Petrified by Barbara Nadel Page B

that,’ she said. ‘I should be feeling—’
    ‘Feeling is just what you shouldn’t be doing,’ Melih cut in sharply. ‘Start that and Allah alone knows where it might lead.’ He walked over to her, across the broken shards of glass and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘The work is all that matters,’ he said earnestly. ‘It’s important, we agreed. It will stand for eternity, for us, for the children . . .’
    At this, she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m losing everything that I love.’
    ‘No, you’re not!’ He took his hand roughly away from her. ‘You’re losing nothing, gaining everything – becoming part of everything. When we first met you were an ignorant art student – a dauber. Now you’re on the threshold of reaching the stars! If you’d stop talking to that mother of yours and take my advice—’
    ‘Like drinking your medication?’
    Melih turned back to look at the material once again. ‘We have always shared everything, Eren,’ he said as he moved in closely to look at the details of the weave on the cloth. ‘I am the greatest artist this country has ever produced. I took you, a child and made you my muse. I have given you everything.’
    ‘I know,’ she said. She reached out and touched him just lightly with the ends of her fingers. ‘You are the owner of my soul. I would die in agony for you.’
    ‘Your pain would be an exquisite thing,’ he said as he turned again to face her. ‘Just your grief inspires me.’
    She stood up and leaned into his arms. They kissed, unaware for several seconds that they were being watched.
    ‘I’m sorry, I let myself in,’ İkmen said as he, followed by Ayşe Farsakoǧlu, made his way up the steps from the main gate.
    Melih tore his face away from Eren’s, frowning. ‘What do you want?’
    ‘I’d like to know why you’re standing on broken glass,’ İkmen said, shaking his head at the sight of Melih’s feet, bleeding over the shards of smashed bottle.
    Both Melih and Eren looked down and, although her eyes remained rooted to the gory sight, the artist glanced away almost immediately. ‘That isn’t your concern,’ he said. ‘I repeat, what do you want? My wife and I are busy.’
    İkmen, now level with the artist, surveyed his thin features sternly. ‘I want your co-operation, Mr Akdeniz,’ he said.
    ‘In what?’
    ‘I want to perform a full forensic examination of this property.’
    ‘Why?’
    İkmen sighed and lit a cigarette. ‘Because I want to find your children, Mr Akdeniz,’ he said. ‘As I’m sure you’re now aware, I’m not convinced that your children left this property at six a.m. last Saturday.’
    ‘But I told—’
    ‘Yes, I know what you told me, sir,’ İkmen said, ‘and I do believe that you believe that to be true. But I’m not convinced. I think it’s possible that someone may have entered this property sometime during the course of Friday night and—’
    ‘Abducted my children?’ Melih laughed. ‘How? Even if Eren and I didn’t hear these “abductors” the children wouldn’t have just allowed themselves to be taken.’
    ‘No,’ Eren agreed, ‘they’re not babies.’
    ‘No, but if they were drugged or restrained in some way . . .’
    Melih laughed. ‘This is fucking ridiculous!’ He moved in close to İkmen’s face. ‘You’re mad.’
    İkmen smiled. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘but if I am, then so are my superiors.’
    ‘We’d like your willing compliance with the investigation, Mr Akdeniz,’ Ayşe Farsakoǧlu added, ‘even though we don’t actually need that.’
    Melih and Eren’s eyes met briefly before the artist brought his thin hands up to his face and groaned. ‘I’m working. I must work.’
    ‘The forensic team will work around you.’
    Melih tore his hands away from his face and yelled, ‘If they damage any of my works, either completed or in progress, I will sue everyone involved, including you!’
    There had been a time when even the rich and