“No way!” he said. “He hasn’t got the balls.”

“Faruk Hanoğlu and his men could well have killed Volkan,” I said.

“Come on,” he drawled. “If he’d had him killed, why’d they come looking for me later? Some dog-suckler pimp of a gypsy bitch knifed my brother. I’m sure of it. The pimp bastard probably wasn’t happy with the money Volkan gave him. And if his whore told him she’d been to a five-star hotel, he’d have held out for even more. Then, when my brother didn’t give it to him, he stabbed him. Volkan should never have gotten mixed up with those types. He was asking for it. And it was a big mistake to hold back the dough, of course. But how was he supposed to know? That’s what I think. Why else would he have been in Belgrade forest?”

“Surely Volkan’s clients wouldn’t have asked him to arrange for some third-rate hooker.”

“That’s what you think! You wouldn’t believe the types they’re after. The lowest of the low. Straight from the whorehouse. Some big-mouthed, rough-talking bitch who’ll do what their wives and mistresses won’t. Different strokes for different folks, and we got all types in this country, my friend.”

There was no point in getting into the sexology and sociology of our beloved homeland.

“What did you mean when you said Faruk Hanoğlu came looking for you? What did he want?”

“To help me, what do you think?” he said. “He was a real class act, that guy. When he was in jail, his lawyer came and asked me if there was anything I needed. They kept the press off my back, gave me some cash. They told me not to get the wrong idea about the money, said Volkan had been an employee, even if he hadn’t had insurance or nothing. They’re the ones who arranged the funeral, even said they’d have prayers read at the memorial service. When he got out of jail, he called me himself. His wife called, too. They invited me over to their house. They said Volkan was like a son to them, treated me real good. Faruk was a great guy. I’m sorry to hear he’s dead.”

Even if I hadn’t visited the very same Faruk Hanoğlu just the previous night-and even if his treatment of me hadn’t been so abhorrent-I would have found his special interest in Okan to be highly suspicious.

“Have you never wondered why Faruk was so good to you?”

“So I’d keep my mouth shut; you think I’m stupid, or what?”

“Keep your mouth shut about what, exactly?”

“The girls. All the pimping they did. We’re talking high society here. ‘They all do it, but it’s always hush-hush,’ Volkan would say. May he rest in peace…”

Refik jumped in with a heartfelt “amen.”

“You’ve been to their house, haven’t you!”

“Hang on! I said I didn’t go last night. Not that I never went.”

“But?” I stammered. “If you weren’t there last night…”

This could only mean that Okan had been recorded by the camera on a different night. According to the police, last night’s footage contained both Okan and me. The answer to the riddle was obvious. Someone had rigged the recordings. The camera was pointed at what was usually an empty garden or doorway. It would have been easy enough to splice in footage of Okan from another night. I wondered how I looked. The camera would have been positioned at an angle to capture faces.

“I think I know what happened,” I said, and explained.

“That’s pretty smart,” Okan said. “That way they’re fooling the police, too. Perfect.”

“Yes, but you’re the one taking the bullet,” I reminded him. “Perfect!”

Refik made his presence known with a tiny high-pitched scream meant to express shock and horror.

“Nothing will happen to him?” he said. “Don’t terrify us like that, I beg you. We’re only just recovering from the deepest anguish.”

He really was worried, but I couldn’t decide if he was a total idiot or if he was just pretending to be one. I didn’t deign to respond.

“What did you talk about with them, at their house?”

“Nothing much… They invited me to stay for dinner. Then we had cake and coffee… What a house, huh? More like a palace!”

“So they just invited you over for a social chat?”

“Yeah…” he said. “Oh, and they asked me to bring Volkan’s address book and some other things with me.”

Intriguing. My brain and teeth were set on edge.

“What ‘things’?”

“Whatever I had. Bank books, business cards, videocassettes… That kind of stuff. They paid good money for it. In dollars, cash on the barrel.”

“Ayol, a regular mopping up operation,” I said. “Sounds like the CIA. They gathered up all the evidence and destroyed it. Without a trace. I still don’t understand why they felt the need to be so thorough, though…”

“But what’s going to happen to Okan now?” said Refik, sticking his nose into the conversation again. He’d adopted the arrogant and quarrelsome look of the parent who has decided to blame any bad news on the teacher.

“How am I supposed to know, ayol!” I said. “Things are mixed up enough as it is. I still think they were looking for a fall guy. And Okan’s the chump who’s going to get nailed for all of this. Once he’s inside, there will be no one left to squeal. Cleanest job in the world!”

“Thank you ever so much, sister, for your encouraging words. Ayol, people don’t talk like that to their worst enemies. Not that anyone needs enemies with friends like you. Here I am, trying to ask your advice, and what do you do? I hope you’re pleased with yourself. And someone like you, with your record of sleuthing and snooping and crime solving… I really must deplore your insensitivity. I hope you know that.”

That final sentence was punctuated with a ducking of the chin that only served to expand his jowls.

I ignored his pleas for help. There wasn’t anything left to talk about. Even if Volkan’s killer was still at large, it didn’t matter anymore. How could anyone hope to get the better of such a well-organized and powerful racket? Everything was running like clockwork. Evidence of the slightest misstep or mistake was eliminated with the force of an atomic bomb.

“Cat got your tongue, sister? You’re as quiet as a nightingale with a beak full of mulberries…”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Everything’s been set in motion. I was just trying to figure out if there’s anything we can to do to stop it.”

Okan turned to Refik with a giggle.

“Do you know why nightingales are so quiet after they eat mulberries?” he asked.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Refik scolded him. “You’re a bit too happy-go-lucky for your own good. We’re talking about you, and what’s going to happen to you… and you just sit there grinning.”

Slapping his knees, Okan had a fit of the giggles. I put it down to the strain, not the joints. Spluttering and giggling, he managed to choke out a few sentences.

“When the nightingale eats mulberries it gets the runs. With every squawk, it goes plop! So it shuts up and stops squawking… Isfendiyar Dayı told us that back in the village. It plopped into my head. Plop! The runs! A squawk… and a plop!”

He felt compelled to demonstrate with his hand just where the plop was produced.

Confronted by our icy faces, our little nightingale seemed astonished that we weren’t laughing at his squawks and plops. He suddenly stopped his guffawing and presented us with a surprisingly serious expression, considering how stoned he was.

“I didn’t say I handed over everything, did I? That would have meant drying up my money supply… What kind of patsy do you take me for, anyway?… Of course I kept a few things for my own protection.”