Free Harem by Barbara Nadel

Kaycee he had hoped, old as he was, to make a new start. But in his heart Hikmet knew, had always known, that that wasn’t going to be possible. He turned on his mobile telephone and called his brother Vedat.
    When Vedat answered, Hikmet announced himself and then said, ‘There’s been a change of plan.’
    ‘But this is urgent,’ Vedat replied, his voice heavy with what sounded like anxiety.
    ‘Yes, I know and I’m sorry,’ Hikmet said. ‘But the flight was delayed and I needed to rest. This has all been most . . . worrying. I’m not young any more, Vedat, I don’t know whether I can—’
    ‘So when will you be here?’ his brother asked, displaying more impatience than sympathy in his voice.
    ‘Our flight will get in at three fifteen tomorrow afternoon. Inşallah it will be on time.’
    ‘I’ll be there to meet you.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Hikmet rubbed his hands up and down his tired features. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing you, Vedat, you and our beloved Hale.’
    ‘Yes.’
    It was a strange, cold response which made Hikmet frown. He hadn’t seen either his brother or his sister Hale since well before his marriage to Kaycee. Putting aside the fact that he effectively bankrolled them, the three of them were, or had been, very close and loving siblings. But then perhaps Vedat blamed him for what had happened. He was, after all, living with it, enmeshed in a way that Hikmet had chosen to ignore for some time. They’d hurt Vedat . . .
    As he muttered a distant farewell to his brother, Hikmet Sivas shuddered. Today he was in Amsterdam, tomorrow he would be in İstanbul. Only Allah knew what would happen then, what was already written.
    Hikmet Sivas, film star and millionaire, lay down beside his sleeping wife and closed his eyes.

Chapter 6
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    It was always difficult to tell when İkmen was particularly tired or strained. His usual look was, by anyone else’s standards, one of crumpled disaffection. Close association with the man had, however, taught Orhan Tepe that a particularly manic light in İkmen’s eyes was the key to how much rest he had managed to get. Today, given that İkmen’s eyes were both very watery and a little crazy, it would seem that he had slept even less than Tepe himself. But then Tepe had been pleasuring himself with Ayşe Farsakoǧlu, while İkmen had the look of a man who had been involved in much grimmer tasks.
    ‘Hatice İpek was both raped and buggered prior to her death,’ İkmen said without any preamble as soon as Tepe entered the office. ‘Her pubic area was cut up, probably with a razor.’
    ‘Indeed.’ It was said coldly and, strangely to İkmen, without judgement.
    ‘She wasn’t a virgin before she was attacked,’ İkmen continued, ‘but I don’t feel that is relevant given the nature of her injuries. She was cut and bruised. She resisted. That’s rape. It’s a crime; whoever did it to her will be punished.’
    ‘So what was the cause of death then, sir?’ Tepe asked as he sat down behind his desk and looked across at İkmen’s long, grey face.
    ‘I don’t know,’ İkmen replied. ‘Dr Sarkissian has yet to discover that. In the meantime we need to find out just who was having sex with this girl. He or they could be our perpetrator. Hatice admitted nothing to my daughter, who as we know made her own observations and came to her own conclusions; but Hatice’s mother is still convinced of her chastity. And then there is Mr Şeker.’ He smiled unpleasantly.
    ‘We let him go,’ Tepe said, lighting what for him was his first cigarette of the day.
    ‘Yes,’ İkmen responded, ‘we did. And if the stories told by my daughter and Mr Sılay did not concur so well and were not also such interesting addendums to Hatice’s “ruined” state, I would probably give Şeker the benefit of the doubt. But Hatice was not a virgin and my daughter is perfectly convinced about her observations. Şeker touched her and she liked it. She was a beautiful