Traffic was light as they drove under the canopy of chestnut trees in Paul Wingate’s green Buick. Anna felt grateful for the ride. She and Priscilla had taken a taxi to Atatürk’s Tomb earlier in the day, and now Paul saved them from taxiing back.
He grunted. “I’m afraid today wasn’t much of a welcome to Ankara for you, was it?”
If he only knew, she thought. She didn’t want to inform him of the full story, especially not in front of Priscilla, who’d found a comic book that someone had left in the backseat. Paul must have children. Instead she said, “Thank you for sending that man to rescue us.”
“Just doing our job, keeping our people safe.”
“Is he your assistant? Why does he—”
“Orhon? Naw! Good Lord no. He’s just one of the Turks who work for us. A bunch of them went stateside to get their education.”
“He has a British accent.”
Paul shrugged. “By the way, I hope you didn’t talk to that detective before Orhon got there.”
“Well, of course I talked to him. It wouldn’t be polite not to.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Stuff. Stuff about our people. They’re always after that kind of information.”
“I don’t have any information.”
“Good. Best to keep it that way.”
“Frankly,” Anna said, “if I knew anything that would help his investigation, I’d tell him.” The killer would be after her next, she felt certain. She bit her tongue, refusing to say more. Her fears would only worry Priscilla.
“No need to tell him anything. That’s what I’m here for. My office will take it from here.”
“I don’t know what he’s looking for, so I can’t help, anyway.”
“Coming from your small-town background,” Paul said, “you may not realize that we have to be extra cautious these days. The Red Menace is a constant threat.”
Goosebumps crawled along her spine at the reminder. Only last spring one of the teachers from her high school had been discharged, all on account of suspicion. It was so unfair! “That detective isn’t a communist,” she said.
“Do you know that for a fact?”
She didn’t. “Anyway, what do the Soviets have to do with a Turkish police matter?”
“We can’t be too careful. The Reds try to infiltrate everywhere. They want Turkey for themselves, you see. They’ve wanted it for millennia—”
“Really. I don’t believe they’ve been in power that long.”
He laughed. “Okay, it’s an exaggeration, but you get the idea. Turkey could be the Russian gateway to the west. The free world won’t let them have it.”
“And you think Detective Yaziz is their agent?”
Instead of answering, Paul concentrated on his driving. He neither confirmed nor denied the suggestion. Anna shifted in her seat, feeling uneasy. She glanced over her shoulder at Priscilla, who appeared engrossed in her comic book.
“What do you know about Yaziz?” she asked, unable to leave it alone.
Paul shrugged. “Not much, really, even though we’ve crossed paths before, plenty of times. Yaziz spends a lot of time with a fellow over in JUSMMAT. Claims they’re buddies.”
“But maybe they really are friends. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Not really. Mind you, it’s no small task keeping the free world free. I’m just saying you can’t be too careful, that’s all. It raises eyebrows when a guy like Yaziz shows up at our embassy receptions and gets friendly with our people.”
“Why shouldn’t he? He has a university degree from the States, so why isn’t it reasonable to assume he has American friends?”
“Well, that’s what Yaziz wants you to think.”
“But I saw his diploma hanging on the wall back there in his office. What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing,” Paul said, “and neither should you. Here in Turkey, there’s the police, and then there’s the secret police.”
“You think Mr. Yaziz works for the secret police?”
“You’d better keep that to yourself. The secret is who he works for. What his instructions really are.”
She hugged herself, not liking his implications. “Your Mr. Orhon said that Yaziz works for a man named Bay Bulayir.”
“Ah-ha! And who does Bulayir work for, really?”
“How would I know? I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
“Never mind. I’m just telling you to stay out of it. I’ll handle that Yaziz fellow for you. You should stay away from him. In case he’s putting together dossiers on all of us.”
“Why on earth would he do that?”
“You can’t understand because Turks don’t think the same way we do. They’re loyal and ferocious, almost blind with devotion. They make great fighters, as the entire world learned when they went to Korea, but as police investigators... Well, they’re not very objective. They’re more interested in saving face. It’s one of their Turkish concepts. If they don’t know something, you’ll never get them to admit it. They’ll just go on, pretending as if they do know whatever. Or they’ll make it up. You can’t trust anything they say. And another of their concepts that interferes with real police work is that the family unit is more important than the individual, so there’s a bit of a hive mentality. All that makes them follow a different set of logic from ours.”
“He seems well educated. His English—”
“Oh, he’s smart, all right. He just operates differently. Doesn’t matter where he went to school. He can’t help who he is. Don’t you worry about it.”
“I’m not exactly worried.” At least not about that, Anna thought. “And I will speak to the detective again if he needs my help.”
“Don’t ruffle your feathers,” Paul said. “I promised Henry I’d look out for you. It was part of our deal when we pushed through his paperwork post-haste. He got his home leave rather rushed, you see. He wasn’t scheduled for leave until June.”
“Next summer?” She glanced again at Priscilla, who flipped the page of her comic with a loud snap. If Henry had waited until the following summer, Priscilla could’ve gone with her parents without missing any school. “I wonder why he didn’t wait?”
“Henry gets special treatment as a reward for all his years of loyal service.”
“So, he used his seniority to change his schedule?” Anna said. “No wonder Detective Yaziz was suspicious about Henry’s home leave. I got the impression Yaziz thinks it’s not the real reason why I’m here. Maybe it’s only because Henry’s leave happened so fast, as you say.”
“Right. See what I mean? Yaziz is fishing for information. That’s why you need to stay away from him.”
“No, I don’t see.” Anna’s jaw clamped, the way it always did when someone tried to tell her what she could or could not do.
“Henry’s leave doesn’t have anything to do with what happened today at Atatürk’s Tomb,” Paul added.
“The poor man!” Anna shivered, wondering again who the dead man was and how he’d become involved with Rainer. And with Henry, too. She told Paul what Priscilla had said in the taxi about how the dead man knew the Burkhardts’ maid. “Fededa must’ve given Henry’s suit to him.”
Paul scoffed. “More likely, he stole it. With your maid’s help. He was just one more immigrant from a village no one’s heard of.”
“You know who he was?” Anna asked. “Did Hayati—that is, Mr. Orhon—tell Yaziz what you know?”
“Call it an educated guess. Villagers are flooding the city, thanks to Ankara’s building boom. They’ve been flocking here ever since Atatürk made this city his capital. Like rats swarming to dry land after fleeing the sinking ship of the dying Ottoman empire.” Paul laughed, apparently pleased with his comparison, but Anna’s spine prickled.
“Except rats don’t flock, do they?” he continued, still chuckling.
Anna thought his rumbling laugh was an ugly, out-of-place sound. She leaned against her door, trying to put more space between herself and this man’s tasteless comments. She wondered how he could work here and maintain such a negative attitude toward his host country. She hoped other Americans didn’t share his views.
“How about leyleks?” Priscilla said, breaking her silence from the backseat with animated interest. “I’ll betcha they flock.”
“That’s ‘stork’ in English,” Paul said. “You and Tommy need to stop getting your languages mixed up.”
Anna felt a wave of dismay wash through her, and it wasn’t on account of mixed languages. She wondered how much of their conversation Priscilla had overheard, only pretending interest in the comic book.
Paul went on. “We have so many of them here that you could call this the city of storks.”
“We have a stork’s nest on our roof!” Priscilla slid forward and leaned across the back of the front seat.
“Sit down, honey,” Anna said. Her tone of voice came across too harsh, but her niece’s safety came first and foremost. Priscilla flounced back in her seat and crossed her arms.
Horrified, Anna stared glumly out her window. What on earth did she know about eight-year-old children? She was a high school teacher, not a babysitter. She’d agreed to this arrangement mainly because family need was far more important than the needs of her classroom. Besides, she regretted that she scarcely knew her only niece.
Priscilla said she’d talk to Fededa, but would she?
They sailed along Atatürk Boulevard, the central street running north-south through the city, and passed an ox cart hauling a load of crusty bread. Splashes of color were painted across the wooden side of the cart and swirled around the design’s focal point—a bold, blue eyeball.
Anna drew in her breath with a mixture of wonder, dismay, and delight, then turned back to Paul. “Do you have a translator at the embassy who could help me talk to Fededa and find out what she knows about that man in Henry’s suit?”
Priscilla rustled, squirming in the backseat. “But I already said—”
“Your maid doesn’t know anything about him,” Paul said.
“You don’t know that.”
“Hawkers come through the neighborhood all the time. Doesn’t mean that our maids know them just because they talk to them.”
Anna sighed with frustration. “There must be a way to find out who that man was.”
“They don’t carry identification information on them like we do.”
They turned off Atatürk Boulevard, and the green Buick was the only car motoring along these side streets. Locust trees graced this residential area of Kavaklidere, a respite of shade and quiet. Sprawling houses, low-rise apartment buildings, and cement foundations of new construction rolled across these gentle hills south of downtown. Vacant lots honeycombed through the neighborhood.
Anna’d had enough. “That man was some woman’s son,” she said, steeling her voice, “and maybe another woman’s husband. Some child’s father. They’re grieving for him right now. Wherever they are.”
“Ulus, no doubt.”
“Ulus? What’s that?”
“The old city, where most of the poor live. It’s back there behind us, all the way across town from our neighborhood. On that cone-shaped hill you’ve probably noticed.” Paul’s voice dropped to a lower register. “Stay away from there.”
“But why? Is it a dangerous place?”
“It’s not a place for ladies.”
His curt manner suggested he would tell her no more, but Anna persisted. “Why not?” She intended to go there. She would need to arm herself with as much information as possible.
Priscilla leaned forward again. “Blood runs in the streets.”
Anna gasped. “Blood? Real blood? Surely not!”
Paul scowled. “Now, young lady—”
“But it’s true!” Priscilla said. “Why don’t you believe me? I’ve seen it. It’s sheep’s blood, Fededa says.”
“Did she take you there to show it to you herself?”
Priscilla sighed, letting her opinion of Anna’s intelligence show. “Nope. She takes me there because that’s where the market is, and besides, that’s where she lives.”
“She shouldn’t take you along,” Paul said. “I’ll have Ikbol talk to her. Straighten her out.”
“But it’s fun.”
Anna asked, “Ikbol?”
“Our maid,” said Paul. “She speaks English, thank God, unlike Fededa. I should’ve put my foot down when the gals found Fededa for Mitzi, but she’s temporary. Mitzi couldn’t wait until someone more suitable happened along.”
“I like Fededa.” Priscilla’s voice whined.
Paul scowled and turned the corner onto Yeşilyurt Sokak. The car coasted to a stop in front of the Burkhardts’ yellow stucco house, and Priscilla leapt out. Anna apologized for her niece’s behavior and thanked Paul for driving them home. When she stepped out and closed the door, the Buick pulled away from the curb, leaving her standing there alone, breathing the car’s fumes. The distant warble of a muezzin, calling the local faithful to prayer, echoed her doubt.
Where to begin, she wondered, correcting her niece’s manners? She followed Priscilla past Henry’s car and across the flagstone driveway. Just as Priscilla bounded up the steps to the porch, ahead of Anna as always, the front door of their house swung open. Anna stopped cold in the middle of the driveway. An American woman with a wide, lipstick-painted smile emerged from the house as if she owned the place.