Hotel Bosphorus Read Online Free PDF

At eight o’clock in the morning, a Turkish-speaking man was answering the phone in Petra’s room. “God, what hypocrites people are!” I thought to myself. Only last night she had been saying that she couldn’t embark on any new relationship after her experiences, and that she was now crippled in this respect. Yet, only three days after arriving in Istanbul, a Turkish man, no doubt dark and handsome, was picking up her phone. My first reaction was to put the phone down on this fellow, and to erase Petra and everything she had told me from my life. But I was rather old for such behaviour.
    â€œMay I speak to Petra, please?” I said.
    â€œMadam, are you calling from Istanbul?” he said, in a thick Black Sea accent.
    I managed to stop myself saying, “What’s it to you?” I thought this might seem rude to a Turkish man.
    â€œWhy are you asking?”
    â€œI’m Alaatin, a police official from Ortaköy Police Station. We’re here to investigate a murder. If…”
    Murder… Murder…
    I had only ever encountered that word in novels; it was the first time I’d heard it uttered in real life.

    â€œMur… mur… murder?? Who? Is it Petra?” I said with difficulty. Alaatin hesitated uncomfortably; they weren’t supposed to give out information, and he didn’t have the authority to do so anyway.
    â€œLook, Inspector, I’m Petra Vogel’s friend. What I want to know isn’t a state secret, I just want to know if Petra is OK.”
    Addressing Alaatin as “Inspector” was a good idea, I can tell you. He immediately dropped his guard.
    â€œMiss Vogel is fine, madam.”
    â€œThank you, Inspector,” I said, this time as a reward.
    Petra was OK. Or rather, Petra was not the person who had been killed. Yet since the murder investigation was taking place in Petra’s suite, the murder had some connection with Petra. That probably meant that someone in the film crew had been murdered. What else could it be? I decided to get dressed and go to the hotel straight away for the following reasons:
    One, Petra might need me. These policemen had to be addressed as Inspector, the inspectors as Chief Inspector, and the chief inspectors as District Chief of Police. I was one of the few people who realized that bestowing such imaginary ranks opened many doors in the police force. The time had come for me to use this knowledge.
    Two, a murder had taken place. I’d been reading crime fiction since my childhood, and selling it for the last three years. I was no longer just an ordinary reader. The time had come for me to offer my theoretical knowledge for the benefit of society.
    I left the apartment and jumped into my car. For two months now, things had kept happening. First, my dear friend Fofo had found a lover and disappeared from
my life without a second thought: I was missing Fofo. Then, I’d received what would normally be considered excellent news: my most famous friend, Petra, whom I hadn’t seen for years, was coming to Istanbul. As soon as we’d had a chance to talk properly, she had related a story of tragic proportions that would darken the world of the most hard-hearted person. And now her suite was full of policemen from Ortaköy Police Station.
    I tried to keep calm by repeating to myself that Petra’s situation was far worse than mine, and that these mounting problems now made former disasters in my life, which at the time had each seemed so important, seem like sweet memories. That was the positive side of it all. I didn’t even want to think about what might lie in store for me in the days ahead.
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    While trying to cross the Bosphorus Bridge in Istanbul’s morning traffic to reach the European side of the city, I thought about what had happened to Petra during the years we were out of touch.

3
    When we finished university in the early eighties, I decided to loaf around and travel