Deadline by Barbara Nadel Page A

her eyes began to visibly fill with tears.
    ‘What did youdo first, Mrs Aktar?’
    ‘First?’
    ‘Take it step by step,’ Süleyman said. ‘What was your first impression of the body on the bed? Were you frightened? Did you think that Söner Erkan was alive or could you see that he was dead?’
    For a moment she just sat with her mouth open, as if she were in some way trying to catch the right words. Then she said, ‘There was so much blood!’ She looked directly at Süleyman. ‘I’d never seen blood like it!’
    ‘So you knew that Mr Erkan was dead?’
    ‘I must have done, I suppose.’
    ‘So the light must have been on for you to see the blood.’
    ‘I don’t know, I . . . Yes, I imagine so . . .’ She began to cry.
    Krikor Sarkissian, returned now from his short walk, addressed their captors. ‘I want to comfort her, she’s a friend,’ he said.
    The leader of the gang nodded his assent and Krikor went over to sit beside his friend and took one of her hands in his. ‘It’s OK,’ he said as he squeezed her fingers. ‘They have to do this.’
    ‘I know.’ She smiled though her tears at him and then she looked at İ kmen again.
    ‘Could anyone have left your room while you were in the bathroom?’ İ kmen asked. ‘Was there time for a person to dothat? Did you hear any sort of noise from the bedroom or beyond when you were in the bathroom?’
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear anything. As for someone leaving the room . . . I was in the bathroom for a minute, maybe a bit more. I suppose it’s possible . . .’
    ‘When you came back down to the Kubbeli Saloon,’ İ kmen continued, ‘your dress and your hands and arms were covered in blood. Can you confirm to me that it was blood from Mr Erkan?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And how did it get on to your body and your clothes, Mrs Aktar?’
    She looked at Krikor Sarkissian and for a moment it seemed as if she might be about to cry again. Krikor said, ‘Go on, my dear.’
    She shook her head. ‘You are going to think I’m so stupid!’
    ‘No . . .’
    ‘You will.’ She took a deep breath and then she said, ‘Because I moved him.’
    ‘You moved him.’
    ‘When I found him, he was face down on the bed. I wanted to see who he was and so I rolled him over,’ she said. ‘I pulled his shoulders and as he flopped over I got covered in his blood.’
    Piles of cigarettebutts outside doorways were a common sight in post-smoking ban İ stanbul and so Ay ş e Farsako ğ lu was not surprised to see them even outside the Pera Palas kitchen door. What did come as a shock, however, was the sight of a man with his back to her, standing in the inner doorway that led from the corridor she was now in to the kitchens. And he was armed. Ay ş e Farsako ğ lu knew a Kalashnikov rifle when she saw one.
    ‘What is it?’ Nar, who couldn’t see around Ay ş e’s body, hissed at her.
    Ay ş e began riffling though her coat pockets to try and locate her phone. ‘Sssh!’
    Nar attempted to move past Ay ş e to get a look at the inner kitchen door.
    But the policewoman held her back. ‘Do you have a phone with you?’ she whispered.
    ‘A phone? Yes. Don’t you?’
    ‘I left it at home,’ Ay ş e said.
    ‘Well, that was a bit—’
    ‘Just give me your phone!’ Her frustration, mainly at herself, was causing her voice to rise. She looked towards the kitchens to make sure that the gunman wasn’t coming towards them.
    Following an instinct that was more to do with wanting to protect her one-time lover from whatever danger lurked inside the hotel, Ay ş e moved forward, pulling
    Nar – whohad put her precious shoes down and was desperately trying to extricate her phone from the top of one of her stockings – behind her. To both sides of her were doors, possibly to store cupboards or fridges. She heard men’s voices from the kitchen.
    ‘What are you going to do?’ a young voice said.
    There was a laugh, then an older more smoke-dried voice said, ‘Bodrum for me.