Baksheesh by Esmahan Aykol Read Free Book Online

weather a stock-market crisis by reading a book?
    I peered out of the kitchen.
    Impossible. It couldn’t be.
    It was Batuhan.
    I couldn’t conceal my astonishment.
    â€œHey!” was all that came out of my mouth.
    â€œWhy the surprise? Wasn’t it obvious that I’d be knocking on your door first? Or didn’t it occur to you that they’d give this job to me?”
    I looked at him blankly. What on earth was he talking about?
I had no idea. Or was he talking about yesterday’s incident? Had the murder squad started taking on personal assault cases? What was he on about?
    â€œWhat job? Which door?” I asked sharply. I’d been looking for a reason to get cross anyway.
    â€œYou do realize you’re the chief suspect in the Osman Karakaş murder case, don’t you?”
    â€œWhat? Is this some sort of candid-camera stunt? Anyway, who is Osman Karakaş?”
    He laughed ruefully and said, “I only wish it were a stunt. Unfortunately not. You have to come down to the police station with me.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Batuhan,” I said.
    â€œI’m serious. Osman Karakaş was killed yesterday evening. A number of people saw you fighting with him and his brothers say he had no enemies apart from you.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” I repeated, as it dawned on me that Osman Karakaş must have been the car-park man.
    â€œIf you say ‘Don’t be ridiculous’ one more time, I’ll have to charge you with insulting a police officer in the course of his duty. Hopefully, you know me well enough to realize that whatever happened between us previously will not prevent me from doing my duty.”
    â€œCuuuut! Cut! Cut!” I wanted to scream. Did this idiot really believe that anything had happened between us? The way he was talking, he deserved a much more derogatory term than “idiot” – but I won’t be crude.
    â€œDo you seriously think that I killed somebody? This is a joke, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo, it’s certainly no joke. Osman Karakaş was found dead this morning in his office at 3/6 Papağan Street. With a single bullet in his leg,” he said. “You, of course, know all this better than I do,” he added, with another rueful laugh.

    I refrained from saying “Don’t be ridiculous” yet again.
    â€œPlease sit down.”
    â€œWe have to go to the station for you to make a statement.”
    â€œVery well. But sit down for a moment and then we’ll go.”
    He sat down.
    Just then, the shop door opened. It was a customer.
    â€œWe’re closed,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘we’re closed’? You’re most definitely open. I’m standing inside your shop this very moment.” It was a woman. If things continued like this, I felt in serious danger of becoming a misogynist as well as a misandrist, which I’d been for some time.
    â€œWe’re not open for business because we’re stocktaking. I do apologize and would be delighted if you could come back this afternoon.” How did I manage to utter so many words without losing my cool?
    The woman left, slamming the door behind her.
    I collapsed into my rocking chair and put my head in my hands.
    â€œLet’s start from the beginning. The man I quarrelled with yesterday has been killed. Correct? The man from the car-park mafia. Correct?”
    He nodded in agreement.
    â€œHis brothers say I was his only enemy. Have I misunderstood anything so far?”
    â€œNo, you’ve understood correctly.”
    I clenched my fists to stop myself throwing an ashtray at Batuhan’s head.
    â€œFor God’s sake, does it sound reasonable to you that a female bookseller would be the sole enemy of a car-park gang member?”
    He stood up, took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered me one.
    â€œI don’t know. It’s still too early to say. I have