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.Suleyman brushed some of the sweat that had gathered on his forehead away from his eyes and then lit a cigarette.If Rostov could buy people in the department then he could buy other people at the Forensic Institute too.But then did that particular aspect of the case matter anyway? Some very bad gangsters were currently awaiting trial for the possession of guns and drugs.People like Vronsky were known killers.That he was out of circulation had to be good.And yet the thought that possibly he, Suleyman, and his colleagues had actually helped Rostov to gain more power still rankled.Rostov was, and would remain, unfinished business, until, that is, Suleyman himself chose to deal with him.That would, he knew, have to come one fine day.And in his heart of hearts, Suleyman knew that his revenge could and would take only one form.As he watched the gypsy turn to smile at a young man who was now huffing and puffing his way up the hill, Mehmet Suleyman wondered how long it might take him to plan and execute Rostov’s death without pointing the finger of suspicion at himself.The perfect crime was, of course, a largely illusory concept but then people like Rostov got away with murder all the time.The young man, on seeing first the gypsy and then Suleyman, reddened.This was, the latter reasoned, his cue to leave Balat and go and have a serious and difficult conversation with his wife.He did not, after all, have any interest in embarrassing the young man.By her sensual demeanour and her provocative clothes, the gypsy was obviously signalling that her appearance on the young man’s route home was no accident.It was also quite apparent that she hadn’t intercepted him in order to just offer him conversation and tea.And indeed, as he turned away from the couple to make his way back down to the shores of the Golden Horn, he heard the moist sound of their kissing.So young Hikmet Yıldız was being seduced by a gypsy.Suleyman smiled.That was good.She was beautiful, the boy was young and it was a hot, sultry afternoon.The sex could go on for hours.Maybe one day he and his wife would do such things again.But then if they didn’t there was always his hatred to get him through the sticky ennui-filled summer afternoons to come.One is never, he thought, alone with thoughts of death.Because he knew that his daughter Hulya and her boyfriend, Berekiah, would still be at his apartment with his grieving wife, İkmen took the opportunity to go and see Berekiah’s father.And although he knew that Balthazar Cohen wouldn’t be alone, he was also aware of the fact that his old colleague’s wife, Estelle, was essentially on his side.It was she who let him into the apartment and who disappeared quickly once she had settled her guest, who hadn’t actually spoken to her husband for some months, opposite what remained of Balthazar.Although the great earthquake of 1999 had only robbed Balthazar of his legs from the knees downwards, his body as a whole had shrunk considerably since that time.Lack of exercise, as well as a disregard for food and strong addictions to both painkillers and tobacco had rendered him small, bitter and ill.However, İkmen knew from Berekiah that there was at least the possibility for change on the horizon because Balthazar had, apparently, agreed to try prosthetic limbs.Not that he had come to speak about such limbs now, although he did use this topic in order to open up conversation with this man who had flatly refused to speak to him for some months.‘I’m told they’ll hurt,’ he said in answer to İkmen’s question about the limbs, ‘but then—’‘You’re a strong man,’ İkmen put in, ‘you’re tough.’Cohen turned to look at İkmen with hard eyes.‘I will never approve of a marriage between your daughter and my son,’ he said bluntly, ‘so you might as well leave now.’‘Yes,’ İkmen shrugged, ‘that’s true.But they’re going to do it anyway.’‘And you are going to give them your blessing, Çetin Bey.’‘Yes.’ İkmen watched as Balthazar lit a cigarette and then lit one of his own.‘I can’t think of any young man I would rather have join my family than Berekiah.’‘And your wife?’İkmen smiled.‘My wife is at bottom a realist, Balthazar,’ he said.‘She sees, as I do, the very genuine love that exists between our children, even if she cannot actually approve of it.’Estelle Cohen came into the room bearing glasses of tea for the two men.Her husband eyed her suspiciously as she placed his glass down beside him.‘And you?’ he said harshly as her face drew level with his own.‘What do you think about your son and this man’s daughter?’Estelle first looked across at İkmen before replying [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]