‘It is. And also we have the mountains on the map.’

‘The Taurus.’

‘Source of the Euphrates, East of Eden,’ Christine affirmed. ‘There are strong legends that Eden is sheltered by mountains to the East. Gobekli has the Taurus to the east.’

Christine took out her own notebook: and read out some of her notes. ‘OK, there’s more. In ancient Assyrian texts, there is mention of a Beth Eden, a so-called House of Eden.’

‘Which is?

‘It is or rather it was a small Aramean statelet. Located on the bend of the Euphrates, just south of Charchemish. Which is fifty miles from Sanliurfa.’

Rob nodded, impressed. Christine’s research had been better than his. ‘Did you find anything else?’

‘We know about Adam and Eve in Haran. But Eden isn’t just described in Genesis, it is also mentioned in the Book of Kings.’ She flicked a page in her notebook, and read the citation: ‘“Have the gods of the nations delivered them which my fathers have destroyed, as Gozan, and Haran, and Rezaph, and the children of Eden which were in Thelasar.”’

‘ Haran again?’

‘Yes. Haran.’ She shrugged. ‘And Thelasar is possibly a town called Rusafah in Northern Syria.’

‘How far is that?’

‘Two hundred miles south-west.’

Rob nodded, enthused. ‘Making Gobekli just east. Eastward in Eden. And what about the name? The word Eden itself? It means delight in Hebrew…’

‘But the Sumerian root is in fact “eddin”. A steppe or plateau, or plain.’

‘Like…the Plain of Haran?’

‘Quite so. Like the Plain of Haran. In which we find…’

‘Gobekli Tepe.’ Rob felt the tingle of sweat on his back. It was a very hot morning, even in the cool of the teahouse gardens. ‘OK then, the last thread is the actual Bible connection.’

‘Abraham was meant to have lived here. He is certainly linked to Haran, in the Book of Genesis. Most Muslims believe Urfa is the Ur of the Chaldees. And that is also mentioned in Genesis. This small region has more links to Genesis than anywhere else in the Middle East.’

‘So that’s it.’ Rob smiled, feeling satisfied. ’Taking into account the Biblical links, the history and legends, plus the topography of the region and the evidence of early domestication-and of course the data from the site itself-we have the solution. Right? At least we have Franz’s solution…’ Rob lifted his hands, like a magician about to do a trick: ‘Gobekli Tepe is the Garden of Eden!’

Christine smiled. ‘Metaphorically.’

‘Metaphorically. But still, it is persuasive. This is where the Fall of Man took place. From the freedom of hunting, to the toil of agriculture. And that’s the story recorded in Genesis.’

They were silent for a moment. Then Christine said, ‘Though a better way of putting it is that Gobekli Tepe is…a temple in an Edenic landscape. Rather than the actual Garden of Eden.’

‘Sure.’ Rob grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Christine, I don’t actually think Adam and Eve were wandering around Gobekli eating peaches. But I do think Franz reckoned he had found it. Allegorically.’

He gazed across the glittering pools, feeling a lot happier. Talking it through was helping; and he was also very excited about the journalistic possibilities. Even if it was a bizarre story it was astonishing, and surely very readable. A scientist who thought he was digging up Eden, even metaphorically and allegorically? It could be a double page headline. Easy.

Christine did not seem so happy about the success of their hypothesis. Her eyes misted for a second: a phase of emotion that swiftly passed. ‘Yyessss…Let’s say you are right. You probably are. It certainly explains the numbers. And his mysterious behaviour at the end, digging for things at night. Taking them away. He must have been very excited. He was very jumpy just before…just before it happened.’

Her mood touched Rob; he chided himself. Here he was thinking about his work and yet there was still a murder unsolved.

Christine was frowning. ‘There’s still many questions left.’

‘Why did they kill him?’

‘Exactly.’

Rob wondered aloud. ‘Well, heck. Maybe…maybe some American evangelists found out what he was up to. Digging up Eden, I mean.’

Christine laughed. ‘And they hired a hitman? Right. Those Methodists can be so touchy.’

There was nothing left in her tea glass. She picked it up and put it down, then said, ‘Another problem is this: why did the hunters bury Gobekli? That’s not explained by the Eden theory. It must have taken them decades to inter an entire temple. Why do that?’

Rob looked up at the blue Urfan sky for inspiration. ‘Because it was the site of the Fall? Maybe it symbolized even at that early stage the error of mankind. Falling into farming. The beginning of wage slavery. So they hid it out of shame or anger or resentment or…’

Christine made a rather unimpressed pout.

‘OK.’ Rob smiled. ‘It’s a crap theory. But why did they do it?’

A shrug. ‘C’est un mystère.’

Another silence fell across their little table. A few yards away, through the rose bushes, little children were pointing excitedly at the fish in the pond. Rob looked at one girl: she was about eleven, with bright golden curls of hair. But her mother was shrouded in black veils and robes: a full chador. He felt a sadness: that soon this lovely girl would be concealed like her mother. Shrouded for ever in black.

And then a flash of real guilt crossed his mind. A flash of guilt about his daughter. On the one hand he was revelling in this mystery-and yet, inside, he still wanted to go home. He yearned to go home. To see Lizzie.

Christine was opening Breitner’s notebook, and laying it on the table alongside her own notes. Shadows of sunlight, spangled by the teahouse lime trees, flickered across their little table. ‘One final point. There is something I didn’t tell you before. Remember the last line in his notebook?’ She pointed to a line of handwriting, turning the notebook so that Rob could see.

It was the line about the skull. It said, Cayonu skulls, cf Orra Keller.

‘I didn’t mention it before because it was so confusing. It didn’t seem relevant. But now…Well, take a look. I have an idea…’

He bent to read: but the line remained incomprehensible. ‘But who is Orra Keller?’

‘It’s not a name!’ said Christine. ‘We just presumed it was a name because it’s in capitals. But I think Franz was just mixing languages.’

‘I still don’t get it.’

‘He’s mixing English and German. And…’

Rob looked over Christine’s shoulder suddenly. ’Jesus.’

Christine stiffened. ‘What?’

‘Don’t look now. It’s Officer Kiribali. He’s seen us, and he’s coming over.’

Kiribali appeared to be alone, though Rob could still see the parked police car, silent and waiting, at the edge of the Golbasi Gardens.

The Turkish detective was in another smart suit; this time of cream linen. He was wearing a very British tie, striped green and blue. As he crossed the little bridge and approached their table, his smile was wide and saurian. ‘Good morning. My constables told me you were here.’ He leaned and kissed Christine’s hand, pulled up a chair. Then he turned to a hovering waiter and his demeanour changed: from obsequious to domineering. ‘Lokoum!’ The waiter winced, fearfully, and nodded. Kiribali smiled across the table. ‘I have ordered some Turkish delight! You must try it here in Golbasi. The best in Sanliurfa. Real Turkish delight is quite something. You know of course the story of its invention?’

Rob said no. This seemed to please Kiribali: who sat forward, pressing his manicured hands flat on the tablecloth. ‘The story is that an Ottoman sheikh was tired of his arguing wives. His harem was in disorder. So the sheikh asked the court confectioner to come up with a sweetmeat so pleasing it would silence the women.’ Kiribali sat back as the waiter set a plate of the sugar-floured sweets on the table. ‘It worked. The wives were placated by the Turkish delight and serenity returned to the harem. However the concubines became so fat on these calorific delights that the sheikh was rendered impotent in their company. So…the sheikh had the confectioner castrated.’ Kiribali laughed loudly at his own story, picked up the plate and offered it to Christine.