Free Ikmen 16 - Body Count by Barbara Nadel

the two men were alone. ‘Well, he asserts his innocence with regard to the accusation of treason that was levelled at him, and he also says that he didn’t kill his wife either,’ he said. He put the note that General Ablak had written down on his desk. ‘One either believes that a man about to commit suicide cannot lie, or one does not. You know I telephoned him; it must have been just before he died.’
    General Ablak’s body had been found in his office the previous evening by his son. Clearly suicide. The only note he’d left had been for Çetin İ kmen. İ kmen handed the document to Mehmet Süleyman.
    After reading through it once, Süleyman said, ‘He liked you.’
    İ kmen shrugged. ‘He hardly knew me.’
    ‘So the treason charge, do you think that’s related to his death?’
    ‘How would we know?’ İ kmen said. ‘All that, er, that political stuff is not what we do.’
    Both men became quiet until İ kmen said, ‘I need to go out for several cigarettes. Do you want to come?’ He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair.
    ‘Yes.’
    Since smoking in public places had been banned back in 2008, İ kmen and Süleyman had been obliged to go outside every time they wanted a nicotine hit. İ kmen particularly found it hard. Once outside and lit up, he said to Süleyman, ‘In answer to your question about General Ablak, we’ve all heard his name bandied about in relation to the Ergenekon investigation …’
    Süleyman looked over his shoulder and then said, ‘Yes.’
    ‘Whether he was involved or not, I can understand why he took his own life if he was under suspicion,’ İ kmen said.
    ‘You don’t think he killed himself because he murdered his wife?’
    ‘No, I don’t. If you murder someone, you might just get away with it. But if someone thinks you’re involved in treason …’ He shook his head.
    The governmental investigation into the so-called Ergenekon plot to undermine both democracy and the rule of law appeared to be endless. But did such a plot even exist? It was an issue so contentious that people like İ kmen spoke about it only in whispers. Even army officers who had once been chiefs of staff had been arrested, and several of them had committed suicide already. Whether such suicides were tacit admissions of guilt was a moot point. İ kmen, as an avowed secularist, was deeply conflicted on the subject.
    He sucked hard on a rather unsatisfying Marlboro Light. Trying to cut down was not really working for him. ‘Leyla Ablak’s killer wasn’t her husband, and nor do I think it was her lover, either.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No, he admitted to that affair far too quickly,’ İ kmen said.
    Süleyman let smoke drift slowly out of his mouth. ‘Hiding in plain sight …’
    ‘Oh, I admit it is a valid and sometimes successful technique, my dear Mehmet, but I don’t think that it is so in Mr Genç’s case. By the way, can you tell me anything about Mrs Ablak’s family? I believe you are related …’
    Süleyman sighed. ‘You saw my mother at Sezen Han ı m’s house in Ortaköy; she told me.’ He shook his head. ‘Leyla and I are distant cousins. Through my father and Leyla’s mother we are both related to the Imperial family, as I am sure you are bored with being told. I am bored with knowing it. To my knowledge I last saw Leyla İ pek in the 1970s, when I was really more interested in model trains than in girls. I’m told she was pretty.’
    İ kmen smiled. Nur Han ı m, Süleyman’s mother, had apparently telephoned their boss, Commissioner Ard ı ç, to see whether he could reassign her son to the Leyla Ablak case. He had replied, most emphatically, that he couldn’t.
    ‘Sezen Han ı m didn’t approve of General Ablak,’ İ kmen said.
    ‘No, he was a “nasty” republican, a destroyer of the Empire and therefore beyond the pale.’ Süleyman shook his head. ‘You can’t please old Ottomans, Çetin. They don’t like the secularists, and they mistrust the present