Chapter 47
“Sit on the bed,” Mrs. Demirel said, taking a step forward. Her voice was high and tense as always, but her hands were steady. “It’ll be quick, I promise. A better death than the others I’ve caused.”
Saffron took a small step toward the bed.
“Alexander will never believe I killed myself. He’ll know it was you.
” Especially because of the note hidden in her handbag from Corsianna Moore.
She angled herself so if Mrs. Demirel did manage to forced her to sit, she would do so on top of the bag to conceal it.
Mrs. Demirel’s mouth pinched. “That may be true. But I’ve learned men often see what they wish to see when they look at us.
My own husband has always seen me as an attentive, devoted wife.
He has no idea I spent many years in his homeland.
He’s never once questioned that I knew how to arrange our household, prepare tea to his liking, or make him feel respected.
Your husband has worked so very hard to save you.
He considers you his damsel, and himself the knight.
I believe he’ll take your death very hard and blame himself.
” Her head tilted to one side, thoughtful.
“Perhaps it will affect his heart. Mr. Demirel has several medications I could employ for that purpose.”
That was the last straw.
Saffron lunged for Mrs. Demirel, heedless of the knife.
Her arms crashed into the middle of the older woman, and they hit the floor.
The rush of adrenaline pushed everything from Saffron’s mind save her mission to get the knife away from Mrs. Demirel.
Her hands scrambled for cold metal even as fingernails scratched at her face, her neck, her arms. Mrs. Demirel was shrieking and she wasn’t sure if she was, too.
The rush of color and sound around her was meaningless until she heard her name being shouted over and over. She stopped moving as two pairs of hands took her by the arms and brought her up and off Mrs. Demirel.
She blinked hard, struggling to understand what was happening. Mrs. Demirel was sobbing as she was helped to her feet by Inspector Polat, who glared around the room. A swarm of Turkish police officers suddenly crowded the space.
Inspector Adem knelt to pick up Mrs. Demirel’s knife from under the bed with a handkerchief. He showed it to Polat and said something, nodding to Mrs. Demirel.
Saffron was suddenly aware she was still being held by the arms. She pulled against them, but they held her firmly.
“Inspector Polat,” she said quickly, looking desperately at him. “Please, Mrs. Demirel just told me everything, you must listen to me—”
Polat glared at her, his hand still on Mrs. Demirel’s arm. “I must do nothing. I understand the situation perfectly. You escaped the consulate, returned to the hotel, and Mrs. Demirel found you—”
“Please, Inspector, you must understand—”
“Quiet!” he shouted, his eyes bulging.
Saffron struggled against the hands on her arms. “No! Mrs. Demirel confessed, she killed Martin Neill and—”
“We know,” Inspector Adem said. “We heard her through the door.” He nodded to whoever held Saffron, and they released her. She stumbled forward and nearly fell over.
“What?” Saffron stared between the inspectors. “You were behind the door the whole time? She could have stabbed me at any moment!”
With an indifferent shrug, Polat looked away. “We didn’t know she had a knife.”
After a long few minutes of continued confusion of Turkish police officers all about the room, hall, and lobby, Saffron was driven back to the police station to give her statement.
Polat was not the one to handle that, thankfully.
Inspector Adem spoke with her. They sat in the little room Polat had interrogated her in, but without his ire bearing down on her, Saffron found the story came out easily.
He also answered her questions rather than throwing them back in her face as Polat had.
When she asked how they came to be at Hotel Bornova that morning, he told her they had received information direct from the British embassy in Istanbul that they were to remove her from the care of Sir Randolph as soon as possible.
They had been alarmed to find chaos at the consulate, for Saffron had evidently disappeared from a locked room.
“My colleague believed you had escaped,” Inspector Adem told her dryly. “He gathered those officers and brought them to the hotel in hopes that you would be present to re-arrest you.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Polat’s beliefs had been fueled by the recently delivered analysis from their laboratory, but she decided it would be a bad idea to reveal she’d known that information.
She had no idea what Adem or Polat knew of Nick’s operation, if anything.
It might be a long time before the local police heard of Bey’s arrest, or Feldman’s—Lord, but what had happened to him?
Had Nick or Bagshott gone back for him, or had he escaped?
Instead, she asked him, “Do you know where Mrs. Demirel lived when she cared for the girl, Corsianna Moore? She said it was a mistake to come back here, but I don’t think she meant Smyrna.”
Inspector Adem shrugged. “We will do our best to find that information. There is likely to be disruption in communication with the British consulate,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance inviting her to explain her disappearance.
When she did not, he added, “We will try to find the girl and her mother. It might take some time. But if we can find them and there is still evidence for it, it is possible Mrs. Demirel will be prosecuted for the murder of the girl’s father. ”
He stood and opened the door for her. They walked out of the room and he gestured for another officer. “He will drive you to the hotel.” He escorted her to the front door of the police station.
Polat sat at his desk on the far side of the room, looking rather like he was attempting to punch holes through his typewriter as he jabbed at the keys. He ignored her completely, though it was obvious he knew exactly where she was in the room.
Inspector Adem shot him a long-suffering glance. “Polat will not say it, but on behalf of the city of Smyrna, I offer you my apologies, Mrs. Ashton.” He gave her a little bow. “May the rest of your stay in Smyrna be blessed.”