Hotel Bosphorus by Esmahan Aykol

asked.
    He didn’t answer, but sat on the chair next to the kitchen door watching me struggle with the cork.
    â€œI’ll open it if you like,” he said finally.
    I passed the bottle and corkscrew to him, took out some wineglasses and put them on the kitchen worktop.
    â€œNot much is happening,” he said. He was obviously not referring to his difficulty separating the cork from the wine bottle. “A lot of pressure is being put on us. It makes me sick.”
    He spoke as if we’d been friends for forty years. I leaned my chin on my hand and looked at him thoughtfully. He was busy with the bottle and didn’t see the expression on my face.
    â€œWhy is there all this pressure? It’s a murder investigation, and you’re an inspector on the homicide desk. You do this sort of investigation every day.”
    He shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, but the murder victim and suspects are foreign citizens. The German police want to get involved. I’m being pressured from above to solve the case as quickly as possible without letting them in. So far the Germans haven’t got the necessary clearance, but who knows what’ll happen tomorrow,” he said wearily.
    â€œMy theory about the murder…” Before I could finish my sentence, he stood and picked up the briefcase that he’d kept close by him and the wine bottle.

    â€œShall we go into the living room?” he asked.
    â€œAre we going to talk about the murder?” I asked, sitting on the sofa with a wineglass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I was getting tired of playing cat-and-mouse.
    â€œYes, we are. There are a few things I want to ask you.”
    â€œI had no connection with it. Why are you asking me questions?”
    â€œIt’s not because you had any connection with it. I just want to ask you some questions,” he said.
    I imagined my new visiting card:
    Kati Hirschel
Bookseller-Detective
Murder Consultant
    â€œI’ll answer your questions if you give me details of how the murder was committed,” I said, well aware that my words had a whiff of blackmail but, as you know, sometimes you have to resort to dubious methods to get what you want.
    With an openness that surprised me, Batuhan started to explain without any hesitation.
    â€œBecause the body was in water, it’s impossible to determine what time the murder took place. After the crew had dinner together that night, five of them stayed out, including Müller. They all returned to the hotel and got into the same lift at around eleven forty. The rooms of Müller, his assistant director Miss Bauer and production assistant Mr Gust were on the fourth floor. Those three came out of the lift together. Gust realized that Müller was very drunk and offered to take
him to his room, or rather his suite. On that floor there are two suites on the Bosphorus side of the hotel, with good views. On the other side, the street side, they’re all rooms. Müller declined the offer, so Gust and Bauer went to their rooms on the street side and Müller went off in the opposite direction. In other words, they separated as soon as they came out of the lift. Those two were the last people to see Müller alive. According to their statements, they spent the night together in Miss Bauer’s room.”
    He stopped for a moment to take a sip of wine.
    â€œHad Bauer and Gust previously been having a relationship? Or was that the first time?…”
    â€œThey said they got it together for the first time that night over dinner. Of course, the man’s married. They drank a lot and spent the night together.”
    â€œTheir rooms were next door to each other, which is too much of a coincidence if they weren’t having an affair. Which of the film crew allocated the rooms, and how?”
    â€œThe room reservations were made before they arrived in Istanbul. They’d booked eleven single rooms and two suites. But it