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there’s anything you need to be concerned about beyond a bit of filmstar worship.’ He smiled. ‘Not for Ahmet, you understand, but for Sivas.’
    ‘Our Turkish brother in Hollywood,’ İkmen observed.
    ‘Our only Turkish brother in Hollywood,’ Hassan corrected. ‘Although he is rather past his prime now, don’t you think?’
    İkmen shrugged. Films didn’t really interest him. He was aware that Hikmet Sivas had appeared in a lot of Hollywood films in the 1960s but beyond that he knew very little about the man.
    ‘So was Sılay in here last night?’ İkmen asked.
    ‘Yes.’ Hassan frowned. ‘Why?’
    At this stage, with the possibility of Hatice İpek turning up at any moment, İkmen didn’t want to sound any alarm bells.
    ‘Oh, it’s just that Hulya keeps going on about wanting to be an actress,’ he said. It was, after all, the truth.
    Hassan smiled. ‘Oh well, yes, she would have probably got that idea from Ahmet,’ he said. ‘His stories about theatrical tours of Turkey and other countries he went to in the fifties are quite exotic, plus of course his association with Sivas.’
    ‘So Sılay is still friendly with Sivas?’
    ‘He has apparently visited him in Los Angeles in the past,’ Hassan replied. ‘I’ve no reason to disbelieve him.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘But if you want me to speak to him about putting ideas in the girls’ heads, I will,’ Hassan offered as he stood up and made ready to go back to his work. ‘I don’t want to lose Hulya and Hatice to the dubious business of entertainment, do I?’
    İkmen smiled. ‘No, but I’m sure that Sılay is, from what you say, quite harmless. And if the girls are just amusing themselves, there’s no harm in that.’
    ‘Well, it’s up to you, Inspector,’ the younger man said and then with a small bow he departed.
    İkmen finished his profiteroles and then looked out of the window again. Of course nothing ever sprang from nothing and it was interesting to know the source of Hulya’s theatrical ambitions. And if, as Hassan seemed to think, both girls were currently bent upon careers in the entertainment industry then maybe Hatice had gone off to try and see some of the film and theatrical agents up in Beyoǧlu. Perhaps that was why Hulya had seemed so reluctant to talk about her friend. But surely Hatice wouldn’t have gone to see agents in the middle of the night?

Chapter 2
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    Inspector Mehmet Süleyman was just leaving for work when he heard the scream rip through the upper storey of his house. Zelfa! He dropped the sheaf of papers he had been carrying and raced upstairs to his bedroom. As he entered, Patrick, his wife’s fifteen-year-old cat, bounded nimbly past him heading, presumably, for somewhere where Zelfa wasn’t.
    His wife, whom he had left apparently sleeping only half an hour before, was sitting up in their bed, her face red and contorted with pain.
    ‘What is it? Has it started?’ he said as he ran over to her side and placed an arm round her trembling shoulders.
    By way of reply, Zelfa pushed the duvet down towards her feet and then stared, panting at what she had revealed. The underside of the duvet as well as the sheet were drenched with pink, blood-stained water.
    ‘Seems like it’s time to get to hospital,’ her husband said. He turned away from her and walked over to her wardrobe. He took a suitcase and a winter coat from inside it.
    Zelfa, panting still as she watched what her husband was doing, frowned. ‘I can’t wear that,’ she said in her gruff, Irish-accented English. ‘I’ll die of heatstroke.’
    Mehmet draped the coat loosely round her shoulders.
    ‘You can’t go out in just a nightdress,’ he said. ‘I’ll put the air conditioning on in the car. It’ll be fine.’
    ‘Jesus Christ!’
    Mehmet helped Zelfa swing her swollen legs down onto the floor and then pulled her slowly to her feet.
    For a woman like Zelfa – a professional woman, a psychiatrist, who had grown up in Ireland – to be