A Passion for Killing Read Free Page B

only take a few hours. You know what carpet men are like? He’s probably having a passionate liaison with some woman somewhere.’
    ‘He’s not been seen at his apartment.’
    ‘Well give me the address and I’ll start there anyway,’ İkmen said. ‘Leave your sergeant to do his duty at the mortuary. I’ll deal with this carpet man.’
    Süleyman shrugged. ‘As you wish, Çetin.’ And then he pushed the empty cigarette packet he’d written on earlier across the desk towards his friend. ‘His name is Yaşar Uzun and this is his address.’
    İkmen looked down at the writing on the packet and frowned.
    ‘Er, Sergeant Melik, would you mind coming in here for a moment please? I need to ask you something.’
    İzzet Melik hoped that he would now be leaving the pathology laboratory with its sickening smells and disturbingly familiar body parts sitting in kidney bowls, but that was obviously not to be the case. Dr Sarkissian the small, almost circular Armenian pathologist, wanted to speak to him about something in his office.
    ‘Doctor . . .’ Melik walked into the doctor’s office with heavy feet. Fortunately he didn’t spend his every working day watching autopsies, it was very bad for his digestion. As he sat down opposite the pathologist’s desk he stifled a rather sick-tasting belch.
    ‘Now, sergeant, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I have to ask you some questions about our victim, Cabbar Soylu, before you leave.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    İzzet Melik had a few questions of his own about what he had been told was the latest peeper victim. But he settled himself to answer Dr Sarkissian’s queries first, if he could.
    The Armenian sighed, his face assuming a grave aspect before he spoke. ‘Sergeant, I will be honest with you, as I will be with Inspector Süleyman, and tell you that I believe Mr Soylu’s corpse has been tampered with by someone.’
    This was not a situation that was totally alien to İzzet Melik. His stomach lurched and he calmed himself by stroking his very thick, black moustache before replying. ‘Indeed.’
    ‘Yes, and because it troubles me, I had a brief conversation with my colleague, Dr Mardin, who has some small experience in this area,’ the doctor said. ‘When I was away on vacation last autumn, you, sergeant, so Dr Mardin tells me, attempted to assist her in the investigations she was conducting on behalf of the police at that time. I understand from Dr Mardin that her fears have never been satisfactorily allayed.’
    İzzet Melik felt the Armenian’s myopic eyes, heavily magnified through his very strong spectacles, regard him critically. İzzet knew exactly what he was talking about and so he didn’t even attempt to contradict him.
    ‘You mean the corpse of that rent boy last November, don’t you, doctor?’
    ‘Nizam Tapan, yes.’
    ‘The one that was . . .’
    ‘The one that went missing for two hours between the crime scene and the laboratory. Yes, I do,’ Dr Sarkissian replied. ‘Nizam Tapan, according to Dr Mardin, was entirely “clean” when she got him. There was not a hair out of place and not a speck of dirt underneath any of his fingernails.’
    ‘Yes,’ İzzet said with a sigh, ‘I remember.’
    ‘Together with Dr Mardin you questioned Inspector Süleyman about it, didn’t you?’
    ‘Yes.’ At first his boss had been as concerned as himself. He’d made all sorts of noises about taking the information up to his boss, Commissioner Ardıç, and beyond if necessary. But then the whole thing had just died down. No more questions had been asked and the peeper had not, until that morning, struck again – or so it was thought.
    ‘Was the body of Cabbar Soylu clean, doctor?’ İzzet asked.
    ‘Yes, it was. There was not one fibre of forensic evidence on him,’ the doctor said. ‘The cause of his death was a single, very expertly placed stab wound to the heart. The assailant was left-handed, which is consistent with the profile of