WHAT TIME IS IT, MR WOLF?
Ercan Akbay

This is a story about an old man stabbed to death with a screwdriver by two men who come to burgle his house, and the incidents in the three days that follow. This terrible murder becomes entwined in a whirlwind romance between a man and a woman who meet in a bar one Saturday night.
The quick rhythm that makes this Ercan Akbay novel unique, the original, heartfelt narration, as well as mastery of a subtle realism in character development, the fluidity of the dialogues, and the depth of the powerful and impressive content, are just some of the features that catch the eye.
The characters: the shrewd police captain, pushing retirement; Murat, a fiendishly dangerous outlaw; Arzu, a beautiful young woman embroiled in crime; Caner, a Homicide detective with serious problems of his own who only handles ‘complex and non-routine’ cases; the sheikh of a cult who has no qualms about remodelling life according to his own desires, and the other characters who have a part in these deadly events narrate the same three days from their own points of view and in their own voices.
With this book, as soon as you step through the dark portal that opens out onto the secret rituals of crime, you will plunge straight into the heart of this extraordinary underground affair with all the keenness of a very sharp, penetrating weapon.

Saturday, 18th November

CHAPTER 1
THE CHIEF

In my sleep, I heard the damn thing ringing like it was never going to stop.  I’d always leave my mobile just inside the front door, ‘cause I don’t want to get a brain tumour.  And my wife, sleeping next to me, woke up as I leapt out of bed.  When she saw I was getting up muttering angrily to myself, she didn’t say anything.  I felt my way around and turned on the light.  Six in the morning, and Mert, the duty officer, was phoning from the station.  No doubt it was going to be bad news.
—What’s happened?
—It’s horrible, Chief; Sami Tuzcu’s been killed in his home.  The news’s just come in, while I’ve been on duty.
Sami Tuzcu, an old man who devoted himself to charity, a well-known and well-liked businessman...  Who on earth would want to kill him and why? 
In my twenty-nine years on the job, this was one of those situations that I had faced many times. They come up against a problem they can’’t get their heads round and always call me. You wake up at some ungodly hour and go off someplace where they’ve found a decomposing body and then you’re on the trail of some killer, ripper or pervert.
Have you any idea what kind of hell it is to have to live through these harrowing situations hundreds of times?  For a cop at the head of Istanbul Homicide who’s pushing retirement, a cop they should be getting ready for the good life for everything he’s done to date, a cop they should be putting out to pasture?  But no, it’s got to the point where the bastards won’t even accept my resignation.
I left my anger at the bedside.  Now I had to deal with something serious, inhuman.  It was dark; I groped around for the light switch.  As a veteran cop’s first reflex, I asked what had to be asked.
—How did it happen?
—Well, first, burglars robbed Sami Tuzcu’s house.  They opened the safe and walked off with his jewellery collection.  And after that, they stabbed him through the heart.
—Do we know what time it happened?
—Not yet.  A short while ago, his servant called to report it.  The faithful old couple thought that something strange had happened and, when they came in the house early this morning, they found him in the middle of the living room, lying on the carpet.  I sent Serdar over straight away.  I’m off too, shall we meet over there?
—Has Robbery got involved?
—I guess not.  ‘Cause it was phoned in as murder, 911 sent us over.
I paused.  I still hadn’t completely woken up.  Couldn’t find anything to say to buy some time; I kept quiet for a bit, thought and took a deep breath.  Mert was holding the line.  In the end, I made a decision, and flung myself into the experienced arms of my common sense.
—Mert, listen, what I’m about to say is very important: no one is to hear about this incident.  And I mean no one...  If even the tiniest bit of news gets out, all the crime correspondents and media bastards will be crowding the place out, they’ll be crawling all over the place and won’t let us get our job done.  We won’t be able to pick our noses without becoming front-page news; there’s no one in the country who doesn’t know who Sami Tuzcu is.  Got it?
—Yes, Sir, but what about procedure, the police…
I knew what he was going to say, I interrupted him.
—From this moment on, I’m forbidding you to breathe word about the Sami Tuzcu murder.  And that’s an order!
—W-What’ll I say if they ask?
Mert was crazy about drawing things out.
—If anyone asks you, you’ll say you’ve got your orders.  I only hope I haven’t told you too late.  Don’t mention it in your duty report, and, when you’re there, don’t tell anyone anything.
—Don’t worry, Chief.  No one’s caught on yet.  Like I said, the operator transferred the call directly here.  And I told them not to call anywhere else.
While I was talking, I went through to the bedroom and looked in the wardrobe for something to wear.
— I was going to ask about that.  You’ve done well.  Go over straight away.  I’ll be there in half an hour.  Don’t touch anything till I get there.  Tell that to the lads from Crime Scene and Serdar, too.
I had only put on some trousers.  I went into the bathroom shirtless and squeezed some shaving foam onto my face.
—You go.  Don’t take a radio or anything with you and, whatever you do, don’t give the game away.
—OK, Chief.  See you over there.
I hung up.  When I started to shave, the dishevelled face I saw in the mirror disturbed me.  Years of weariness and exhaustion were scrawled all over it.  And what exhaustion...  You could also call it Detective Chief Inspector Kemal fighting his own hot air: everyone’d be asleep, and he’d be working; everyone’d be eating and drinking, and he’d be training, all for peanuts.
Oh yes, they always give commendation medals to the Chief, but shiny medals don’t pay the rent; they’re not enough to save him from the struggle to make ends meet.
Poor bugger, he would say, ‘Go to bed and sleep, what’s it to me?’
But what’s the use?  Once we’ve got used
To putting up with abuse
Well, that was enough poetry; I went into the bedroom without making a sound, and picked up my keys and reading glasses.  The kids hadn’t woken up yet.  Without breathing a word to anyone, I left the door on the latch and left.  There was a terrible chill in the air; I turned on the car heating and waited a while for the steamed up windscreen to clear.  Lit a cigarette... slowly woke up.
I called Mert on the way over.  As a seasoned cop, I already knew roughly where Sami Tuzcu’s house was.  Just got the house number and set off for the address.  Entered by the garden gate and saw Mert trying to bring the Crime Scene boys round and send them on their way.  They’d come from the station in Beşiktaş and were familiar faces.  It takes a cop to know a cop.  What’s more, their boss and me went back a long way.  When the lads saw me they stood up respectfully and made themselves scarce.  I went inside the house with Mert.
In the middle of the living room, Sami Tuzcu was lying face down on the floor.  Blood had seeped out from the edge of his jacket and had formed a half-dried, brown pool on the floor.  In the corner of the living room, I saw Detective Sergeant Serdar Emanet reading some notes he had in his hand.  He saw me and saluted with a serious expression on his face.
On one of the chairs in the left of the living room, a short blonde-haired young woman was sitting crying.  Mert turned to me and said the woman was Sami Tuzcu’s daughter: Billur Solmaz.  After that, he began to explain, with a hint of desperation in his voice:
—Chief, unfortunately, we haven’t been able to find any clues at all.  There’s no fingerprints, no fibres, no footprints, no nothing…  Crime Scene took photos of everywhere; they turned the whole place upside down. I don’t think that they’re going to find whodunnit.
If our lot did find out whodunnit, it’d be a miracle.  Even with normal burglaries, there may well be heaps of clues and witnesses, but the number of cases the Istanbul police had solved were few and far between.  This incident was a bit different from a normal burglary, though: a prominent business man had been killed and a precious jewellery collection had been stolen.  This type of case is very important for them because it’s a golden opportunity for the media-police-political bigwigs to get together and hold hands in public.
Forgetting my weariness and despair for a moment, I reeled off my most shop-worn questions about the incident to Mert.  He should have been prepared for them ‘cause it was me who’d taught them, and they form the basic rule of being a cop.
—How did they get in?
—They opened the door locks with a master key.
—What about the servants?
—Oh, that old couple, they were staying in the outbuilding in the garden.  Before it happened, at about half past ten or so, both of them were either drugged or fell asleep.
I wondered how he could tell the difference, so I asked.
—We don’t know.  Neither do they: they didn’t hear or see anything.  It could be knockout gas or something like that.  It’s just that a little before they fell asleep, they heard the dog barking in the garden.  Then the electrics were cut.
—What happened to the dog?
—Touch wood, there’s nothing wrong with him.
He thought that he’d cracked the joke of the century.  When I looked sternly at him grinning, he pulled himself together and was serious again.
—I mean they don’t understand why the dog didn’t kick something off.  It could have been drugged as well.
I didn’t say anything.  I walked up to the entrance hall and took a look at the wall opposite the door.  On the left hand side, towards where the wall joined the ceiling, was a white plastic box with the word ‘alarm’ clearly written on it.  I called Mert over, showed him the box and asked:
—Wasn’t the alarm working, then?
Mert was dithering again.
—Hmm, well...  It’s interesting because the alarm somehow didn’t go off.
—How’s that, then?
I had asked this question on purpose.  I’d worked my bollocks off for years, instructing him and all the other twits at the station how to answer questions like this.
—The electric was cut…
Mert saw I was staring right at him, realised what he’d said, but must have felt the need to finish his sentence, so he continued:
—... and maybe that had something to do with it?
He lowered his eyes in shame, but I continued firing questions at him.
— Well, is it working now?
He bit his lip and, without looking at my face, mumbled:
—I haven’t checked.
Now, this was an answer that no cop should ever give.  And Mert knew this very well.  Suddenly, I was seeing red.
—You haven’t checked?!  How the hell do you run an investigation?!
—A-Alright, Chief.  I’ll check now.  I’m sorry...
Mert went and checked the alarm and the cables.  He came back.
—Chief, I think it happened like this.  First, they cut off the building’s electric at the transformer in the garden.  The alarm’s battery kicked in, and as soon as they entered, they sorted it out by opening the box and breaking the circuit.  I mean this lot are no amateurs, they came well prepared.  The skeleton key and the way they opened the safe were very skillful, too.
Mert had started stammering in a high-pitched voice.  So that his self-confidence, which was at zero right now, would come back, I gave him a friendly pat on shoulder and looked at him calmly.
—Call around and see if there’ve been any similar robberies recently.
He knew very well that I had a soft spot for him.  He relaxed, smiled and struck a salute.
— I’ll take care of it right away, Chief.
Just then, my phone rang; it was the super’s number.  ‘That’s all we need!’ I muttered to myself.  Before answering, I turned towards Mert again, angrily:
—It wasn’t you who told HQ, was it?
—No, Chief.  I wrote exactly what you said in the report.
—I suppose it’s some bigmouth who’s been giving it the large again.
I picked up the phone.
—Detective Chief Inspector Kemal Güçlü?
—Speaking.
—Hold the line, please, Sir; Superintendent Faruk Kuloğlu is on the other end; I’m putting you through.
His secretary put me through to the oaf.  It was obvious that the Sami Tuzcu murder had got Kuloğlu really worked up.  Next thing you know, he’ll be going to the TV and the papers and putting out a statement…
—No one is to be informed, expressly; those are my instructions and I take full responsibility.  And I’m asking you that as a favour, Sir.  Otherwise, they won’t let us do our job; you know that...
Yes, he certainly did know...  And I knew very well what he was after too, but the man was determined to show how thick he was. Although he’d understood the reasons for keeping the murder secret, he’d wanted confirmation that the order had been given by me; he wanted to show he knew everything.
—Yes, Sir.  It is a difficult case: there are no clues, no leads...
He went straight on to long, drawn-out questions:
—Yes, now Crime Scene say that the murder weapon was a screwdriver or similar penetrating object.
After he had told me a load of unnecessary details, he asked us to solve the incident as quickly as possible.  Ahh, if only I want could always get…  What a hell of a lot of things I would want.
—Understood, Sir.
Then Kuloğlu, with surprising insight, told me the name of the best man for the job.  This was an officer who, before coming to Homicide, had been kicking around for years in the Drugs Squad.  He was a unique cop and was a D. S. with us.  To get cracking, he said that he thought it would be a good idea for us to get this guy involved in the case, and then he asked me if I thought so, too.
—You’re absolutely right, Sir.  I do think he’s the right man for the job.  And like I said, I’ll be working in the field personally on this one.  I’ll call him now and get him up to speed on the incident.  It’s still early: I think I can catch him at home.
My acceptance about his rightness had put him in an even better mood.  He said he would mobilise all units for our department’s work if necessary.
—Thank you, Sir.
I hung up and thought a bit more.  I had quite a few things to think about: preparations for my eldest daughter’s engagement, my wife’s health problems, the drama of promotion season in the office, a whole load of complicated files and the heart tablets that I take every morning.  It occurred to me that I’d forgotten to take my Coumadin, so I took one out of the box in my pocket and swallowed it.
Ahh, thinking is something you can only do by yourself; no one else can do it for you.

CHAPTER 2
ARZU

This evening I had come a little early to the Joy Bar, where I’d arranged to meet my boyfriend.  It was around nine o’clock.  The man on cloakroom duty had changed, and in his place they’d put an imposing man of a certain age who looked like one of those characters who could play a gangster in a French film.  He appeared to be courteous when he saw me; he looked up from the computer screen in front of him, and rose to his feet, smiling, and welcomed me with a nod of his head.  He asked me if I wanted to leave my coat in the cloakroom.  I didn’t; it was only something light anyway.
Ever since I had started going out with my current boyfriend, I had stopped wearing low-cut dresses.  My boyfriend wasn’t the type who would allow me any risqué evening wear.  At home, though, he preferred me with nothing on.
I hadn’t been here for a long time.  Friday evenings in the Joy Bar were generally very busy, but this evening, maybe because it was still early, it seemed somehow deserted.  I went over to the bar, sat down and asked the barman for a glass of red wine.  Then I cast a glance around the place.  There were fifteen or sixteen people at the tables, while at the long bar where I was sitting, there were only four people apart from me.
Recently, because of my weight problem, I hadn’t really been eating anything for dinner.  At home I had picked at a salad and gone out.  I wasn’t overweight, actually.  But even if I only put on one pound, I was afflicted with this terrible disorder that would make it go straight to my hips.  Tonight, in honour of my birthday, I could spoil myself and have a drink and some nibbles.  Like a day off...
My boyfriend was due within the next half hour.  While I was waiting for him, I thought I’d have a glass of wine and flick through the new issue of ‘Art’, a real bijou of a magazine.  I was just glancing at the pictures in the first few pages of the magazine when one of those eccentric types came in and walked towards where I was sitting, looking around.  He said hi to the barman and ordered a drink.  I’d immediately understood from his first few gestures that he was a warm guy who had no trouble communicating.
You know those men who you don’t think are handsome, if you count off their physical attributes one by one, but who, nonetheless, have a certain charm.  Well, he was one of them: thin, medium height, curly brown hair, around thirty-five or forty and with a sunny face.  He was wearing a thin crew-neck sweater with very stylish, light blue jeans.  He had a really nice, casual style.  His Italian design, tobacco-brown suede shoes, and his thin angular glasses in the style that I like gave him a more well-to-do air.
Right next to me, he asked the barman for a glass of red wine.  He put his hands on the surface of the bar.  Those immaculate, tapering fingers...  I got a good look at his hair and ears close up.  When he spoke, I noticed that his tone of voice was warm and confident and that his teeth and lips were nice.  I always do this instinctively: a head-to-toe analysis.  But for a man to get a pass mark from me, he would have to be able to walk on water.
It’s really difficult for a woman who’s this choosy about men to find a someone to go out with.  I should confess that up to this day – my thirtieth birthday – I’ve never come across anyone who I could give full marks to.  This man, who I’d given a high mark to at first sight, took an elegant sip from his glass.  After looking around the place for a couple of minutes or so, he turned towards me.
—Hi.  I do hope I’m not disturbing you.
I’d been feeling that he wanted to talk to me, right from the moment he walked in to the bar.  That’s why I wasn’t surprised.  I answered smiling:
—No, of course not.  You’re not disturbing me.
So as he wouldn’t get too full of himself, I turned away and took a pistacchio from the bowl on the bar.  I crunched it between my teeth and continued with what I was saying.
—At least, not for the moment.
In spite of what I had said, he smiled again sweetly.  He looked at me impishly from over the frames of his expensive-looking glasses.  He shrugged his shoulders at me.
—OK, well, if I do anything indecent you can send me away.  Men in bars have a bad reputation, don’t you think?
The words of an attractive man sound charming, too.  He wasn’t waiting for an answer or anything to his sentence actually, but I still decided to respond with a short question.  And this meant ‘go on’.
—I wouldn’t know, do they?
—To tell the truth, I’m really hesitant about chatting to a woman in a bar.  And if you become too chummy with men, then that’s even worse.
He winked roguishly.
—They’ll be gossiping about you immediately.
I laughed at his witty remark.  His bearing and manner amused me.
—You’re right, but it’s become almost impossible for a woman to sit alone at a bar without being disturbed these days.
I said these words in a serious way because it wouldn’t have done for me to give him too much encouragement.  To let him know the limits, I thought I’d take the precaution of starting to talk to him about my boyfriend.
—Anyway, I’m waiting for my fiancé.
I immediately looked at my watch and continued with a false smile.
—He’ll be coming just now to rescue me from you.  That’s why I’m so relaxed.
Surprisingly, the man didn’t even seem disappointed at these words.  He continued to the conversation as if nothing had happened.
—You looked like you’re waiting for someone anyway.  Maybe this evening I’ll be able to entertain you both a little.
He shrugged his shoulders with a very sweet look on his face and continued:
—Free entertainment and drinks: it must be your lucky day…
I was caught completely off guard by what he’d just said.
—Well, actually, today’s my birthday.
In response to my surprise, looking to all the world like the cat that had got the cream, he replied exuberantly:
—Ahh, so you’re a scorpio.  Very nice, what a happy coincidence...
I wondered what was so happy about this coincidence and what his star sign was.  Without being able to ask him and without him giving me the chance to say anything, he continued:
—Scorpio women are alright.  Charming and mysterious...  I bet you’re someone who’ll make any sacrifice for the man you love and stay faithful to him forever.
Was I really a woman who was faithful to her boyfriend?  Well, I would be, if only for this evening.  It was good that he hadn’t mentioned the dark side of the Scorpio personality.  He was so sweet.
—Yes, I am, actually; and I think that everyone ought to be faithful to their wife or girlfriend.
There was a short pause in the conversation.  The man reached out his hand to me with a warm smile.
—My name’s Caner, and you?
—Arzu.
—That’s a nice name.  It means ‘desire’, doesn’t it?  Oh, now you’ve got me thinking of ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’.  What a fabulous film.
I’d never come across a man who’d said this to me before.  I liked it.  As well as ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ being one of my favourite classic films, I’d also read the book.
—It’s an Elia Kazan film.  One of my favourite directors.
His face lit up.  I suppose he thought that I was a film buff like him, too.
—Well, if you want my opinion, it was a magnificent film.  It had Marlon Brando and what you may call her, that beautiful woman?
Oh gosh, I don’t know why, I could picture her face, but I’d forgotten her name!
—Was it Kim Novak?  No, that was one of the characters’ names, I think, Kim.
Caner, too, had started to squirm in his seat.
—No, that’s not it...  Her name’s on the tip of my tongue; it began with a V.
Vicki, Vanessa, Vivette, Victoria...  While I was going through all the names I could think of that started with a V, all at once an actress’ name that fitted the woman’s face came to mind.  As if we had planned it beforehand, we both cried out at the same time:
—Vivian Leigh!
I clapped my hands together in delight.
—Yes.  That’s it, now, there really was a beautiful woman.
He cast another roguish glance at me.  As a matter of fact, I certainly was not unattractive.  Any man looking me up and down carefully wouldn’t be able to stay indifferent.  But if I don’t feel anything for him in my heart, what difference does it make?
As for my relationship with my boyfriend, well, that was something completely different: he was a real man, handsome and his firmness made me go wild in bed.  And he was someone who I could have as a guarantee for my future.  I mean, you can’t just say no straight off when a man proposes to you.  You’ve got to put all that lovey-dovey stuff to one side and just take whatever you can get, whether he’s from the sticks or not.  I mean, after all, once you’re past thirty, your bodyclock starts ticking away even faster.
Caner was nothing like my boyfriend, and he was trying to chat me up.
—That’s so true, they do say that women used to be so much more beautiful.  But if you ask me, women of the new generation are even more beautiful.
He meant me, of course.  Then he got straight to the point:
—Your job is something to do with art, isn’t it?
He’d got it in one!
—Yes, I’m a painter.
—I can see that.
How it was that he could see that, I didn’t ask, of course.  There was nothing serious yet; all I wanted was to experience the beauty of the moment and have some fun at the same time.  Caner closed his eyes – I thought he was doing it just to make me laugh – and turned his head upwards.  He started to talk in a low mumbling voice.
—You used to work on some expressional pieces, but now you tend  more towards abstract painting.  Your character is not insensitive to the problems of those around you and, when you see something unfair in life, you react to it with all your might...
Bingo!  And he kept on talking and talking.
I was very surprised by what he was saying.  It was interesting that someone who I had only got to know ten minutes ago could make such an accurate character analysis.  I couldn’t help thinking he was trying to bowl me over with things he had been reading in astrology books.  After pausing a moment, he suddenly went off onto prophecies about something completely different.
—Let’s move on to your relationships with men: you are someone who is very difficult to please, and for this reason you’ve had a lot of difficulty finding someone suitable for you.  Although you’ve had several attempted relationships in the past, it’s always ended up with you going off the man  and running away.
He’d done it again.  What was going on?  How could he tell?
—Everything you’re saying is true.
He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
—You’re from the Aegean; you were born in Izmir.  You have a loving family, and you’re all very close.  When you were growing up, your father made sure you wanted for nothing.  He’s an architect or, perhaps, a construction engineer.  You came to Istanbul to go to university.  Your family still lives in Izmir, or am I mistaken?
I’d given up by now.
—Where do you know all this from?  It just doesn’t add up.
And, for sure, there was something that didn’t add up...

CHAPTER 3
MURAT

Couldn’t sleep last night, so I popped a load of pills.  That’s why I had bad heartburn and it tasted like something had shat in my mouth.  Feeling like this, it’d be better not to go anywhere, just straight to bed.  But I’d promised my bird; I had to keep her sweet a bit longer.
I had the diamond watch from the safe with its box on me.  I put on that blue sports jacket she’d made me buy from Versace.  I looked myself at the mirror.  Saw I needed to have a shave.  I didn’t like the black sweater under the jacket.  Took off the jacket and sweater and went into the bathroom to have a shave.  I’d just spread the stuff on my face when my mobile rang.  I saw the boss’s name on the screen and felt that bad vibe again inside me for no reason.  Felt a bit sick.  Answered the what you may call it.
—Yes, boss.
He was asking about last night’s job.  Without even a hello, how are you? of course. There was that usual pisstaking tone in his voice.  I said we’d got the goods.  Then, couldn’t keep my big mouth shut, and told him the owner’d come home early and so on.  He asked if I taught that old crook a lesson.
—Look, boss…
I lowered my voice and hissed back.
—I taught him a lesson that no one forgets.
Course, he was curious about what I’ve done.  Preferred not to say, like.
—You know, he was asking for it.
At the same time, I opened the wardrobe to choose myself another sweater.  Put off the shaving mularkey ‘til after the call, ‘cause it’s too noisy.  I hated him.  I just couldn’t do nothing against the hate.  If only I could.  As I expected, he asked me straight up about the jewels.
—The goods are with Mustafa; I mean in the shop.  Next week they’ll be delivered to Kirkor, then put on sale.
He repeated the usual orders.  Wanted to say that I was in a hurry, but couldn’t do the necessary to butt in.  He talked and talked.  Then suddenly shut up.  Instead of answering him, I preferred to tie things up so as not to draw them out.
—OK, boss.
I said I had things to do and asked his leave.  He said we’d meet up very soon and hung up in my face without listening to the last thing I said, as usual.  Heartless bastard!
Took a good long look at my face in the mirror.  Raised my brows and gave myself a mean look.  My bony, angular face was sort of impressive and frightening.  Even the gash on my forehead suited my face.  Well, God’d given me just the exact image I wanted to be.
I thought about the rich chicks I’d pulled and stroked my tackle.  Yeah, I’m the man.  You gotta be a bit rough with them, so they understand what you’re worth.  I tell everyone; rich chicks like tough guys smelling of tobacco and BO.  They want to give their lovely bodies to loudmouth yobs.  Ahh, and if you hurt them a bit in bed, they never leave you. 
I remember now, the bootiful arse on that whore, Yasemin, who I was screwing for a while.  Anyway, I’d understood how much the slags lust after me when I was ‘round seventeen.  Back in the days, it was mostly desperate housewives who wanted to fuck me.  Wouldn’t go to school; I’d go to their houses.  Furious bitches… None of their husbands caught me on the job.  Not like I was scared, though.  So the husband catches me banging his missus; well, I got my blade... I’d spill his guts over the bed and fuck his wife on top of them.
After I’d washed my face, and ran some gel through my thick, slightly greying hair, I looked at my teeth in the mirror.  White and sparkling… Poured myself a straight whisky and downed it.  Rolled a spliff in the machine and lit it with my golden Dunhill.  Three drags, one after the other.  Wanted to get high.  Splashed on my classic ‘Safari’ aftershave, a palmful as usual.  Didn’t use deodorant anyway; as you know, a real man should smell of sweat a bit.
The boss came to my mind; I came down again.  When the time was ripe, I’d take him out, too.  I could almost feel the pieces of his brain in my palms spurting out of his smashed up skull.  Took the keys and went out.  My spanking new car was waiting on the driveway.
Heey, this is the life, mate…

CHAPTER 4
CANER

When I entered the Joy Bar, an old tearjerker was playing:  Al Green was singing ‘How can you mend a broken heart?’ in his inimitable style.  I felt a bit sad about that; unfortunately doctors are yet to find a remedy for a broken heart.  Swaying with the music’s beat, I went over to where a single man can be most effective: the bar.
The young blonde sitting there, wasn’t one of those women who usually catches your eye at first glance.  Actually, in spite of her classically beautiful face, well shaped body and appropriate height, it was as if there was some kind of presentation problem.  Yes, breasts a bit small and hips a bit narrow, but these weren’t the reasons that dampened her appeal.  It was as if there was no femininity in the way she bore herself.  She wasn’t wearing one of those wonderbras to push her tits up, or anything with a plunging neckline, or a skirt with an erotic slit.  Only some dark blue jeans, a cream blouse, and really closed low-heeled shoes.
I wonder if women dress to kill and look sexy only when they’re searching for a husband?
When I passed through and stood in the space next to her, she was reading a magazine about design or art or something.  Before I got close to her, and before I reached the middle of the dance floor, she had already lifted her head subtly, and looked me up and down, from head to toe.  As soon as I had asked the barman for a drink, I got straight to the point.  It’s good to talk.  Like they say: animals sniff each other, humans talk.
Men are usually reluctant to talk to women in a social milieu like a bar or a club.  In psychology it’s called ‘rejection anxiety’.  As for me, I am not afraid of being rejected by any woman.  Because, more often than not, they think rationally; a woman who says no to a man, doesn’t really mean that she doesn’t want to go out with him.  It’s not as easy as that.  After a certain time, she might want the same man badly.  Actually, it doesn’t make any sense to give extra meaning to the words, gestures, posturing and behavior of women and take them too seriously.  I’ve been doing this for quite a while, and so, that’s why, I don’t suffer from rejection anxiety.
Shortly after striking up conversation, somewhere deep inside me, I could feel her warm femininity, which hadn’t been obvious before from the outside.  As far as I was concerned, it was like a blazing fire actually.  Even more importantly, she was the type who I could attract; an intelligent woman who seemed to have had a good education and developed sophisticated aesthetic taste.
Right at the beginning of our conversation, I made a very apposite and dainty opening gambit.  It wasn’t complete improvisation, but it was an opening that had something of that flavour, if you know what I mean.  I have enough talent to seduce an intellectual, clever woman.  Just like some singers have God’s gift, well, what I had was something like that. Cunning women who don’t think of anything other than wringing all the money out of a man and, in return, paying with their bodies up until they have ensnared the poor unfortunate, never liked me at all.
Given suitable surroundings, while in the midst of a game set up to seduce her, once you’ve reached the phase after you’ve created the initial model and atmosphere, you have to continue in the same key.  For that reason, I was sipping my wine and continued without leaving a break in the conversation.
—What I’ve said about you is nothing. In a strange way, I can see what is going through your mind at the moment, your life in the past few years, and what’s going to happen in the future.  This sort of thing has happened before with people I get intense vibes from.  I just don’t know how it happens.
Arzu didn’t really appreciate what I’d said.
—I guess you’re just making fun of me.  I’ve only seen things like this in the movies.
The things that I said weren’t ordinary things.  They were a little presumptuous on my part, and I hadn’t managed to warm up enough.  In actual fact, I should only have entered the telepathic energy thing after a little more smoke and mirrors. But I didn’t have any time for that.  Her man was on his way and the cat might have been out of the bag.  After what I’d said, I could see my newly earned esteem seep away.  Now, Id got to solve this problem urgently.  I didn’t have enough data to do an analysis just yet, I just launched into the first weird and wonderful subject that came to mind, and then, full steam ahead.
—Well, have you ever met a sword swallower before?
She was surprised and stammered out:
—I beg your pardon?
You need knowledge to be able to persuade someone.  But faced with a really wise man, all women are lost for words.
—You know, you get them in circuses or fairs and places like that.
I stood up, and I played the act of a sword swallower right there and then.
—Have you ever seen that kind of show?
—No, but what’s that got to do with me?
I had the answer to that one up my sleeve.
—Because you don’t know how it’s done, just like my telephathic powers.
I looked into her eyes and paused especially to give her time for what I had said to sink in.  Then I asked slowly:
—Isn’t that so?  Would you like to learn how it’s done?
It looked like she’d swallowed the bait.
—I’d love to.
—It’s not a magic trick; they really do swallow the sword.  It’s all about learning to relax the throat muscles, and so prevent the gag reflex.
I was on my feet waving my hands and arms about.  Like miming… At the same time, all eyes in the club were on us.
—Both edges of the swords they use are blunt, but the tip is as sharp as it looks.  If it’s of a size that won’t touch the floor of the stomach, there won’t be any problems.  The greatest of all sword swallowers, Dan Mannix, even wrote a book on the subject in 1951.  But scientists treated him as a fraud.
Curious, she continued to watch and listen.
—Finally, only after he had swallowed a sword-shaped neon lamp, and the lamp was lit and he had shown his insides, did the public believe him.
Arzu’s beautiful blue eyes were wide open now.  How beautifully she listened and how sincerely she smiled at me.
—Wow, now that is interesting.
Now I could see that she really had taken the bait.
—Well, you see?  That’s why…
I couldn’t stop myself and started to laugh.
—People like me, with telepathic power, are condemned to be misunderstood and rejected by society.
I realised that I had to raise the tone of the conversation, and so I delivered the killer line.
—However, I do know that I can change your future.
She was looking into my face like someone who had been left in a trance after a session with a hypnotist.  You couldn’t say she was wrong; what I’d done was a kind of hypnotism, after all.
—Ahh… Really?
This time, and with a more serious expression on my face, I leaned towards her ear and whispered.
—What’s your fiancé’s name?
—Why are you asking?
—It’s necessary if I’m to be able to establish a link with him.
She paused.  I waited, looking her straight in the eye.  She took a sip of her drink.  And I suddenly found her far more easily convinced than I’d been expecting.
—OK, well…
She looked at my face and smiled.
—Murat.  Murat Sevil.
—What does he look like?
—He’s tall, big-boned but thin, with back-combed, thick black hair.  He’s dark.  Dresses casually.
She seemed embarrassed and looked away.
—He’s handsome, I mean…
—Does he wear suits?
—No, he wears casual things, but, you know, he’s chic.  Tonight he’s going to come wearing his new blue jacket.
Now, how did that work?  I thought he must have a good reason, but I didn’t go there.  Anyway, I was in a real hurry.  I wondered if the guy had any distinguishing features, and asked.
—Does he have any visible marks?
She thought about this question a little.
—He’s got a scar on his forehead.  From when he was a child.
Aha, this was the icing on the cake.
—He’s coming just now anyway; I’ll introduce you.  Why are you asking all these things?
—Shhh…
I made her keep quiet.  I closed my eyes, and slowly raising my hands to the sides of my head, I put them over my ears.  I got off my bar stool and turned my back to her.  The Joy Bar had got really crowded and hot inside.  The lights were low; the music was pumping.
‘Ain’t No Sunshine’… Bill Withers’ most famous song, was being sung by the Jackson family, brought up in gospel choirs, in the classic Motown style.  Their main vocalist, Michael Jackson must have been a teenager the year this recording was made.
It was a nice atmosphere, really nice…

CHAPTER 5
THE CHIEF

Murat Sevil.
I entered this name into the system and searched.  No matches.  Either this jerk had no record, or his name was false.  I looked at the security camera and saw someone with a blue jacket coming up behind the young couple and their short friends at the top of the queue.  Immediately gave a sign to Mert, who was at the door dressed as a bouncer.
—The suspect’s coming towards you.  His name’s Murat Sevil; blue sports jacket, tall, dark; distinguishing features. a small scar on his forehead…
—Got it, Chief.
Murat came to the door. He nodded and attempted to get in. Mert, with notebook and pen in hand, barred his way to stop him coming in.  Our pretty boy in the blue jacket was surprised.  After he’d tried to get round to the other two sides of the door, he knew something was up.  He thought he should ask the man in his way something.
—Good evening?
Mert looked at his notebook and asked his name.  That way, the risk of pulling in the wrong man would be gone.  Murat hesitated slightly and gave his name.  Mert pretended to look down his list.  When he couldn’t find the name, he said real calmly.
—I’m sorry, sir, there’s a private function inside today.  Your name’s not down, you’re not coming in.
It was like Mert had said, ‘You can’t go in your own home,’ or, ‘you can’t walk down the street,’ or something.  This piece of shit was that surprised at ‘you’re not coming in’.
—What d’you mean?  But I’m gonna meet my girl inside.
—Sorry, but I have strict instructions, there’s no way I can let you in, sir.
Murat Sevil was acting surprisingly calmly for him, in fact.
—Ah, come off it.  I said my bird’s inside waiting for me.  Never heard so much shit in all my life.
Mert pretended to look at the other people behind him self-assuredly.  He turned to Murat and repeated softly.
—Don’t make any trouble; I told you, I’m under strict instructions.
The bloke was being truly polite and reasonable.  Without raising his voice, he put his hands in his pockets, leaned back and stretched.
—Well then, I’ll just get her and be on my way.
Mert didn’t flinch.  He’d been expecting these reactions.
—No, sir, you can’t go inside.  I can’t let you in, even to have a look.
Murat was really surprised this time.
—Oh, for fuck’s sake.  Looks like I’m gonna have to take matters into my own hands.
He must have noticed he’d been acting very politely till then.  He suddenly exploded.
—You’re a bloody headcase, you are!
While he was talking, he reached for his phone.  I gave a sign to Serdar.  He came up to Murat like a real geezer.  Took his arm and stopped him dialling.
—Hey buddy, wait a mo, don’t get mad, there a problem?
—What do you think!...
He kept up his aggressive stance and threw a punch at Mert.
—This prick won’t let me in.  My bloody girl’s inside!  Like I’m really gonna leave the missus with you, twat!
Mert pretended to be angry and leaned into Murat.
—You, mind your language, don’t piss me off! I didn’t do anything to you and I didn’t swear at you.  I’m telling you, I’ve got instructions from my boss.  Don’t you understand?
As we’d planned, Serdar, who’d stayed standing in front of the bar door, got between them in a flash.
—Look, buddy, don’t you worry about him.  OK, man, come with me; we’ll sort it quicktime.
Murat stretched out his hand threateningly from where he was standing.
—Where you taking me?  Can’t you see the problem’s right here, man!
Serdar had begun to move Murat away from the door, and from Mert, using his body just like they do in the textbooks.
—I told you, buddy, come… You’ll get in.  Look, I’m telling you, I’ll get you into the club.
Murat looked into Serdar’s face -he was standing in front of him- for the first time and evidently thought he should take him seriously.
—Are you taking the piss?
—It’s OK, buddy, I sort out everyone’s problems at the door here, know what I mean?  Look, don’t let that dickhead hear; keep your voice down.  Now, you just follow; leave all the rest to me.
The son of a gun hesitated.  Then, he swallowed the bait like we thought he would.
—OK, I’m coming.
Serdar and Murat disappeared into the entrance of a dark alleyway.  This part of the job had come off more easily than we’d expected, to tell the truth.  Our lads could have come up against a much tougher reaction.  We knew the bastard -if he was our bastard- was dangerous; and what’s more, he could have been tooled up.
I turned back inside to listen.

CHAPTER 6
ARZU

Caner had put his hands over his ears and looked like he was in a trance. If I could have seen how we were in the bar from the outside, I would have laughed out loud at the scene... But as it was, I was here, now, spellbound, watching his strange movements and listening to his tales of mystery.
It wasn’t a good sign that my boyfriend was late. But, anyway, I wasn’t worried about him, either. In fact, the dilemma in my mind was becoming clearer and clearer; I felt that I was always comparing him with this out of the ordinary man that I’d only just met... I mean, I didn’t love my fiancé very much, actually. And I should even confess that sometimes I was afraid of some of his strange behaviour, but he had  so inured himself to me to the fact that there was alternative to him that I thought he was my destiny. And maybe the fact that he’d proposed to me and possessed me fulfilled a woman’s -most primal- need for a man. His roughness in bed came to mind; I behaved as if I was his slave who always bowed and scraped to him. He likes to do everything with force and that gave me a strange pleasure. Had I become his concubine?
There were totally different things in the man I’d just met. These weren’t a definable personality trait; I could feel the magic in his fingertips. It was as if, all of a sudden, I had got the sign that my life could be changed. Caner looked up and closed his eyes. An indistinct mumbling came from his mouth.
—I’m trying to reach him.
He took a deep breath and continued in a louder voice.
—I can see him now. He’s stuck in the traffic; he’s left his mobile phone at home, and that’s why he can’t call you. He’ll be at least twenty or twenty—five minutes late. But don’t worry, he’ll get here in one piece... And there’s a present for you in his pocket; a pretty expensive thing... It looks like a watch.
To tell the truth, I was even more impressed now. Slowly, he touched my upper arm. I felt a shiver run down my spine and that this man had a strange aura that would change the course of my life.
—You really are a magician. How on earth do you do it, how? I really don’t understand.
Caner seemed to be surprised at what I’d said.
—You mean he’d already told you what present he was going to bring? Did you know?
All of a sudden, I didn’t know what to say. The whole watch thing was a long story. For that reason, I blurted out something short.
—No, but I guessed what it was, when you mentioned it.
Caner persisted naively.
—What do you mean, was there a specific wrist watch that you had liked and that you mentioned  to him so he could get you it as a present?
I shrugged my shoulders and after I’d taken a sip of my drink, I replied nonchalantly.
—Yes, something like that.
He had a strange expression on his face. I felt that he was going to ask some more, so I wanted to change the subject immediately. I pretended to be suspicious of him.
—You’d better not have been talking to someone I know, or anything like that. You’re not playing a joke on me, are you?
Caner seemed to be very hurt at what I’d said. His face fell, he sat down on his bar stool and collected himself.
—I don’t know what to say. Anyway, let’s forget about it, now I’d like to give you a special birthday surprise.
He gave a sign to the DJ booth. The DJ nodded and the video of famous singer Neşe Karaböcek’s ‘Love’s an old lie’ started to play on the screen. It was a funny cut of old, black and white, Turkish films. It was really nice. I drained my glass, and watching the video, I thought I was drunk with happiness because just one drink wasn’t enough to make you feel so good... Watching the screen, I saw Caner out of the corner of my eye trying to organise something with the staff. They brought him a guitar, and when the video finished, he came back singing.
‘Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you’
The customers at the bar started to accompany him as well. I was really touched and pleased. It was years since I had experienced such original entertainment, actually. A waiter brought in a birthday cake and got me to cut it. Everyone clapped, and along with the cake the champagne flowed.
‘Happy Birthday, dear Arzu,
Happy Birthday to you’
I swear, for the first time in absolutely ages, I was really happy this evening.

CHAPTER 7
THE CHIEF

I’d got bored of this birthday party caper.  We had to get the low down on that mobster quick and forward it on. Serdar had to take Murat Sevil to an empty room in an abandoned building and knock him down to size. To be able to step in if something went wrong, I turned on the screen linked to the camera I’d placed in the room. Now I could see and hear both of them from the ceiling of the room. When Murat entered the room he was pretty spooked, looking all around.
—Where’ve you taken me, huh?
Serdar reached into his pocket totally calmly. Good for him.
—Hey, buddy, I’m going to get you into the club from this building. No worries, we’ll pass through the back garden to the building on the right.
Murat was really wound up; I knew he’d been spooked. But the mark just couldn’t see it coming.
—Huh? Why do something like that?
He noticed that Serdar had taken something out of his pocket, but he couldn’t work our what it was.
—What’s that in your hand?
—It’s OK, buddy, we’re almost there...
Serdar sprayed the knockout spray in his hand into Murat’s face. It still hadn’t dawned on him what had happened and he grabbed Serdar’s throat with a reflex action and pushed him against the wall. The tears were flowing from his tightly shut eyes.
—Fuck you. My eyes!  I’ll fucking kill you!
Suddenly his contorted face muscles relaxed; he passed out. Serdar slowly unhooked the fingers clutching his throat and slumped in a heap where he was.
Serdar got up, stepped over Murat’s unconscious body, and hauled him upright. He searched the bloke and took the phone from his belt. He poured the contents of the pockets of the jacket he’d removed onto the floor. He opened the fancy box that had fallen on the floor with a piece of cloth he’d taken out of his pocket. It had a diamond watch in it. He got out his own phone and called me.
—Sir, we’ve put the suspect to sleep. I’ll give you his ID info now.
I pressed the button on the control panel of the screen in front of me to direct what Serdar said to Caner’s ear. I told Serdar over the mike I was ready.
—OK, I’m taking it down.
—Acar Murat Gümüşlü, son of Mehmet Özcan.
—Isn’t his surname Sevil?
—No, his surname’s Gümüşlü according to this. The ID card isn’t fake, the photo and stamp seem genuine. As far as I can see, it hasn’t been tampered with or anything. DOB. 21st July, 1970. He’s got four hundred and fifty-five lira on him, but no more info on his papers. Also, we found a keyring with four keys and a gift-wrapped woman’s diamond watch.
—Read me the make of the watch and describe it a bit.
Serdar took a good look at the watch.
—It says ‘Vacheron Konstantin’ on it; it’s oval and it’s ringed with precious stones and gold on all its edges and its strap...
—Now read me the other info from his driving licence.
I entered the it onto our system. Apart from this resource, one of the most useful places for intel was the banking information network. That’s why bank accounts are important for us. Bearing in mind that Serdar might have overlooked this, I immediately asked him.
—Doesn’t this bloke have a credit card or anything?
—No, Sir.  It looks like he always deals in cash.
They’d die if they don’t shit these kind of bad jokes.
—I see. Now leave him there, let him sleep for two or three hours. Cuff both his hands together to the radiator pipe, lock the door behind you... If anything happens and we can’t find enough evidence, he mustn’t be able to understand who we are. OK?
—Yes, Sir.
—Ah, just wait, don’t hang up. Let’s take his phone number and the numbers on his phone and have a look at them...
—Yes, Sir. I was bringing you over his phone just now anyway; if we can’t lock the bloke up, we’ll get it back to him some way.
It was a situation we were always coming up against; someone’s been committing serious crimes and there’s no previous judicial record at all. Most thefts, muggings, rapes and small-town murders were just swept under the carpet without being transferred to any government agency. This was impossible in Western countries because even the most minor traffic offences are recorded. In this way, it gets easier to track and catch people when their tendency to commit crime goes up with time.
—The bloke’s got no record; lift his prints straight away. You never know...
Serdar took out his ink pad from his pocket. He pressed the fingers of the unconscious Murat’s right hand onto it, and transferred the prints to a piece of paper.
—OK, now get over here right away, we’ll be starting the op soon...
It looked like it would get a result straight away without wearing us out too much; we’d been a hundred percent successful with the first step. Now it was time to finish the job.
I suddenly remembered a mysterious homicide that had taken place years ago. Though it had seemed like a complex case, we slammed it shut thanks to a comb we found, and all in one night. And what’s more, there was nothing special about the comb, it was just a common comb.
It isn’t important how everything seems at the beginning, in fact. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.

CHAPTER 8
CANER

Organising a fifteen minute all-singing, all-dancing birthday party had worn me out. In fact, if it hadn’t been necessary to create the right atmosphere, I wouldn’t have done it. Because of my old job, I’d hung around bars and clubs a lot and been to a whole host of parties, so I was able to play the part well. Arzu looked so happy. Colours, light, movement and champagne go straight to your head and make you drunk.
I left the guitar behind the bar and went up to her. I took two glasses of champagne from the bar and handed one to Arzu. She took it gracefully and clinked it against mine.
—Happy Birthday and Many Happy Returns.
We each took a large sip of our champagne. Those beautiful blue eyes of hers that adorned her white face were sparkling. Actually, at the beginning of a relationship, it’s easy to make a woman happy. The difficult thing is to make that happiness last.
—Thank you so much, it’s been such a wonderful surprise. You’re so refined.
I smiled, too.
—You’re welcome. The pleasure was all mine.
—So, you’re a musician. Or a club rep, or something?
Aha! This was the sign I’d been waiting for.
—Your first guess is wrong. I don’t work in music or art, unfortunately.
—So what do you do?
—Let me give you clues so you can guess; let’s play a game. What do you say? And also, that way, we’ll have had a nice time waiting for your fiancé.
Arzu paused and looked at her watch.
—You really are a very, very amazing guy. OK, then, how many guesses do I have?
—Only two more.
I noticed that she wore her watch on her right wrist, and thought that I could use this piece of information.
—You’re left-handed, aren’t you?
—You saw that, of course; you’re someone who pays attention to detail.
—If I say it’s all part of the job, I wonder if that would be a good clue for you? Oh, by the way, I suppose you know that as a left-hander, you form eleven percent of humanity and that in the dark ages of history, you were even equated with the devil. The word ‘left’ is derived from the Old German ‘lyft’, meaning weak and useless. And, as we know, ‘right’ means correct.
As I got closer to Arzu, I had begun to like her more; she was a very beautiful woman. She laughed again showing her sparkling teeth. I continued.
—However, in later research it turns out that you left-handers have stronger powers of speech and expression compared to us right-handers. It’s funny, isn’t it?
I couldn’t tell if she’d found what I’d said funny or not, but she had a really relaxed and cheerful look on her face.
—Well, I didn’t know that, but I do think that your powers of persuasion are very strong. I’ll make another guess about your job, but let me think a bit more, after that.
Arzu looked at her watch again with a reflex action. The prospect of her fiancé coming had begun to make her nervous, perhaps. She glanced at the phone in her hand. Suddenly, a game we used to play in the street as children came to mind.
—What time is it, Mr Wolf?
—I don’t understand.
—We used to play that game when we were children, do you remember?
—Yes, of course. What made you think of that just now?
I impersonated Arzu by looking at my watch.
—You looking at your watch so often, of course.
Arzu just smiled. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t. So I rushed out with what was on her mind.
—There’s no need to worry about your fiancé. I told you.
—I know. OK. I won’t look at my watch again.
Now, at last, I was able to move the conversation in another direction. The time was ripe.
—Look, please don’t think I’m jealous or anything. And I know it’s none of my business, but do you love your fiancé, Murat, a lot? Are you in love with him?
—Yes, I do love him. And he loves me.
It seemed to me that she was lying out of desperation. That’s women for you: They always love, they’re always in love, and they sin out of love. My ex-wife had put it like this; “I did it all because I was in love!”  What she really meant was that it’s irresistibly easy to hide behind love, in fact. I must have been staring blankly while thinking all this because Arzu felt the need to continue what she was saying.
—What’s wrong? You’re looking at me as if I’ve said something abnormal. You don’t really believe in love and all that jazz, it seems?
I looked meekly into her face.
—I’ve never been in love throughout my whole life, unfortunately...
Then, my first love from secondary school came to mind, and I didn’t want to lie when I didn’t have to. If you’re going to lie, there should be some reason for it.
—No, wait a minute. When I was seventeen or eighteen, I fell in love once. But from what I remember, because of the painful feelings that this love awoke in me and the despair that I’d fallen into, I didn’t really like it.
Actually, I was telling her the truth with complete candour. Her curiosity piqued, she asked.
—Why?
—I didn’t like it; because to put a woman on a pedestal, to worship her in a way, and to feel pain when you can’t reach her, and to get jealous or whatever; they’re not things for me. And because I don’t believe they’re right, I’ve always avoided love and falling in love.
—So, what is right according to you? I mean, for a man is the only alternative to sleep with any available woman?
I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t think that the opposite of love was sex. Arzu continued without giving me the chance to speak.
—I couldn’t even kiss a man who I wasn’t in love with.
Now this really took the biscuit; what’s more, it was a total lie... Women are so strange; in some situations, they think that they’ll be able to impress men with a raft of moralistic mumbo-jumbo that they themselves don’t even believe.
—Come on now. You must think you’re in love with any man who has the slightest effect on you for whatever reason, then... No love means no sex and not even a nice kiss, is that it?
—Yes, it is. That’s how I am. But it’s clear to me that’s not how you are.
It wasn’t right to dwell on these subjects for too long, and, anyway, it didn’t mean a thing. Time, in every situation, is something that conspires against us.
—Don’t worry about me for the time being. So, anyway, you’re a firm believer in staying faithful to the man you love. And how do you get on with other women? Do you have a lot of female friends?
I knew full well that Arzu had almost no female friends left.

CHAPTER 9
THE CHIEF

Serdar came in through the bar door. Mert met him there. Because of the customers coming in, I’d given both of them a good talking to so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves. Mert caught up with Serdar as he was walking to me.
—Have you sorted the bloke out?
Serdar answered Mert cockily.
—Behave, Lieutenant... Of course I sorted him out...
Mert was one of the good guys at the station; last year he took the lieutenants’ exam and was promoted. He was a lad of average intelligence. Honest and hardworking. He headed one of the four teams I’d formed in Homicide. In this case, the number came up while he was on duty. His sergeant, Serdar, was a pain in the arse, and, in spite of all my bollockings, loved to gossip and stir things up.
—I mean look, Lieutenant. Doesn’t this job seem a bit off to you, too? We’re acting like a couple of clowns here... Look at what we’re doing! Just shovelling shit for Caner.
Mert turned slightly and looked at me to see if I had heard what that lout Serdar had said. I kept my cool and contented myself with listening to them whispering.
—Don’t let it get back to the Chief... Look, son, I don’t like that ponce any more than you. What are you going to do about it? We should just mind our own business.
—That’s all well and good, but it’s us in the trenches. If we questioned that woman, she’d be squealing in two minutes and no lie... I’d have made her piss her pants with one slap, me...
From what I could hear, Mert wasn’t exactly disagreeing with what Serdar had to say. He backed him up.
—Anyway, let’s do whatever the Chief says for now, and you just button it. I haven’t had a wink of sleep all night, and here’s you nagging me...
—Everyone’s sleeping soundly in their wife’s arms, while we’re up to our necks in this shit. And like that wasn’t enough, if you’ve nothing better to do, then set up the stage and put on a show in the middle of the night...
—That’s enough, son, enough!
—Alright, Lieutenant, it’s just sometimes it pisses me off; I mean, look at the shit we have to put up with and all for a handful of peanuts.
I’ve known all the details of the relationships, conflicts and arguments between my men all along. I ignore a part of them because they’re the safety valve for the pressure of working in a stressful environment and for the delicate balance found in hierarchical systems. Too much control and authority would end up bursting the balloon. That’s why I don’t normally interfere in this kind of internal conflict. But then again, there is a limit to how much insubordination you can take.
—What are you two cooking up there? Like Bert and Ernie...
—Nothing, Chief, we were just talking about the op...
Though Mert had answered, I looked straight at Serdar and asked.
—Did you cuff the suspect tightly to the pipe?
—Did, Chief. If we’d stuffed this bloke in a cell, wouldn’t it have been better?
I couldn’t have beaten this kid into shape, not physically, not verbally... Homicide wasn’t my dad’s firm where I could hire and fire at will.
—Ahh, my silly boy... Do we have probable cause to lock him up, huh? Looks like you haven’t heard of the new laws... Wake up and shape up...
—You’re right, Chief, but I still say we should put someone to guard him...
Listening to the ninnies inside, I’d taken the earphone out of my left ear. Caner seemed to have got onto something that touched a raw nerve, I hurriedly put it back in and listened. It was nothing.
—Stop that racket, I can’t hear what they’re saying cos of your ugly voice... If we still haven’t found anything when he comes round, we’ll have to let the bloke go anyway... In that case, it’d be better for him to escape...
Serdar bowed his head and made do with mumbling.
—I see, Chief.
—Good God! so you’ve finally understood... Now, stop hanging around like a spare part and get yourself to the car and listen out for my instructions...
I hated his jealousy. Putting his bad traits to one side though, Serdar was a young, but capable cop, actually. That’s why I got him promoted to sergeant last year on the recommendation of an inspector from the PD who knew him. Still, you couldn’t put him in the same boat as Caner, who held the same rank, but had eleven years experience and outstanding abilities.
Using Serdar’s ambition and energy, you could work him into the ground. Because of that, I ignored his bad side to a point. But Mert, though he was a Lieutenant and didn’t really like Caner, wouldn’t interfere with him or order him around and wouldn’t go beyond my orders about it.
—Mert, take my place and listen to what’s going on inside... And look at Robbery’s files on the system. Have there been any similar cases nearby? And I’ll have a chat with their boss.
Serdar got up and went. And Mert took my place and put on the earphone. On the screen, he began to go through the robbery files on Robbery’s system. Their boss was a captain from my day. Because he was a bit slow and it took him a long time for the penny to drop, I generally tried to keep my distance. But after what had gone down this evening, I had to talk to him. I said hello and got straight to the point.
—Bashar, we’re already looking at the files; what I want is a printout of all unsolved, well-planned robberies of houses or workplaces over the last six months where a large amount has been stolen.
Being from Homicide, we could access the files of other departments; it’s just we couldn’t set our search criteria and so couldn’t get a printout.
—Ok, let’s see... No problem, I’ll get it from there. Or have them send it to my mailbox. So, there’s no cases that you remember, are there?
Bashar started to tell me about one or two cases that had stuck in his mind, but there was no similarity between them and ours. I couldn’t take it anymore, and interrupted his long account. I said I was working in the field and that something urgent had just come up.
—Ok, cheers, then...
I hung up and asked Mert a few things that had occurred to me.
—So there was nothing else from this bloke’s wallet or pockets?
—No, Chief.
—Have you let Caner know?
—Done it already... Now I’m looking at the numbers in his phone.
—We’ll look into the numbers later. How’s the conversation going?
—That shit Murat must have a partner... You take the earphone if you want, Chief. And I’ll see what Serdar’s up to. I think he’s slowly beginning to come round...
—OK then, give it to me.
I put on the earphone and swapped places with Mert. In the bar, the conversation was developing interestingly.
You can tell from day one who’s going to make it.

CHAPTER 10
ARZU

When Caner asked me how my relationships with my female friends were, it really gave me food for thought. Yes, he was right. In my school days, I had had quite a few friends; we were inseparable. What had happened to them? Every one of my female friends who had got married and moved in with her husband had distanced herself from me after a while. And now, because I was engaged, instinctively, it was as if I had started to stay away from other women...
From the distant past, the games I used to play in the Izmir of my childhood came to mind. I always wanted to play with the boys. Their energy was more appealing to me, for whatever reason... It would even happen that, with some of the boys I liked, I would play erotic games like ‘doctors and nurses’ in the broom cupboard. So even at that tender age, I had wanted to get close to the opposite sex.
In my youth, though I was a very pretty girl, and in spite of being brought up in an open family environment, I had never encountered any kind of unhealthy advances or aggression from men. Maybe because of this, I thought I had no hang-ups about sex. But as the years went on, although I’d got to know lots of men, it was difficult for me to find any eligible bachelors.
—Actually, I don’t have that many friends; I consider myself a loner. You think that it’s because I’m afraid my female friends will seduce the man I’m in love with...
Caner laughed out loud at these words.
—Well, you never know, it could be true... Anyway, how was it at secondary school? You had more female friends then, didn’t you?
—Right again. It really was like that because other girls didn’t constitute a threat to my men then...
I continued with a laugh.
—It’s true, the friendships I had at secondary school were fantastic. It was as if they would never end...
—And then?
—Then everyone got married and had kids... We lost touch.
—Have you ever wondered why, when little girls grow up and get  married, they don’t want to see their single friends anymore?
I looked at Caner with a pained smile and told him what he wanted to hear.
—‘Perfect competition’? As the economists say...
We clinked glasses. We chuckled. He was a very intelligent man, but still, there was a lot he had to learn about the world of women.
—If there were any decent men left on the market, then we women wouldn’t be so jealous, perhaps...
—Why? Has the world suddenly run out of men? Statistically speaking, there’s one man for every woman. You know all those wars from the past; well, in those days, per head of population there was only one man for every three women, or something like that, but times have changed...
—Well, there are men and there are men... There are no good men. For instance, for years I had never met someone like you. Whenever there’s someone that I like a bit, I find out he’s married, or has a girlfriend, or something like that... And the worst thing is that there’s so much competition that even married women are after new husbands... One the one hand, you have the twenty-something chicks, and on the other, women who are past it, but cunning enough to be able to wrap anyone round their little finger... And that’s not to mention the married women who keep their husbands in the dark, but are always on the market, or the divorced women in a race against time to create fresh opportunities... 
I continued telling him what I really thought.
—All women’s eyes are on the street and the flesh is weak. And what are men supposed to do? To get a half-decent man to the altar, you’ve got to sweat blood...
I was trying to tell him what I thought about the tragic situation of women in my position... Actually, I was giving him a potted version of my own love life. Caner seemed to approve with his eyes.
—Yes, you’re right. And, as well as that, there’s an economic side to it all. We are living in a very material world. You can’t be happy with no money. Oh, by the way, what does your fiancé do for a living?
—He’s a business man. You know, wheeling and dealing. I don’t know the details.
—How does that work? Did you get engaged as soon as you met?
—Of course not, it was more than five months later, but I don’t really interfere with his work.
—Has he got a partner?
—There’s someone called Mustafa, but when we’re together, they never talk shop.
—Well, where’s their office then?
—Somewhere in Mecidiyeköy; Mustafa’s house is there, too. I’ve been there a few times. You know how home offices are all the rage now.
—You’re quite right. I’ve got one in Mecidiyeköy, too.
Caner held up his index finger.
—Look, there’s another clue.  And maybe mine is near Murat’s. Is it near Profilo or near the stadium?
—The stadium. You get there from Ortaklar Street. Somewhere around there…
—What a coincidence, mine’s there too. Don’t tell me it’s the second street on the right.
—No, I think it’s the third or fourth. I don’t know the street name; there’s an Bosch repair shop on the corner; that’s how you get there.
—Ahh, I see. Halil Bey block; the one with the yellow facing.
—I don’t know which block it is. But no, it’s the sixth or seventh building on the left. With red-brick facing, the second floor. A really nice, deluxe flat.
Talking about this made me think of Murat all of a sudden. It wasn’t normal for him to be this late.
—You know, I’m really worried about Murat. And when we left here, we were going to go to Mustafa’s.
I paused. There was something strange that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It was natural for a man like Caner to be interested in Murat, but wasn’t he, how can I put it, a little too curious?
I looked at my watch and reached for my mobile.
—We’re late. I’ll give Murat a call.
It was as if there was something strange in the air tonight.

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