Free Divorce Turkish Style by Esmahan Aykol

present population, so what would it be like if four million more come?”
    It was indeed a very bleak prospect. I remained silent, deciding not to order another tea, or even finish drinking what I had, for fear that the poisonous effluent had got into the tap water.
    â€œWould you mind showing us around?” I murmured to Rıfat eventually. It had become too crowded around our table for talking to him about Sani.
    â€œI’ll come with you,” said the plump blond man at once.
    â€œI’d rather we were alone, if possible,” I whispered to Rıfat. “I want to talk to you privately.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œI wanted to talk about Sani.”
    â€œAbout Sani?” said Rıfat, looking flustered as he straightened his cap and put his hands in his pockets.
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œWait here. I’ll go and get my car.”
    â€œThere’s no need. Mine’s right here,” I said, pointing to the Renault Clio.
    â€œIn that case, let’s go,” he said.
    â€œWe have to pay for the teas,” I said.
    â€œNo, no, my girl. You’re our guests here,” said Rıfat, indicating with his hand that he would hear no more about it and turning to the blond man, saying, “Ahmet, wait here, I’ll be back soon.”
    *
    I indicated to Fofo to sit in the back.
    â€œYou aren’t environmentalists, are you? Who are you?” asked Rıfat.
    â€œWe’re—” I started.
    â€œIf you don’t mind, I’d like to see your IDs,” he interrupted.
    It was a strange and pointless request. What could he learn from our IDs?
    I asked Fofo to pass my handbag from the back seat.
    â€œWe’re not the police or anything,” I said, holding out my birth certificate.
    â€œWho said anything about you being the police?” said Rıfat, which was just as well because I hated being likened to the police.
    â€œKati Hirschel,” he read out aloud. Turning to Fofo, he said, “And you?”
    â€œI’m Spanish,” said Fofo, giving him his passport.
    Rıfat read out his name too.
    â€œWhat do you want from us?” he asked.
    â€œWe want to find out whether or not your daughter really died as the result of an accident,” I said.
    â€œWhy?”
    Not having a sensible answer to this sensible one-word question, I turned on the ignition and asked, “Which way are we going?”
    Rıfat indicated a track to the right.
    â€œWhy are you so interested in Sani’s death?” he asked, clearly making a superhuman effort to maintain his composure.
    â€œWe’re private detectives,” I said, hating myself for this pretence, which was against everything I’d been brought up to believe, but there was no other option.
    â€œWho hired you?” he asked and, without waiting for an answer, added, “Was Sani murdered?”
    â€œThere’s a possibility that she was murdered, which is what we’re looking into,” I said.
    â€œDo the police think she was murdered?” asked Rıfat, frowning.
    â€œThe police are pursuing their own investigations, so they must have their suspicions.”
    The track came to an end, and I stopped in the middle of a field.
    Rıfat took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered them round. Fofo and I declined.
    â€œSo you’re telling me that my daughter was murdered,” said Rıfat as he opened the window and lit a cigarette for himself.
    â€œIt’s a possibility.”
    â€œWho would do such a monstrous thing?”
    â€œShe was preparing a court action against the industrialists who are polluting the environment here. We have our suspicions about them.”
    â€œHas someone hired you to investigate this?”
    â€œNo,” I said.
    â€œNo one’s paying you?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWere you a friend of my daughter’s?”
    â€œNo,” I said again.
    â€œWhy are you getting mixed up