Jeno folded his paper and tucked it under his arm. "I'll be in touch."
"The man on the train, who was he going to meet?"
"Guess."
I didn't have to. What if my brother had even been sitting a few cars ahead, in the first class section? Same train, different dreams.
Chapter Four
"This is crazy, I said when I could slip out of her arms and talk again. "Your father will kill us."
"No, he loves me. Anyway, he's busy downstairs."
"Downstairs! You told me he would be away for a couple of days."
"He was going to be, but he got a rush request, so he came back. He's been working all night in the kitchen."
"Any minute he could come up and kill one of us. And something tells me it won't be you."
"Perhaps. But look at me. Look closely." She made sure that even in the moonlit room a lot was visible. "When you look at me, do you think of my father?" In case I had missed anything, she turned slightly.
"No." I took a deep breath. "I can't say that I do."
"Then come here. No more discussion." She took my hand and pulled me back to her.
2
Barely past dawn, when I was almost dressed, she opened her eyes. "You see, my little policeman, you are still alive. Take the side streets and no one will ever know you were here. Your survival instincts are probably still functioning."
I was in no shape to ask what she meant. I was more concerned with getting down the back stairs without seeing her father. Even if I made it through that minefield, there was the problem of what the day clerk in my hotel would say when I walked in, slightly rumpled. If anyone asked, the hotel staff would gladly relay the news that I had been out all night.
"Was it wonderful?" Dilara snuggled under the blanket, not really interested in the answer.
3
M. Beret was sitting in the lobby of my hotel, a cup of coffee on the table next to his chair. I was less surprised to see him than I was to see the coffee. I hadn't realized the hotel was so generous. Maybe they would part with an extra bar of soap, after all.
"Inspector, good morning."
"Wouldn't they give you a room?"
"A room? I don't sleep much these days. Too much thrashing about in the adjoining suites."
"That never bothers me," I said and started up the stairs. I wondered if M. Beret's people only got audio, or if there were pictures, too. And if so, would they get back to Pak? I knew what would happen. He would call me into his office and look at me somberly for a moment before studying a piece of paper on his desk. Then in the most exquisitely vague language he would explain that he had received "certain information," that this was potentially serious if it should develop any further but it was not his job to babysit my life in all of its facets, that he expected me to act responsibly in all ways, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. Then he would put the piece of paper into a folder, close the folder and put it in his desk drawer, and look up at me. "Is that clear enough?" he would ask, say he had a meeting to attend, and walk out the door.
M. Beret drank a little coffee. He replaced the cup with more than normal deliberation. "I thought you'd like to know, we threw Ahmed a very large catering job last night, with instructions that it had to be delivered by 6:00 a.m." He glanced at his watch, which was not a cheap one. "Would you like some Turkish coffee to perk you up?"
"He must be exhausted."
"I'm sure he's not the only one."
4
I would have slept past noon if the maid hadn't knocked midmorning. "Go away," I shouted, but she kept knocking. Finally, I flung open the door. "Are you hard of hearing? I told you to go away. I'm sleeping. Can I do that? Is it all right with you? Is there a regulation in your tidy land against sleeping late?"
"It's not my land. I am from Romania, and I was only checking to make sure you're not sick again. They don't want some strange epidemic coming out of this hotel. There are all sorts of health people in this city; they can be very strict sometimes. Believe me, I know."
"I'm not sick, I'm never sick." I stuck out my tongue. "You see? I'm fine."
The maid was holding a few pieces of fresh linen. She handed them to me. "Make your own bed then. I'm not going to wait around for you. My friends says I don't even have to go into your room if you've been sick."
"It's good to have friends," I said and closed the door. Just as I got back into bed, the phone rang.
"Hello, Inspector, how are you?" It was Jeno. He didn't sound happy. There were undertones of urgency flowing through his voice, the way silk sounds when it catches on a nail.
"I was trying to sleep, actually."
"It's well past noon! Your watch must have stopped. Meet me downstairs in twenty minutes. We'll have lunch."
"Nothing elaborate."
"Fine, nothing elaborate."
"Nothing that has been near a lamb."
5
Jeno was waiting, just as he said he would. He was wearing sunglasses. It was a springlike day, but not really spring; tidy clouds arranged in a blue sky, enough sun to give the grass a thrill. Technically, it was still winter, but you wouldn't hear me complain about the weather, not on a day like this.
"Let's go for a drive, Inspector. With so much sun, it would be a shame to stay in this dull town. You don't want lamb. Do you like fish? We can have lunch by the lake. Delicate fillet of perch, a bottle of white wine. Then we can smoke cigars and talk. I know just the place, in a little town called Coppet."
"Been there."
"Very well, we can try somewhere else." He seemed annoyed, which gave me some satisfaction, though not enough to make up for having to dress and come downstairs.
"Good," I said. "Somewhere else."
"Something the matter?"
"Nothing. I told you, I was trying to sleep; it was a rough night."
"So I heard."
Everyone had heard, apparently. Dilara was going to have to keep it down next time, if there was a next time. "How about a nonperch meal? Would that be possible? I realize perch is the national fish." I wasn't being difficult only out of spite. It had nothing to do with little, tasteless collections of bones. It was that Jeno was trying to put me in a grateful mood for some reason, and until I figured out why, I wasn't going to let things get cozy. "One more request. This time I exit your car in the normal fashion, after it has come to a complete stop."
"We're not using my car. Someone ran me off the road the other night and I hit a tree."
"A tree? What kind?"
"A very big tree, that's what kind. I'm borrowing Ahmet's car while mine is in the repair shop."
I felt a moment of terror as we set off down the hill. What if Ahmet was driving? There was no way he could fail to pick up what I was thinking.
"Something wrong?" Jeno asked, as he stopped next to a big, white Mercedes. It looked brand-new. The light that reflected off the hood was blinding. Maybe that explained the sunglasses. "Here we are."
"Ahmet owns this?" Ahmet was nowhere to be seen. "What else does he do, other than run a restaurant? Drugs? Centrifuges? This car must have cost a fortune."
"He told me he bought it secondhand from a friend."
"Secondhand! A hand wearing diamonds, maybe. If I were you, I'd check his friends."
"Funny, that's just what I thought."
I'd never been in a car like this one, and it was clear, neither had Jeno. He either drove too fast or too slow. His turns were too wide or too sharp. He tried adjusting the seat, tilting the steering wheel, changing the mirrors. Nothing helped. "No wonder someone sold this to Ahmet," he grumbled as we swerved to avoid a dog. "It's a lemon."
"A what?"
"A piece of garbage. The steering is off, the acceleration is off, and the braking is off. It feels like it was worked on by a mechanic who hated women."
The connection escaped me, but Jeno was driving almost on the shoulder, and I didn't want to try for too complicated a discussion. Besides, the muffler had caught my ear. "Where are we going?" The road looked familiar, close to the lake.