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‘From İstanbul in Turkey.’
    ‘Turkey?’
    Someone grabbing his arm was accompanied by the sound of an old, cracked voice somewhere to İkmen’s left. ‘Turkey?’
    ‘Yes?’
    The old man, who had been sitting almost asleep in a chair, pulled himself up on İkmen’s arm and looked deep into his eyes.
     Not only was he very old; he was also very dark and very troubled-looking too.
    ‘You a Turk from Turkey?’ he said.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ İkmen said. ‘My name is Çetin İkmen. I am a police officer from İstanbul.’
    The old man continued to just stare at him for a moment. Then a single tear tracked down his face and he said, ‘A police officer.
     From İstanbul, Turkey. Praise to God. You don’t know how long I have been waiting for this, son. You and me, we’s kin. Now
     everything’ll come clear! Now the criminal’ll finally come to justice!’

Chapter 4

    ‘
Meraba
!’ the old man said in very bad Turkish as he threw his arms around İkmen’s neck and gave in to deep, aching sobs. İkmen didn’t
     know what to do. This elderly American seemed to be unduly impressed by the fact that he was a Turk. It was entirely a mystery
     to him why that should be. But although somewhat taken aback, he wasn’t uncomfortable with the old man’s embrace. The American
     seemed gentle enough, and no one was pulling him away, as they certainly would if he was known to be dangerous in some way.
     In fact Lieutenant Diaz and the formidable Martha Bell were looking on with something approaching approval.
    Not so the fiery Sergeant Donna Ferrari. ‘Come on now, Zeke, that’s enough,’ she said to the old man as she pulled his arms
     away from İkmen’s shoulders.
    As he disengaged, he looked at her, and the expression on his face changed from benign to malicious. ‘Get your hands off of
     me, you fucking bitch!’ he snarled.
    ‘Ezekiel!’ Martha Bell came over and put her arms around him. ‘No need for that,’ she said gently. ‘No need, old man.’
    Everyone in the room was watching. Now apparently focused on Martha, the old man’s face softened instantly as he looked up
     into her eyes and smiled.
    ‘It’s been a long day,’ Martha said. ‘Come on, I take you home for a rest.’
    She began leading him towards the door, while people round andabout spoke in small groups. İkmen, still rather taken aback, heard the old man say as he left, ‘We go to see Elvis now, do
     we?’
    The poor old character had to be mad. Süleyman, now at İkmen’s side, said, ‘I’d heard about Americans still believing that
     Elvis Presley is alive. But I never thought I’d actually see it.’
    ‘It was as if my being Turkish meant something to him,’ İkmen said. ‘Something special.’
    ‘Ezekiel Goins is nuts,’ Donna Ferrari said as she came over to offer the two Turks some more coffee. ‘How Martha looks after
     him, I’ll never know. She’s a saint.’
    ‘Mrs Bell takes care of the old man?’
    ‘Four years, to my knowledge,’ Ferrari said. She poured them both some more coffee and then went off to other groups. İkmen
     watched her. Although she was polite and smiling to the foreign policemen, she looked as if she barely tolerated the residents
     of Antoine Cadillac. But then from the looks on some of their faces as she approached, the feeling was clearly mutual.
    Going outside to smoke was something that Çetin İkmen had become accustomed to. Turkey had taken the plunge into smoke-free
     workplaces the previous July. Even so, venturing out into the snow was something of a mission, and it was one that he found
     he couldn’t interest his colleague Süleyman in.
    ‘It’s far too cold,’ Süleyman said, when İkmen finally managed to take his attention away from Sergeant Ferrari for more than
     a moment. It was, although in truth Süleyman was probably lining Ferrari up for a romantic conquest at some point too. Now
     single yet again, he was rarely if ever without some sort of female in his life, however