Denis, how far did you yourself get with her? In the cause of international relations, of course.'

  My dear Millicent, I was too shocked to think of a sufficiently repressive reply.

  'You didn't, Denis? You are one smart guy. Deepest sympathy, and all that. Have to hand it to her: the poor bitch had balls.'