Chapter 32
The scarred officer led Alexander to a hall at the back of the building where the air was stagnant and chalky. With a jangle of the keys, the door swung inward to reveal a room just big enough for Alexander to stand with his arms spread, and his wife sitting on a cot.
She got to her feet, a tremulous smile on her face. “Thank you, Inspector Adem,” Saffron said to the scarred man, then to Alexander, “Good morning.”
He couldn’t help but soften a little. “Good morning. Thank you, Inspector.”
Inspector Adem locked them in together, and though their time was short, Alexander was sure to make good use of it by kissing his wife within an inch of her life.
“How are you?” he asked when he at last forced himself away from her.
“Much better now,” she whispered against his neck.
“Me, too.”
They sat on the cot, hands entwined. “Have you eaten? How does your ankle feel?”
“I’d quite forgotten about my ankle, you know,” she said, looking down at it. “It’s nearly back to normal. And I’ve eaten. Inspector Adem brought me something from a bakery this morning. It was delicious,” she added sheepishly.
“I’m glad. I’ve written to John, but not your mother and grandparents.”
“Oh, good,” she said, suddenly anxious. “Don’t. I don’t want to shock them. I’ll write when this is all sorted out. No need to worry them over nothing.”
“Right.” This was certainly not nothing, but he wasn’t going to remind her when she seemed determined to be positive. “I’m going to see Sir Randolph this morning, and see if I can find a telephone to connect to the embassy in Istanbul.”
“Shouldn’t Mr. Demirel do that?”
“I’m not leaving it to chance. And I had an idea—”
“So have I!” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Martin became truly ill when he returned from Kadifekale. We must discover what he got up to there. Can you find out? Perhaps he was drinking with Dr. Johnson’s crowd again and was slipped something.”
“If that’s the case, it’ll be long gone by now,” Alexander said heavily. “If the poisoner hadn’t washed out his flask immediately after poisoning Neill, he would have by now with the police asking questions.”
“But someone else might have taken a sip by accident and felt unwell. I also had a thought about Dunmore.” She nodded when his brow lifted in confusion.
“Yes, Dunmore. Do you remember what Clark said at breakfast, about me being a black widow spider? It occurred to me that it could be venom rather than poison!”
“And you think Dunmore might have given it to Neill?”
“No, Martin was far too helpful to him to want him dead, but Dunmore has venomous specimens, doesn’t he?”
Despite himself, Alexander smiled, marveling at his wife’s mind. “A brilliant idea, but Dunmore keeps his specimens only as long as it takes to document them, and since his study has nothing to do with venom, I don’t believe he has the equipment on hand to extract it.”
“He wouldn’t have to extract it—”
“The doctor would have noted if Neill had been bitten. The bite would have been irritated and easily spotted on Neill’s body, and Dr. Yenmeck is probably familiar with the symptoms of local snakes’ venom, anyway.”
Saffron attempted a weak smile. “I suppose that counts out Clark slipping one of those spiders into Martin’s bedding at Kadifekale, too. Blast.”
Footsteps, then the jingle of keys, signaled the end of their conversation. Alexander swiftly kissed her, and they both got to their feet as the door opened.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told her, squeezing her hand. “Later today, if I have any news.” Despite the fact Inspector Adem was at the door, he pressed one more gentle kiss to her lips and murmured, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered back.
Once he was back in the main room with Inspector Adem, Alexander said, loudly enough that Polat, who sat at a desk in the corner, could hear him clearly, “I’m concerned about the conditions under which my wife is being kept.
That room is not properly ventilated”—he went on to list several other things he didn’t care for about the room—“and I’m afraid my wife’s grandfather, Lord Easting, will be most displeased about the conditions in addition to the fact she has not yet had access to legal counsel. ”
Adem blinked at him. “I understand,” he said slowly. Then he turned to Polat and said some things in Turkish that sounded displeased.
Polat got to his feet and stalked over to them. “Who is Lord Easting?”
Of course, Saffron hadn’t thought to mention her grandfather was a viscount. “My wife’s grandfather is a lord and a very active man in politics. He would not think kindly on your government to learn what has happened here.”
Lord Easting was a powerful man in the realm of agriculture and business, but had little to do with politics. A small lie to give Saffron a better place to be locked up in didn’t trouble him at all.
Polat’s eyes narrowed on him, but Adem looked a little alarmed. He hoped the scarred inspector, at least, took his words to heart. “I will be back later today, and I expect to find improvements.”
Polat merely glared at him, and Alexander left the police station to carry out his next task of the morning.
The British Consulate of Smyrna had not been rebuilt after the fires, and so the home of the man in charge of British interests in the city acted as the temporary institution.
It was up in the hills of Bornova, a place of medium grandeur similar to that of the hotel.
There was no hushed efficiency typical of a government office.
The absence of clattering typewriters and hum of familiar accents in conversation told him this place saw few staff or visitors.
A brief, unsatisfying conversation with Sir Randolph Waverly, the consul general, left Alexander at loose ends.
Sir Randolph’s disinterestedness bothered him, not the least because they’d shared a dinner table with the man several times now, and he was personally acquainted with Saffron.
Not even mention of Lord Easting had moved him very much.
Mr. Feldman, his secretary, was the one to assure Alexander of Sir Randolph’s cooperation and assistance, and he provided no details other than promising to assign someone to look into the case, and no timeline as to when that would happen.
Alexander left the house itching to do something but was at a loss as to what.
He went to the agora, where the rest of the crew was at work, if only to avoid pacing his hotel room. Dr. Henry gave him an approving nod when he walked through the gate.
“My wife wants to talk to you,” Dr. Henry told him.
“Now?”
He waved to the mess tent. “Over there.”
Alexander found Mrs. Henry and the Demirels inside, sitting around tea and sweets.
“Mr. Ashton,” Mrs. Henry said with an inviting smile. “You look like you could do with a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Demirel took this as a cue to prepare one for him, and he accepted it gladly. He could certainly do with a dose of caffeine.
“How is Mrs.—Miss Everleigh?” Mrs. Henry asked him, covering her near slip easily. Alexander had asked the Henrys and Banks to keep the marriage a secret for the time being.
“As well as can be expected,” he answered honestly. To Mr. Demirel he asked, “Have you learned anything?”
The older man sipped from his glass of tea thoughtfully.
“She’s lucky the new constitution did away with Sharia law, and that things haven’t quite formed up yet in terms of the new judicial system.
It’s a strange conglomeration of past law and the little prescribed in the new constitution, which is scant on specifics.
But the crime she is accused of, murder, is still a capital offense. It’s the death penalty.”
Everyone went still, staring at Demirel. He sent Alexander an apologetic look. “Miss Everleigh is a British citizen, and a young woman of good character, and from nobility at that. I cannot imagine it will come to pass.”
That didn’t keep Alexander’s heart from pounding near out of his chest. “What can be done?”
“An attorney will be selected from among Sir Randolph’s connections, most likely in Istanbul. I’ve put a call in to the embassy, and I hope to hear from them before Friday.”
Mrs. Henry set down her glass of tea with a clink. “But then she will stay in jail for days. That’s unacceptable.”
Demirel raised his hands placatingly. “I’ll see what Sir Randolph can do. He might be able to convince them to move her to the consulate for the time being. It’s not unheard of, especially for a young woman. Can’t imagine what might occur if she stays in the jail.”
Alexander’s hand fisted around the tea glass so tightly he wouldn’t have been surprised if it cracked.
Mrs. Demirel shivered visibly. “Oh, dear.”
Demirel seemed to realize his comment had distressed everyone. “I’ll go to Sir Randolph this afternoon. Not a worry.”
Not long after this, Dr. Henry called for Mr. Demirel to play translator for him, and Alexander found himself left with the ladies.
“I take it that you were not reassured by Mr. Demirel’s commentary,” Mrs. Henry said without preamble.
She reached into her handbag for a cigarette case, flicked it in Alexander’s direction in offering, then removed a cigarette and placed it between her lips.
Mrs. Demirel flinched at the scratch of her lighter flaring to life.
“I beg your pardon, Agatha,” Mrs. Henry said flatly. “Did you want one?”
“Oh no.” Mrs. Demirel shook her head so vigorously that her hat went askew. “No, no, certainly not.”
“What of your own progress, Mr. Ashton?” Mrs. Henry asked. “I don’t imagine you’ve been placated by the police’s efforts, nor those of the English diplomacy thus far.”
Feeling curiously reassured, he told Mrs. Henry about his attempts to connect with a solicitor and his letter to Saffron’s cousin, and mentioned his visit to the jail.
She nodded approvingly when he mentioned bringing up Lord Easting. “I hope that’s enough to keep them on their toes, at least until Mr. Demirel’s own efforts come to fruition.”