“Oh good,” he said, when I told him about Faruk. “He got what he deserved. Thought he’d get away with it. It’s called divine retribution, sweetie. I sometimes believe in it. There you go.”

When it was time to bring up Okan, I stopped. I’d been talking so fast and so loudly my throat was dry.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Have I said anything about you having done something?”

“No, you haven’t… yet. But you’ve been banging on for so long, I can’t help but wonder if I’m next. I ask but one thing: If you must beat me up, please don’t touch my face. As you well know, it took two operations to straighten my nose that last time.”

Reminded of what had happened, I couldn’t help laughing. He had no idea why, of course.

“What is it, sister? What happened now?” he ventured timidly.

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just that I remembered how you wet yourself when I smashed your windows that time.”

“That’s not the least bit funny. I’ve chosen to forget all about it. I attributed your behavior to a fit of jealousy, temporary insanity. Otherwise, I’d never have spoken to you again.”

I didn’t bother to remind him that he’d slandered me all across town, that he hadn’t spoken to me until the club opened, and that when he’d arrived there, hoping to bag a boy, none had shown any interest in him, which was the reason he was now pretending to have forgotten the whole thing.

“You weren’t entirely innocent,” I said.

“That was different. You still haven’t let go. You’re so vindictive!”

He was as determined as ever to get the upper hand.

“The boy you bedded happened to be my lover,” I said.

“He was like Kleenex, nothing more. One of those one-night, one-use types. I didn’t take it seriously. But now I see that you did; you’re still obsessing. Aren’t you a funny old thing.”

We weren’t getting anywhere. I couldn’t even remember the boy’s face. All I recollected was throwing everything that came to hand at the windows, stuffing a huge towel into the toilet, knocking over the lit candles so they burned holes in the carpets and upholstery, and, of course, my little Thai boxing exhibition. Oh, and the sight of Refik scampering around the room wearing nothing but a pair of pink panties.

“Whatever,” I said. “That’s not what I’ve come to talk about. I’d forgotten the whole thing. To tell you the truth, I can’t remember the boy.”

“What do you mean, can’t remember?” he said, out of sheer spite. “His name was Ufuk. He was medium height. A bit on the thin side. Big eyes, like chestnuts. Had a mole on the right side of his chest that looked like a third nipple.”

The flourish with which he indicated, on his own chest, the location of the third nipple just begged a good thrashing.

“Shut up, ayol!” I shouted, glaring at him. “End of subject. Forget Ufuk. It doesn’t matter. Okan, your Volkan’s little brother, has been proclaimed a killer. They’re going to pin it on a drug abuser and close the case, nice and tidy.”

“No, that can’t be! Okan wouldn’t have. He couldn’t have…”

“How can you be so sure?”

“He’s here, sleeping in the bedroom. He hasn’t been outside for two days. Neither have I.”

“What are you saying?” I said. “Okan is here with you?”

“That’s right,” he answered calmly. “I called him, to hand over some of Volkan’s things. He was good enough to come right over. We had a few drinks, wept on each other’s shoulders… Then he… comforted me.”

An inappropriate and groundless note of pride had crept into his voice. As though he’d pulled off a difficult stunt. Lips twisted into a wicked smile, he continued.

“And I comforted him right back… then… he spent the night… with me…”

“So neither of you has gone outside for two days?”

“Well, not since yesterday. As I told you, Okan has been here with me. He couldn’t have killed that money-lender. Anyway, why would he do something like that? After all, Faruk Bey helped him out, gave him tons of money.”

“Run that by me, again,” I said. “Nice and slow. I’m a bit confused.”

Ponpon’s Xanax couldn’t still be affecting me. I seemed to have suffered lasting damage.

“Let’s call the police and tell them! They’d better leave him alone…”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “The police have been waiting for a call from you. They’re just dying to cross their top suspect off the list, I suppose. Get real!”

“So what are we going to do?” he said, biting his lower lip anxiously. “He can’t hide here for the rest of his life, can he? That would be impossible.”

The combination of campy vamp and imbecilic child star was too much for me. Wincing, I looked him up and down.

“Stop staring, sister! Say something!”

“Go and wake him up. We need to have a little talk,” I said. “Then you can go write a bit of poetry.”

As I watched Refik going off to rouse Okan, I couldn’t help wondering what kind of underwear he was wearing.

Refik’s low murmur reached me from the bedroom, where he was trying to wake up his new favorite, the boyfriend he had, in a sense, inherited from his late lover. One question-other than Refik’s underwear-burned in my mind: What else and who else had been recorded by the security camera at the Hanoğlu mansion? If I had made an appearance, and I had no reason to doubt Selçuk’s account, there must be footage of Okan as well. Otherwise, why would he be a suspect? But if it was true that Okan had been at Refik’s side for the past two days, he couldn’t have been captured on camera. Someone was being economical with the truth. But who?

It would take some time for Okan to wake up, come to life, and be ready to meet me. I walked over to the window to enjoy the luxury of being on the fourteenth floor. The Bosphorus lay before me, stretching from Ihlamur Valley all the way to Sarayburnu. It was overcast. The night I’d smashed the windows I hadn’t even noticed the view. I’d been in no condition to do so. Gravity would have ensured that the pointed shards of glass were lethal weapons by the time they reached the ground. I hadn’t heard anything in the days following, so I assumed no serious accidents had been reported.

Why was I able to remember every detail of the havoc I wreaked that day but absolutely nothing about the boy, Ufuk? So he had a mole like a third nipple. I racked my brain but came up empty.

“Good morning…” said a sleepy but tense voice.

Okan Sarıdoğan was standing in front of me. He was taller and stockier than I’d expected, and not nearly as dark and shifty as his photo had indicated. But he was obviously nothing like his older brother, the brother so highly recommended by one and all as a “once in a lifetime, must-try” experience. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t handsome; he couldn’t even be considered “charismatic,” the term in popular use these days to describe ugly men. He had thick, unruly hair and a sulky expression, just like in the somewhat blurry photo. Even so, the doleful look in his eyes aroused one’s protective instinct.

“Good morning,” I responded.

“Refik said some things, but I didn’t really understand what he was talking about. I must have overslept. I’m still a bit woozy.”

He glanced over, as Refik spoke.

“I’ll make you some coffee. That’ll help.”

So, the period of mourning was officially over. The new romance was in full bloom.

“Would you like some?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “Black. No milk, no sugar.”

When Refik disappeared to prepare the coffee, I sat opposite Okan and we studied each other. Conflict or concord, which was it to be? I, myself, opted for the latter.

I related the breaking news, and told him he was wanted by the police. I also added that no one would think to look for him here, at Refik’s place-at least for the moment.

“But how could they accuse me? I didn’t even go to that house yesterday. There must be a mistake.”