“Is there another side to this story that we have not yet covered, Mr. Bigelow?”
“I believe there is. We have talked about my friendship with Hayat Yilmaz and my shared experience with Demir Ozmen as prisoners of a Mexican drug gang. There is a third side to this triangle that is less well known—the relationship between Hayat Yilmaz and Ozmen.”
“Did they know each other?”
“Yes, they were childhood friends who were once betrothed. But their engagement was broken off when she discovered some activities of an unflattering nature about him.”
“Such as?”
“Drug peddling.”
“Aha! So what is the connection to the present?”
“Hayat’s parents swore that she was not seeing any man and that she had had nothing more to do with Ozmen after the engagement was broken off. Yet the officers of the Istanbul police force who questioned me and others felt that a lovers’ quarrel was the most likely explanation of Hayat’s savage beating in August. I cannot be certain, but I suspect that she reached out to him again recently.”
“Why would she have done that?”
“To ask for help for her cousin, Husayin Yilmaz.” Dave related how he had told her about the seizure of the Light of the East and how her cousin’s plight had upset her.
“When Ozmen and you were prisoners of this drug cartel in Mexico City, did you ask him about Hayat Yilmaz?”
“Yes, and he denied ever knowing her.”
Ozak arched his eyebrows in surprise. “The fish smells. But why has this information not come out in the media? Did you tell the Istanbul police what you know?”
“I did, and I believe both the officers with whom I spoke were conscientious policemen. But their investigations were thwarted by political interference.”
“You mean a cover-up? But Demir Ozmen, despite his recent celebrity, is not powerful. Who could be pulling the political strings?”
“His employer, perhaps.”
“Yes, that would make sense. But tell me, what did you think of Ozmen as a man?”
“He was rather disgruntled, which is to be expected, given his experiences after his kidnapping in Veracruz. But when he lied to me about Hayat, I no longer trusted the man. What was he trying to hide? My brother, who worked for Ottoman Trading Company at the time, also did not trust him. We sensed a change in his behavior toward the end of our captivity, almost as if he had come to an agreement with our captors. He wasn’t on our side anymore. He was on their side. But that just may have been our paranoia. We all thought we were going to be killed.”
“Very interesting. Mr. Bigelow, I will have to do some additional research before my article is published, to satisfy my editors. But I can assure you, this information will be made public. Perhaps we can lead off with the headline ‘Official Obstruction of Criminal Investigation!’”
Ozak laughed, knowing that the odds were heavily stacked against that happening in a country where press freedom was under attack by the government.
“How soon do you think your article will appear?” Dave was anxious to avoid further delays. He breathed a sigh of relief when Ozak answered.
“Within a week would be my guess.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Cengiz Yilmaz was sitting on the front step of his house in the Uskadur neighborhood of Istanbul. It was a pleasant evening in early fall, mild temperatures and a soft breeze blowing off the Bosporus, but the old man’s heart was heavy. He could no longer bear to stay inside the house filled with mementos of happy moments past, which mocked the weeping of his wife. Their world had been shattered by the events of the last week. Lost in his thoughts, he did not immediately raise his head when he heard footsteps approaching.
“Uncle Cengiz?”
The sun had now set behind the hills to the west, and in the dusk, he did not immediately recognize the battered face of the man who spoke. But the voice he knew.
“Husayin, is that you? How did you make it to Istanbul? There have been police reports on television and in the newspapers that you are wanted for murder in Iskenderun.”
“It was self-defense. Thugs tried to kill me and brought blood down on their own heads. It is a long story. Can we go inside so that we do not arouse the curiosity of your neighbors?”
The old man hesitated. “Our house is in mourning, but please enter. You are welcome.” As he opened the door, he called out, “Oya, it is Husayin, my brother’s son.”
“Are you mourning Hayat?” asked Husayin as Cengiz closed the door.
“Yes, Hayat has died. How did you find out?”
“Only a few days ago, after my release from a Greek prison. The Greek Coast Guard impounded my ship last month because they objected to some merchandise that we were carrying. I was held in Greek custody, with no access to Turkish media, until last week, when I was released in Iskenderun. Since then, I have been on the run from the police, hiding during the day and moving around only at night. But I got a prepaid disposable phone and was able to catch up on news on the internet.”
Husayin did not reveal that he had robbed a shopkeeper of both cash and the prepaid phone at gunpoint. That would have shocked his uncle.
Oya, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, joined them. “Welcome, Husayin,” she said. “Hayat was attacked in August by an unknown assailant who inflicted serious head injuries. She was taken to Istanbul University’s Medical Faculty Hospital, but for weeks, she remained unconscious. Then last week, she regained consciousness. I think she recognized me for the first time. I was overjoyed. But my hope that she would recover was destroyed days later when the hospital called us to report that Hayat had died. It was so strange, so unexpected, that she should suddenly die after clinging to life for weeks.”
“Why do you say that it was strange?” asked Husayin after her sobs had subsided.
Cengiz answered for his wife, “Her body was strong, despite her head injuries, but she died of a heart attack. Professor Oguz, her friend at Istanbul Technical University, made some inquiries. On the night she died, she was given her medications by a substitute nurse who may have been inexperienced. The medications were intended for another patient. That is what is strange. You would think an inexperienced nurse would be given closer supervision to avoid tragic mistakes like this one. There will be an official investigation, but whatever they decide, it will not bring back our daughter.”
Husayin sank down on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice trembled. “Did Hayat know anyone at the Ottoman Trading Company?”
“No one that she ever mentioned to us. Why do you ask?”
“When I was released last week in Iskenderun by the Greek Coast Guard, I was met at the Turkish Port Authority by employees of the Ottoman Trading Company, which controls my firm, Golden Horn Shipping. I was taken to a run-down warehouse, where the chief bodyguard of the president of the Ottoman Trading Company and his henchmen beat me mercilessly. They wanted to extract a confession of what I had told the Greek authorities while I was in their custody. I told nothing, but they did not believe me. The chief bodyguard, named Yavuz, claimed that I had once revealed company secrets to my cousin, the woman professor, who could only have been Hayat.”
“Did you ever talk to Hayat about your company’s business? What does it do?” asked Cengiz.
“Yes, I did. It trades in many different products around the world, but its most profitable line of business is the illegal drug trade—heroin, cocaine, amphetamines.”
“But how could you work for such a company?” demanded Cengiz. “My brother was an honorable man, and I know that he raised you to live by his example.”
“Hayat asked me the same question. She said that she had broken off an engagement many years ago with a man who was selling illegal drugs. I have forgotten his name.”
“Would it be Demir Ozmen?” whispered Oya.
> “Why, that’s the name! He is head of a division at Ottoman Trading Company—vice president for special operations or something. I never had direct contact with him.”
“He was recently released by a Mexican drug gang who kidnapped him while on a business trip to Mexico. Have you not heard?” Cengiz was amazed because the story had been front-page news in the major Turkish newspapers.
Husayin shook his head in embarrassment. “My Greek hosts never provided me with Turkish newspapers. I saw some headlines on the internet after my release, but I did not understand the connection to Hayat until now.”
He remained silent for a moment then continued, “Do you not think it odd that Yavuz should have known that I had talked to Hayat about company operations? He is a rough, coarse man—not the sort Hayat would have associated with. He could have picked up that information only from Demir Ozmen. When did the attack on Hayat occur? Was it before or after Ozmen was kidnapped in Mexico?”
“The story about the kidnapping broke one or two weeks after she was attacked,” said Cengiz emphatically.
“Do you think Hayat was attacked by Ozmen?”
Cengiz shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? That possibility was raised by two American visitors from New York who came to our house a few weeks ago.”
“Americans? Were they the police?”
Cengiz shook his head. “No, lawyers, I think. Professor Oguz brought them here because they were friends of Hayat.”
“Of one thing I am certain,” exclaimed Husayin. “Yavuz would not have beaten me unless he was given orders by Tilki, the president of Ottoman Trading Company. Tilki might have been upset about the loss of a ship, but he could simply have dismissed me. He had Yavuz beat me because he was afraid of what I might have told the Greek authorities. Who put that suspicion in his mind? Who made the connection between me and Hayat? It had to be Ozmen!”
“But Ozmen could not have been responsible for the medicine overdose that killed Hayat,” said Cengiz.
“I agree. That was Tilki. When I escaped from his thugs in Iskenderun, he turned on Hayat.”
“Nephew, I fear for you.” Cengiz shook his head sadly. “You have very powerful enemies. The Tilki family is wealthy and well-connected. But are they guilty of Hayat’s death? It is possible. They are benefactors of Istanbul University’s Medical Faculty Hospital.”
“I know what I face. I am a fugitive from the law. I cannot expect justice from this government or the legal system. Of necessity, I will join the opposition—you know, Hayat’s people, who demonstrated in Taksim Square against the government and powerful real estate interests.”
“You are in danger,” said Oya. “Please spend the night with us.”
“No, I must go. I have brought enough dishonor and grief to our family and this home. But I swear to you, the death of Hayat will be avenged! May Allah bring you peace in your time of mourning and give me the strength to fulfill my duty!”
Husayin rose from the sofa, bowed to his aunt and uncle, and disappeared into the night as swiftly and unexpectedly as he had come.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Ozmen’s head was spinning as he took the elevator to the fifth floor, where he had been summoned by Omer Tilki. He had just learned that the New York office of the Ottoman Trading Company had been shut down by court order and that Murat had fled to Istanbul to avoid arrest by the FBI. But that was of less concern to him than a front-page story in one of Istanbul’s leading newspapers based on an interview with Dave Bigelow in New York and tying Ozmen to the death of Hayat Yilmaz.
When the elevator doors opened into the reception area, he was immediately escorted into Tilki’s office by two bodyguards. Already seated inside were Omer and Emir Tilki, Murat, and Yavuz. He overheard Emir Tilki admonishing his son: “Success does not go to the fainthearted. Sometimes one must be resourceful and ruthless! You have disappointed me.”
Omer Tilki did not appreciate being humiliated in front of his employees. His voice was tinged with rage as he confronted Ozmen with the newspaper article. “Have you read this article? Too bad that your confinement together did not make comrades of you and Dave Bigelow.”
“Yes, I have read it. Bigelow only said that I am a suspect in the initial beating of Hayat Yilmaz, that I was once betrothed to her, and that he could not understand why the Istanbul police had not made progress in their investigation. He did not say that I am guilty of her death from an accidental overdose of medications at Istanbul University’s Medical Faculty Hospital.”
“The police have not succeeded only because we have done our best to obstruct their investigation. But the cost of protecting you has become too high. Hayat Yilmaz’s obituary was in all of the newspapers last week. Even the New York Times carried her obituary. Now this article has unleashed a media frenzy. When I arrived at the office this morning, my limousine was besieged by reporters. My father even received a call from the prime minister’s office.”
Emir Tilki interrupted, “The call did not come directly from the prime minister but, rather, from one of his personal aides. The message was very clear. The prime minister will not tolerate a hint of scandal involving any of his major donors. We have contributed generously to the election coffers of the ruling party.”
Tilki provided the background for the prime minister’s concern. Since the demonstrations at Taksim Square, the prime minister had been subjected to increasing criticism for his authoritarian style of rule and for the corruption seeping into his administration. The opposition had accused him of deliberately thwarting investigations into corruption by reassigning thousands of police officers and members of the judiciary. The prime minister had lashed out furiously at his critics, accusing them of being part of a foreign conspiracy to undermine the Turkish Republic. So far, his political support had held, but he recognized that he was vulnerable.
“You know what that means, don’t you? I do not care about not being invited to receptions at fund-raising events and being photographed with the prime minister. But I do care about a drying up of zoning decisions favorable to our real estate investments. Major construction projects await official approval in Istanbul, Ankara, and Izmir.”
“Thank you, Father,” Omer said deferentially. “But did you not protest that we are the innocent victims of an incompetent and corrupt employee at Ottoman Trading Company?”
“Yes, I did, and the prime minister’s aide even seemed to believe me. But this controversy must be stopped now to avoid damage to our interests.”
Ozmen felt like a condemned man as Omer Tilki’s eyes bored into him. “Adding to our grievance is that we have reason to believe that Husayin Yilmaz, after escaping Yavuz’s men in Iskenderun, has made his way to Istanbul.”
“How do you know that he is in Istanbul?”
“He had the audacity to call my office, introducing himself as a friend of the martyred Hayat Yilmaz. I had Yavuz take the call. He recognized the man’s voice. It was Husayin Yilmaz.”
“That explains the call my wife received from a stranger last night. He introduced himself only as a friend of Hayat Yilmaz and wanted to know when I would be returning home from the office.”
“Husayin Yilmaz is clearly bent on mischief. He does not know for certain what happened, but he suspects. However, you will not need to worry about taking evening strolls on dark streets until he is apprehended. I have decided to relieve you of your duties as vice president of special operations. Yavuz, take him away.”
Yavuz was already on his feet, jerking his head in the direction of the door, where two bodyguards were waiting. Ozmen appeared ready to comply, turning toward the door. His worst fears were being realized. He felt overwhelmed, but he was not resigned to his fate. He would not go down without a fight.
Ozmen had no illusions about what would happen to him. He knew too much about the illicit activities of Ottoman Trading Company to be simply dismissed. Omer Tilki feare
d that he would seek vengeance by talking to the police. Since the Mexican terrorists had not obliged by relieving him of his troublesome employee, Tilki would initiate action himself, using the call from Husayin Yilmaz as an opportunity.
As he was pushed out of Tilki’s office, Ozmen caught a glimpse of the normally inscrutable face of Recep Murat, now altered by a small triumphant smile. He felt the anger surge within him. They had been rivals within the company for years.
He halted and turned back toward Tilki, pointing an accusing finger at Murat and shouting, “Don’t forget, Tilki, this man showed the bad judgment to choose Bob Bigelow to deliver the ransom money. Because of his mistake, your Mexican venture went up in smoke. He is the one you should be punishing!”
Murat stood up as if to challenge him, and Ozmen did not hesitate. He unleashed a powerful blow that smashed the cartilage in Murat’s nose. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the bodyguards lunging toward him. He sidestepped and tripped him just in time, grabbing him around the neck and pulling the gun from the holster inside his jacket. Ozmen only had time to point the gun in the general direction of Omer Tilki before Yavuz clubbed him from behind. The gun fired harmlessly into the ceiling. Then everything went dark.
The police, the media, and Ozmen’s family were soon informed that he had left the company under a black cloud, terribly despondent about his personal situation. An internal investigation had turned up disturbing evidence of Ozmen’s involvement in the illicit drug trade. He had also confessed under questioning that he had broken off an affair with his former college sweetheart, Hayat Yilmaz, when she threatened to talk to his wife. This might explain why her body had been found, badly beaten and on the verge of death, in the Bosporus in August. He had denied his guilt but had revealed that he was receiving abusive calls from her cousin, Husayin Yilmaz, a man wanted for the murder of four Ottoman Trading Company employees in Iskenderun.
Accidental Encounters Page 23