Divorce Turkish Style by Esmahan Aykol Read Free Book Online Page A

his.”
    At least I knew enough about the business to realize that being a police officer in a homicide investigation was not always an advantage.

3
    We rose the next morning with a plan of action. After much huffing and puffing, Fofo had agreed to open up the shop for me and had taken on the task of finding a car to take us to Lüleburgaz. Unfortunately, I’d had to sell all my valuables, including my beloved Peugeot, when I bought my apartment.
    Tuesday was cleaning day and I was obliged to have breakfast with Fatma Hanım, who talked endlessly about her cute grandchildren and her husband, who had recently retired and now spent all his time dozing at home. The new shop rota meant that normally I’d already left for work by the time she arrived, so before I went out she took the opportunity to get me to help her turn the mattress, which proved to be laced with spiderwebs. Why I needed such a large bed if I was destined to sleep alone for the rest of my life, I’d no idea. But there it stood in the middle of the room, like some sort of omen. Then, because I was taller, Fatma Hanım sent me up the stepladder to lift down the rugs we’d stored on top of the wardrobe for the summer. After that, I dressed quickly and left before she could fınd anything else for me to do.
    Fofo was waiting for me at the front door, grinning from ear to ear.
    â€œI’ve got a Renault Clio from a friend who lives in Cihangir. How about that?” he said before even saying hello, and as if we were in a position to choose the brand of car we took.
    â€œWhen will we have it?”
    â€œWhenever we want,” said Fofo. “I called Sevim, the secretary. She’ll meet us early this evening to tell us about Sani’s family and how to find them.”
    â€œAll we have to do is go to Kayacık village, outside Lüleburgaz, and ask for the Kaya family. It’s simple,” I said, patronizingly.
    â€œKayacık? How do you know that?”
    â€œMurat mentioned yesterday that Sani was born there, smartarse. You need to keep your eyes and ears open in this business.”
    Fofo looked apoplectic, but managed to shrug it off and said, “Oh dear, I forgot.”
    However, I knew what he was thinking: one–nil.
    â€œIt’s still a good idea to go and see Sevim,” I said. “Just a moment, how did you find out her number?”
    It might have been normal for me to memorize a phone number, but not for poor muddle-headed Fofo.
    â€œYesterday, when she gave the phone number to Batuhan, I filed it away in a corner of my mind,” said Fofo, his self-confidence restored.
    â€œWell done,” I said, giving him a pat on the shoulder, which only seemed to make him tense up again. “But it’s better if I meet Sevim on my own.”
    The tense look on Fofo’s face turned to one of total dismay, and not without justification. I was getting him to make all the arrangements and then excluding him from the action. I wasn’t being fair.
    â€œIt’s for the sake of our investigation,” I persisted. “A woman always opens up more easily to another woman. But if you want to come…”
    Fofo stared out of the window.
    â€œDo you really think she’d be more comfortable speaking to you?” he asked.
    â€œThat’s the way it is. People who’ve grown up in conservativeenvironments always connect more easily with people of their own gender.”
    â€œIt was the same in Spain. My mother and aunt always had women friends,” muttered Fofo. “Fine. Go on your own. But you will tell me everything, won’t you? Promise?”
    â€œOf course. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”
    Peering at me closely, as if he believed it was possible to read a person’s soul by looking into their eyes, Fofo finally said, “No, I don’t trust you.”
    Was it possible to read a person’s soul by looking into their