Flowers from the black s.., p.15
Flowers from the Black Sea, page 15
“Amber.”
He spoke her name in a detached tone. Perhaps subconsciously designed to mask his sense of let-down and appear cool. She responded with an apologetic yet strangely nervous thrill in her voice.
“Hello Matt. I hope you managed to sleep through the storm. I couldn’t.”
He said nothing, but took a chair beside her. The black cahier notebook lay on the table in front of her. And he could see that she was burning to say more.
“At least, it kept me awake enough to pick my way through Susie’s diary with a fine toothcomb. And I’m pretty sure I found what we were looking for,” she said. There was a note of triumph in Amber’s voice as she opened the notebook and pushed it over the table to Matt.
At that moment, he felt a heavy hand on each shoulder.
“So, what’s your poison, Matt?”
Matt looked up to see the unshaven, sun-wrinkled face of Tom Moore staring down at him.
“It’s a bit early, but I’ll take an Efes thanks.”
Tom Moore ambled back to the bar with the order, and Matt turned his attention to the notebook.
“It’s in the very last paragraph,” Amber added, pointing at the entry in question. “And Dr Schmitt agrees. It ties in exactly with his theory.”
Matt could not fail to see the look of smug satisfaction that Amber’s endorsement brought to Hauke Schmitt’s face. He leaned forward to read the entry in the diary:
“A. back home last night. Attempting to salve his conscience with another local speciality wrapped up in a plastic bag. Turkish horseradish. Put my nose in the bag. Really pungent. Maybe try it in the morning.”
“There you have it,” Dr Schmitt cried triumphantly. “Just as I thought.”
“What do we have?” asked Matt.
“Susie loved horseradish. And Dr Schmitt is another aficionado. Grew up on it as a child, didn’t you?” Amber said, turning to Hauke Schmitt, who simply nodded and allowed her to answer for him. “And he’s never heard of Turkish horseradish. But there’s something called aconite, which you probably know as monkshood. Apparently, lots of it grows around the Black Sea. It has pretty blue flowers and a root that’s often mistaken for horseradish…”
“Indeed, a most beguiling root of pure evil,” Dr Schmitt chipped in at last. He was unable to contain his own oddly muted excitement any longer.
“When Miss Baxter showed me the entries in this diary…”
“Miss Baxter?”
Matt’s interruption came with a look of bafflement.
“That’s me,” Amber grinned. It was a smile that lit up her face so sweetly that it finally washed away any lingering sense of disappointment in Matt’s eyes.
“Yes, of course,” said Dr Schmitt with an embarrassed nervousness in his voice. He was rattled by the way Matt had drawn attention to his Teutonic correctness, but swiftly regained his composure.
“And when she showed me these entries,” he repeated, “I was reminded of Pliny.”
“Pardon me?” Matt said.
“Pliny the Elder, the Roman philosopher. And natural historian, of course.”
“Of course,” Matt repeated under his breath, increasingly vexed by the smugness in the way this man expounded his knowledge of the ancient classics. Dr Schmitt ignored Matt’s visible irritation.
“Have you read Pliny?”
“Not in the original.”
Matt’s sarcasm was lost on Hauke Schmitt. He responded in the only way he knew how: with the correctness of an overbearing professor.
“But you will no doubt be familiar with Ovid’s story in Metamorphoses, where Arachne was turned into a spider with the aconite that grew from the mouth of Cerberus.”
Hauke Schmitt paused briefly to enjoy the blank expression on Matt’s face before continuing with the lesson.
“When Pliny wrote of Ovid’s story, he described how aconite grew in abundance around Heraclea Pontica. Now, you will not be aware of this,” he said in a tone that marked his words out as a blunt put-down, “but Heraclea is on the Black Sea. It is known today as Ereğli.”
“And Susie mentions Ereğli in her diary,” Amber chipped in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s where Ahmet comes from.”
She paused to let this information sink in, before Hauke Schmitt took up the baton again.
“Arrhythmia, asystole, paralysis of the heart. And no clear post-mortem signs except asphyxia,” he said in a serious, doctorly tone. Then added darkly, “The perfect instrument. It was known as a woman killer in ancient times. Pliny wrote that, of all the poisons, aconite is the quickest to act; that death occurs on the same day if the genitals of a woman are touched by it.”
“Oh my God! Is that how he did it?” Amber looked aghast at the doctor.
“I doubt it very much. But there is really no way of knowing.”
Hauke Schmitt’s words came dressed with the faint hint of a smirk that appeared to unsettle Amber. Matt felt gratified that she seemed at last to be finding the man a little creepy, as if she sensed that his mind’s eye was savouring that image of Ahmet administering the drug.
“This was Susie’s last entry,” Amber said, plainly flustered.
“Okay, so there’s no hint of what she actually did with the root that Ahmet brought back for her,” Amber went on, with a disparaging glance at the German doctor. “But everyone knew how much she loved to cook with horseradish. So, we can assume he brought it back with the express intention of using it to poison her food. Why else would he sell it to her as horseradish. He knew she’d be literally dying to try it.”
The German doctor leaned back in his chair with a wave of the hand, as if acceding to Amber’s interpretation.
“So, after weeks or months of plying her with a honey that made her more tired and sick with every day that passed,” he declared, “Ahmet Karadeniz delivered the final coup de grâce with aconite.”
The keen edge of triumph in Hauke Schmitt’s voice and the glint of self-satisfied delight in his eyes put a sour taste in Matt’s mouth as he sipped on his beer. But the doctor was not finished.
“He created the impression the poor woman was suffering from a chronic illness by inducing all the signs and symptoms of mad honey disease. Symptoms that are notoriously difficult to diagnose, because each one of them can be linked to so many different pathologies. Then he delivered his final blow with a poison that leaves behind nothing more than the suspicion of a heart problem.
“Quite enough to convince the local quack,” Schmitt added. “Since she was a Muslim and had to be buried quickly according to tradition, the doctor’s certificate was enough to proceed before a proper obduction could be performed.”
“It’s horrific!” Amber’s eyes were alight with rage. “It’s as if they actually want to make it as easy as possible for men to get away with killing their women in this country! It’s unbelievable!”
“What’s unbelievable?”
All heads turned at the sound of this new voice. Momentarily silenced by the intrusion, the three of them looked up like synchronised swimmers emerging from the water to see Luc Bennett at their table. He lifted his faded baseball cap, scratched his head, and grinned. It was Amber who broke the silence.
“The way men in this country are allowed to treat their women. That’s what. And literally get away with murder.”
She was speaking of Susie and the entries in her diary. But Matt sensed that she was also thinking of the conversation the night before, the talk of Hasan and the abuse he inflicted on his wife, Fidan. Luc rested a hand on Amber’s shoulder, as if to comfort her, and glanced down at Hauke Schmitt.
“Hello Josef. Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, invoking a name from the German doctor’s past that Luc Bennett plainly knew would get him rattled.
Hauke Schmitt nervously adjusted the gold-rim glasses on his nose and smiled uneasily back at Luc Bennett. He said nothing and let the name drift away on the breeze. But Luc had no wish to provoke any further. There were other things on his mind.
“Matt, could I have a word?” he said.
The cosy musicality of his voice carried an oddly conflicting air of mystery as he gestured Matt to move away from the table so they could talk in private. Just the two of them.
Amber and Dr Schmitt watched in silence, she peering with a fascinated curiosity and he with deep suspicion across his face, as Luc took Matt by the elbow and guided him to the discreet shade of a eucalyptus tree on the opposite side of the road.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. You said a guy called Rekan gave you the flash drive.”
“How did you actually know I was here?” Matt asked, ignoring Luc’s words.
“Everybody knows where everyone is in this town. The walls have eyes and ears in this place.”
Luc’s words brought to mind again the image of the man with the red worry beads. Matt said nothing.
“Have you checked to see if there’s anything else in those files? Maybe a sheet in the PDF that you missed? Maybe he said something when he gave it to you?”
“No, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing else there,” Matt said, growing suspicious of Luc’s interrogation. “Why do you ask?”
“Because it occurs to me that Rekan is a Kurdish name. And that makes me wonder why a Kurd would have a file on the Grey Wolves and why the Jandarma would be interested, apart from the fact that a Kurd is always a person of interest. You see, the far-right fanatics are not such a big concern for the powers that be since they’ve been integrated into the MHP. Even their jailed mobster friends have been given free rein since the Covid amnesty.
“So, it makes me wonder what Rekan was up to. Maybe the Grey Wolves are getting restless, and he wanted to use the information somehow. Or maybe the flash drive contains other stuff as well – on the PKK or HDP, for example.”
“Why do you insist on confusing things with your damned acronyms and abbreviations?”
Luc Bennett ignored Matt’s irritation.
“It’s just a thought. If you still have the flash drive – and I suspect you do – then check to see if there’s anything else on it. Because, whatever it’s all about, if the Jandarma are interested and it involves both the far right and the Kurds, that’s a really explosive mix.”
Matt let the trace of a smile cross his lips, but not enough for Luc to notice.
“But best just to get rid of it,” Luc insisted. “All the more so these days when the Kurds are involved. That can get you into big trouble.”
Luc was attempting to couch his words of caution in as casual a manner as he could muster. But Matt sensed that the flash drive in his pocket had become an obsession for the Welshman. It was clear that Luc was deadly serious, and yet Matt had the feeling that the Welshman knew he would not be persuaded to part with it and that he was simply interested in making sure he still had the flash drive.
The warning called to mind the last words Rekan had spoken before he was taken away by the Jandarma. “Murat. Only Murat”. This mnemonic phrase had lodged itself in Matt’s mind. And it brought a perversely broad grin to his lips that could no longer escape Luc’s attention.
“I mean it Matt.”
But Rekan’s three words had given him an idea. He gave Luc a slap on the shoulder.
“Thanks. Much appreciated. But I really need to get going.”
“Look, before you go,” the Welshman said, resting his disfigured right hand on Matt’s arm to restrain him. “Let me give you my number.”
He seemed oddly on edge to Matt as he dragged a phone from his trouser pocket. There was a nervous anxiety in his voice that struck Matt as out of character for the former MI6 man he had come to know.
Luc keyed in his PIN, and the two of them exchanged numbers.
“Call if you need me,” Luc said, adding with an earnest emphasis in his tone, “Any time.” Then he turned to leave.
“Thanks. I will.”
Matt watched the Welshman make his way back up the hill, pondering Luc’s odd behaviour, his nervous unease, then crossed back over the road. Amber and the German doctor were also following the progress of Luc Bennett up the hill, as if in silent speculation, when Matt rested a hand on Amber’s shoulder, leaned his head down and spoke quietly into her ear.
“I’ll see you for lunch with Ben around twelve. Down at Yusuf’s,” he said. Matt gave no further explanation, but turned and strolled off down the hill in the direction of the marina, carrying a smile on his face that had been made a little less relaxed by Luc’s insistence that he call him if need be.
Chapter 17
There was a reason Matt had gone into the security business: having battled his postgraduate demons of alcohol and cocaine, and won, he had become deeply cautious. So, he resisted the temptation to start up his laptop and view the file on his flash drive in public. But Luc Bennett had piqued his curiosity about Rekan and the purpose behind the USB stick. So, keen to learn more, he set off to speak with the only fount of knowledge on these matters that he knew. And he preferred to do this without involving Amber.
Strolling down the hill in the direction of the marina, he stopped every so often at the souvenir shops to join the tourists and examine the local handicrafts. Then ambled on past the shady tree outside the mosque where Hasan had stopped and spoken to the man with the worry beads. He wanted to keep a discreet eye open for any suspicious movements around him. For while the mysterious stranger was no longer to be seen, having appeared to have lost interest, Matt could not be sure that he had not been replaced by someone else. Yet there was no obvious sign of anyone following him.
The mosque shone a resplendent white through the boughs of the tree. Its minaret rose above the foliage like an admonishing finger to warn of the explosive path he was on. A path that Luc Bennett had painted into Matt’s mind as one littered with a string of roadside bombs. This was in stark contrast to the tranquil backdrop of the bay beyond the minaret: the peaceful, sparkling blue of the sea that was overlooked by the bougainvillea of the Zeytin restaurant.
Belgin was spreading out the tablecloths and decorating the tables with vases of single red roses as Matt approached. He caught the sound of what Amber described as boomer music drifting out from the kitchen. It was the softly floating melody of ‘Albatross’ again and perfectly suited the backdrop of the bay beyond the marina.
Matt took this as a sign that Yusuf must be somewhere in the kitchen and quickened his pace so as not to find Yusuf had disappeared by the time he reached the restaurant. But there was no need: when Belgin looked up and saw Matt hurrying down the road, she ran into the kitchen and brought her father back out with her.
“Hoşgeldin!” said Yusuf, beaming his trademark grin.
He spread his arms wide and, as Matt came up to him, clasped both hands in welcome.
“It’s so nice to see you again, Matthew. Please, drink a tea with me.” With a sweep of his left arm, he gestured Matt to take a seat in his restaurant.
“I know it’s a bit early in the day, but I’d sooner have a beer.”
“Of course.”
Yusuf disappeared back into the darkness of the kitchen, while Matt took a seat at what he now considered his own table overlooking the marina. ‘Albatross’ had given way by now to Rod Stewart and ‘Sailing’. It may be dusty old boomer music, Matt told himself, but Yusuf has an uncanny way of matching the melodies to the mood and atmosphere of the place. He stared out to sea beyond the boats in the marina, to Ben’s yacht in the bay.
He was dwelling on thoughts of what his old friend might have been cooking up on his boat, when Yusuf returned with a glass of cool Efes beer and a glass of tea for himself. He placed them carefully on the table and took the seat facing Matt.
“Yusuf, I’ve been meaning to ask you something since we first met a few days ago. Do you know the bakery up the road called Ekmek something or other?”
“What Ekmek?”
“Near the Şimşek hotel.”
Yusuf’s eyes lit up in recognition.
“Of course.”
“It was run by someone called Murat,” Matt said.
The light in Yusuf’s eyes darkened. He gave Matt a quizzical look that bordered on suspicion. But said nothing. He was waiting for more.
“He died recently,” Matt added.
“In the early summer,” Yusuf said at last. “You know Murat?”
“No. But I heard about his death. A heart attack, I believe. And I was wondering if you knew him.”
Yusuf sipped slowly on his tea, placed the glass back in its saucer, and looked deep into Matt’s eyes.
“It is not wise to ask too many questions, Matthew. Murat and my brother Mehmet arkadaş.” He hesitated, searching for the right word.
“Friends,” he said when at last he found it. “Mehmet and Murat good friends. My brother journalist. It is his job ask questions. But he ask too many questions. Now he is guest of government in Izmir prison.”
Yusuf fell silent, pensively sipping his tea. A brief gusting breeze blew up from the marina as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. It was a reminder to Matt that traces of last night’s storm still lingered. Yusuf placed the tea glass carefully back in its saucer and rose from his seat.
“Kitchen wait for me.”
With these words. Yusuf disappeared back across the road carrying not only the glass and saucer in his hand, but plainly a whole history in his thoughts that preyed heavily on his soul and refused to be disclosed.
Whoever Murat was, it was clear to Matt that anyone associated with him, whether Yusuf’s brother, Rekan or anyone else, ran the risk of vanishing into a high-security prison. Or worse. And it occurred to him also that perhaps, like Susie, it was not a dodgy heart that had carried Murat off.
