### Chapter 7
Adnan's angry face was stern enough to make Hasan uneasy. Thinking that staying silent was the best thing to do at the moment, he followed Adnan down the stairs. His clumsy body, struggling to keep up with Adnan’s agile frame, was drenched in sweat. "I should’ve had an elevator installed," he muttered to himself. Adnan, ignoring Hasan’s presence, swiftly opened the apartment door and stormed outside. Hasan, watching him leave, could feel his presence with all his senses.
“Your job is done, Hasan,” Adnan said as he got into his car and started the engine. He reached the police station, reducing a one-hour drive to forty-five minutes. He went straight to the evidence room on the upper floor, where he had missed a crucial clue on his first day. The officers, watching Adnan rush past them like a gust of wind, guessed something significant had happened. Rumors started circulating even before he passed them. “Has he found the kid?”
As Adnan forcefully closed the evidence room door, a young officer in his twenties with short brown hair, a big nose disproportionate to his face, and small, sunken eyes, stood up.
“Yes, commissioner? Do you need something?”
Adnan’s mouth was dry with excitement. He reached for the jug on the table, filling a paper cup with water and downing it in one gulp as the officer waited for an answer.
“I need the security camera footage from the apartment.”
“Of course, commissioner,” said the officer, opening a drawer in one of the steel cabinets and retrieving the tape.
He handed over the video tape coded as Evidence 3. “Here you go, commissioner.”
Adnan took the tape and left the room. He climbed another flight of stairs to his office. When he entered, his assistant, a 32-year-old newly appointed commissioner named Ali İhsan, who was married with two kids and had all his worries etched on his face, was buried in files. Upon seeing his superior, he quickly stood up. Before he could say anything, Adnan handed him the tape, saying, “Put the tape on, İhsan.” Adnan waited anxiously for the footage to appear on the monitor, unsure of what to do with his hands.
“It’s coming up now, sir.”
Before Ali İhsan could finish his sentence, the footage appeared on the screen. Ayhan and Buğra entered the apartment, and the entrance was empty. As İhsan fast-forwarded the footage to skip the empty scene, Adnan intervened, “No, don’t fast forward.”
Following the order, İhsan rewound the footage to the previous spot, and Adnan was now sure.
“Did you notice the cut? Ayhan and Buğra enter, and then there’s a gap where no one comes or goes, but soon Ayhan exits again.”
“Yes, sir, but didn’t Ayhan say he stepped outside?”
“He did, but the odd thing is the time, İhsan. According to his statement, there should be at least a half-hour between Ayhan’s entry and exit. In the footage, there’s only a ten-minute segment. He enters, stays for ten minutes, and then leaves again.”
İhsan rested his hand on his thin, gaunt cheek.
“Maybe the kid lied, maybe he’s the one who kidnapped the child.”
Adnan gave him a peculiar look.
“Ayhan didn’t do it, look,” he said, pointing to the footage showing Tarık entering the apartment hastily. Tarık’s class schedule was known, and right when he was about to enter the lecture hall, he rushed to the apartment. There were witnesses; Ömer spoke to everyone who was supposed to be in that class.”
“So, the gap between Ayhan leaving the apartment and Tarık arriving isn’t shown in the recordings.”
Adnan smiled.
“Yes, our man Hasan has either edited or paused the recordings twice. Ayhan returns two minutes after he leaves. It would take at least five minutes just to go to the bakery. I didn’t notice this when I first watched because the camera’s clock isn’t accurate.”
Ali İhsan lowered his hand from his cheek and looked at his superior.
“So what do we do now, sir? Do we go and get Hasan?”
“Of course, we do, İhsan. Gather the team, we’re going to the apartment.”
“But sir, with the camera’s clock being off, we can’t present it as evidence in court. It might not be considered solid evidence.”
“We’ll take Hasan in for questioning, he’ll talk in the interrogation room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eight officers, holding their radios and in their uniforms, exited the police station one after another, got into their vehicles, and set off with sirens blaring to catch the suspect they thought they had finally cornered. When they arrived in front of the apartment without losing communication with each other, Hasan, who had been sitting at his desk, stood up at the sound of the sirens. Seeing from the window that Adnan was not alone, he started sweating profusely due to the fear that had gripped him. Adnan, leading the officers, opened the iron door and entered. Hasan swallowed hard as Adnan’s gaze met his.
Adnan stepped closer and unexpectedly punched Hasan in the jaw. Hasan, unable to control his heavy body from the blow, fell to the ground.
“Hasan Kırlangıç, you’re under arrest for kidnapping Buğra Çukurköprü!”
Hasan didn’t feel the pain from the punch. What had Adnan said? He said kidnapping Buğra, right? As Adnan cuffed his wrists, Hasan had already lost consciousness.
Süleyman, who had been camping on a chair at the hospital for hours, probably had the imprint of the chair on his buttocks. He alternated between resting his hands on his knees and propping his chin on his clenched fist. Occasionally, he would get up, attempt to walk, but without the strength to take a step, he would sit back down. Doctors were constantly entering and exiting the room where the youngsters were being treated. No one thought to inform him. Each time a doctor came out, he would ask about the kids but always received the same reply.
“We’re doing our best, sir. We’ll inform you of any developments.”
His indecision about whether to inform Figen and Ayhan’s families was adding to his stress. On the other hand, if anyone tried to reach the kids and couldn’t, they must have been worried. Süleyman had left the apartment without thinking to take the kids’ phones. He thought about going back to the apartment to get their phones but didn’t want to leave them alone here. He regretted not knowing the apartment owner Hasan’s number. Then he remembered he had Adnan Commissioner’s number and felt relieved. Taking out the keypad phone, which the youngsters jokingly called antique, he squinted at the screen to find the number. Pressing the green call button, he put the phone to his ear. After five rings, the person who answered the phone responded as if Süleyman was the one calling, “Where are you?”
Süleyman paused momentarily, surprised by the unexpected question, then said, “We’re at the hospital, commissioner.”
Adnan, sitting in the front seat of the squad car with Hasan in the back flanked by officers, asked, “What happened, who’s sick?”
Ali İhsan, driving, briefly glanced at his superior.
“The kids fainted this morning, we’ve been at the hospital for hours.”
Adnan straightened up slightly.
“Are they okay? Why did they faint, and all three of them?”
Before Süleyman could answer, Adnan continued, “They’re not okay, commissioner, they haven’t woken up yet.”
Adnan, thinking about telling Süleyman they had detained Hasan, decided against it after hearing about the kids’ condition. Besides, he had no solid evidence. It didn’t make sense to provoke Süleyman without concrete proof.
“Keep me updated if there are any developments, Mr. Süleyman,” he said, ending the call. As the police station came into view, Süleyman, still holding the phone, realized he hadn’t managed to say what he wanted before the call ended.
“Well, it’s up to me now,” he said, getting up from his seat. Leaving the antiseptic smell of the hospital behind, he realized how much of the day he had spent there. It was almost late afternoon.
“I didn’t even hear the call to prayer, maybe from all the stress?” Muttering to himself, he left the hospital garden, only to be startled by the sound of a honking horn. A yellow taxi slowed down and stopped right next to him. As he wondered why the taxi had stopped and honked at him, he noticed the driver.
“Need a ride, brother?” the driver said, smiling. It was the same taxi driver who had brought him that morning. This offer seemed more appealing than waiting for a bus. He thought about the money he had left, realizing he had no idea how long he would stay here. He didn’t want to ask his kids for money. They were already upset when they found out about Tarık and Buğra. They didn’t want to include the children of their aunt, whom they thought was dead, into their lives. Süleyman believed it was out of fear rather than malice and perhaps found comfort in this thought. That’s why he hadn’t taken Buğra with him, and now he felt guilty. He knew he was right. If he had taken Buğra without his family’s consent, they might have treated Buğra poorly. Süleyman knew that unwilling love either caused stomach or head pain.
“Okay,” he said, convinced he
had enough money. He got into the back seat, and the driver smiled slightly. The taxi set off again.
“Are your nephews better now?” asked the driver, who didn’t seem much older than Süleyman.
“No, they haven’t woken up yet,” said Süleyman, unconsciously adopting the driver’s dialect. The driver, not taking his eyes off the road, glanced at Süleyman in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t worry, they’ll get better, God willing.”
“God willing, we hope so,” said Süleyman, although his tone lacked enthusiasm. The driver, on the other hand, seemed to have found his voice after years of silence and wouldn’t stop talking.
"Didn't you say your other nephew is missing? Any news about him?"
"No, there's no news about him either."
The traffic light turned red, and the taxi driver slowed down to a stop. The cheerful voices of students crossing the street filled the taxi.
"How many kids do you have, brother?"
Süleyman sighed wearily. The irony of having someone to talk to when he had no energy to speak, and finding no one when he wanted to talk, seemed like a twist of fate.
"Ten, God bless them. How many do you have?"
"Wow, that's amazing! I have four, two girls and two boys. My son started university this year, the younger one is in his last year of high school, and the other two are still young. Your kids must be grown up."
"My eldest is thirty-five, with two kids. The rest are spaced two years apart, you do the math."
"Thirty-three, thirty-one, twenty-nine, twenty-seven, twenty-five, twenty-three, twenty-one, nineteen, seventeen—the youngest is seventeen. Wow, you raised them all at a young age."
Süleyman couldn't help but laugh at the word "young." "Young? Brother, I'm fifty-five. Youth is long gone," he said.
"True, true, life flies by like water. I asked you everything but your name, brother. We've talked so much, what's your name?"
"You're right, brother. We're like that; we spill our whole family tree before saying our names. My name is Süleyman, what's yours?"
At that moment, they arrived at the apartment. The taxi driver pulled over. When Süleyman handed over the money, the driver refused it, saying, "Keep it, brother, this one’s on me." As Süleyman got out of the taxi, he said, "Thanks, brother, but you didn't tell me your name."
The taxi driver smiled. "It's Fatih, my name is Fatih."
Without looking back at the departing taxi, Süleyman headed toward the apartment. He rushed inside through the open iron door and climbed the stairs. Seeing the open door of the apartment made his hair stand on end. Had he left it open in the chaos? He panicked, fearing a thief might have stolen Tarık’s computer or money. Entering the apartment, his hands and feet turned cold as he came face-to-face with a man coming out of Buğra’s room. It was hard to tell who was more frightened, Süleyman or the cleaner. Both were panicked by the sudden encounter. Recovering from the shock, Süleyman grabbed the cleaner by the collar.
"What are you doing here?"
The cleaner's face turned pale, and he stammered, "The door was open, I came in to take the trash."
Süleyman was suspicious. He let go of the man’s collar but couldn’t help but say, "Why would there be trash in that room, man?"
"In the other apartments, there's trash everywhere, I just looked," the cleaner managed to say, trembling like a leaf.
Thinking, "There's something fishy here," Süleyman told the cleaner to leave. "Get out, and don't come in when no one's home!"
The cleaner nodded like a lizard, grabbed his trash bag, and left. As soon as he was gone, Süleyman went to Buğra’s room. Since he stayed there, his suitcase was by the bed with some money inside. He quickly checked the suitcase and found the money intact. Nothing was disturbed, and the tablet charger he had bought for Buğra was still plugged in on the desk. His eyes filled with tears; he missed his blond boy so much. The sweatpants thrown on the chair seemed to be waiting for Buğra to return and wear them.
Despite the emotional state he was in, he moved to Tarık’s room with a sense of fear. Seeing the computer still on the desk, he felt relieved. Maybe the man was telling the truth, or he hadn't had time to steal anything. At that moment, the ringing phone in the kitchen reminded him of his purpose for coming here. He entered the kitchen and searched for the source of the sound. It was coming from a bag on the floor. He picked up Figen’s bag, opened the zipper, and found the phone among the items inside. The call had ended. Holding the phone, he stood still for a moment. He was never good with touchscreens. He randomly pressed some side buttons, and when the screen lit up, he saw a missed call notification from "Mom." "Her mom called," he thought as the phone rang again. After a few attempts, he managed to answer it and brought it to his ear.
"Where are you, my girl?" the woman on the other end yelled, making Süleyman pull the phone away from his ear.
"I've called you so many times since morning, why didn't you answer?"
When the woman paused, Süleyman managed to say, "Hello."
The woman, her voice trembling, asked, "Who are you?"
Süleyman struggled with how to explain.
"Did something happen to my daughter?"
Before the woman panicked further, he said, "She’s fine, ma’am, but she's at the hospital. She fainted along with her friends."
"I’m coming right now. Which hospital?" The woman hung up before he could respond.
Süleyman put the phone back in the bag and picked up Ayhan's phone from the table. Seeing numerous missed calls on the screen, he realized he could call someone if there wasn’t a password. But the lock screen stood like an insurmountable mountain. He pocketed Ayhan’s phone too. He needed to get back to the hospital. The growling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t had anything since the skimpy breakfast, not even a sip of water. Ignoring the thought of stopping to eat, he left, making sure to lock the door this time.
Holding Figen’s bag and feeling the weight of Tarık’s, Ayhan’s, and his own phones in his pocket, he walked to the bus stop. He silently wished for the taxi driver to reappear, but after ten minutes, it was clear that wouldn't happen. He boarded the bus, enduring the curious looks of the passengers. He didn't know how he would explain carrying a woman's bag if asked. Silently, he took a seat. After a twenty-minute ride, the bus stopped at the hospital station. Along with many others, Süleyman got off. Hospitals filled and emptied like this every day. The world was like this too. New lives began as old ones ended. Life moved in such a strange and systematic way.
Joining the crowd of patients and their families, he entered the hospital. He went up to the floor where the youngsters were and looked for someone to ask about their condition. The day was nearing its end, and working hours were almost over. Just then, a doctor exiting a room seemed like a savior. Süleyman quickly approached him. The doctor, with white hair and crow’s feet extending across his face, was clearly someone who had dedicated years to his profession.
"What’s the condition of the youngsters, doctor?"
His hand rested on his chest in a show of respect, though the bag he held contradicted this gesture. The doctor didn't seem to mind, more concerned with finishing his shift and resting. Despite being on leave after an emergency surgery the previous night, he had come to the hospital for the youngsters.
"Sir, there's nothing visibly wrong with them. They’re all in a state of normal sleep. We’ve checked their brain neurons, internal organs, blood levels... Everything. The youngsters are as healthy as a horse, but we can't figure out why they’re sleeping."
Süleyman was at a loss, unsure whether to be happy or worried.
"So, will they just keep sleeping like this? Can’t you do something to wake them up?"
The doctor put his hands in the pockets of his coat.
"Let them sleep through the night. Trying to wake them might have unexpected effects. We'll do more tests in the morning, don't worry."
As the doctor walked away, Süleyman stood looking at the room door. All these events were stretching his mental limits. He collapsed into one of the chairs by the wall, placed Figen’s bag on his lap, and fell into deep thought. What should he do next?
While Süleyman was lost in thought in the hospital corridor, Adnan wasn't idle. He was making Hasan, the apartment owner, sweat under intense questioning.
"So, Hasan, why were those camera recordings deleted?"
Hasan, sitting in a chair, his face red and beads of sweat on his forehead, had Adnan’s hands on his shoulders...
"I don't know, commissioner," Hasan muttered.
Adnan's hands tightened on Hasan’s shoulders, and he leaned closer, his lips almost touching Hasan's ear. "Don’t give me that nonsense. The recordings were erased. Let me tell you what happened: Your plan to kidnap Buğra started when they arrived at the apartment. You were waiting for the right moment. That day, you saw Ayhan picking up Buğra from school. When Ayhan stepped out alone, you seized the opportunity. You took the boy and left. Then you neatly erased the camera recordings. Am I wrong?"
Hasan trembled like a leaf. "No, commissioner, I swear I didn’t kidnap him. Why would I kidnap a child?"
"That's what you’ll tell us. Maybe you also kidnapped and killed Ozan," Adnan pressed.
Hasan started to sweat profusely. Being accused of Buğra’s kidnapping was bad enough, and now he was being implicated in Ozan’s death too.
"No, commissioner, I swear..."
"Then tell us the truth!" Adnan's shout seemed to pierce Hasan's eardrum.
There was no way out. "I didn’t erase them, commissioner, I paused the recordings."
Sensing a forthcoming confession, Adnan pulled his lips away from Hasan’s ear and squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter. "Good. Now tell me why you paused them."
Hasan took a troubled breath. He never imagined he would be telling anyone this. He felt doomed. "My lover was coming over, commissioner."
Adnan's eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t see the connection to the case. "How does pausing the recordings relate to your lover coming over?"
"I'm married, and my wife is very jealous. Sometimes she even checks the recordings," Hasan explained.
Adnan suppressed a laugh, but a snort escaped him. At the same time, a sense of disappointment settled in.
"Don’t laugh, commissioner. That day, Mehtap was coming over. Before she arrived, I paused the recording, let her in, and then resumed it after she was inside. When she was leaving, I paused it again and then restarted it after she was gone."
Adnan bit his lip. "Why didn’t you tell us this earlier? We could have taken different measures and possibly found the kid. We lost days thinking he never left the apartment."
Hasan lowered his head in shame. "I'm sorry, commissioner. I never thought it would turn out like this."
Adnan was on the verge of losing his mind from anger. Such irresponsibility had caused a child to suffer. "Give me your lover’s name, surname, and address. We need proof, not just your word," he demanded.
Hasan quickly provided the woman’s full details, even including her parents’ names. Adnan and Ali İhsan, who had been silently listening to the interrogation, left the room to send a team to fetch the woman. "Let’s have her talk, and we’ll see what to do next," Adnan said, pulling out his phone to call Süleyman, thinking of the young people.
Meanwhile, Süleyman, after being told by a nurse that waiting there wouldn’t help, had gone to the canteen. He was sipping tea from a narrow-waisted glass and biting into a pastry when his phone rang. He put down his glass and took out his phone. Seeing Adnan Commissioner’s name, he straightened up and answered, "Yes, commissioner."
"How are the youngsters, Mr. Süleyman? Any developments?" Adnan’s voice carried a weary tone even through the phone.
"No, commissioner, I'm here waiting with nothing to do."
"What could have happened to them? They were perfectly fine yesterday."
"The doctors can’t figure it out, and neither can we. We’ll see what the morning brings, with new tests and all."
Anyone looking at Süleyman could see he was in a deep quandary. His voice was equally drained and exhausted.
"Keep me informed of any updates, don’t forget," Adnan instructed, just as his office door burst open. "What’s the rush, son?" he barked at the officer who had burst in, the sound carrying through to Süleyman.
"A body has been found by the lake, sir!"
The night was lit by the flashing lights of police vehicles, the crime scene investigation unit, and an ambulance all racing to the lake. Hearing this, Süleyman left his tea and pastry unfinished and jumped into the first taxi he could find, heading to the lake. His heart was tight with fear. What if it was Buğra? The thought was eating him alive. When the taxi arrived, he paid the fare and told the driver not to wait. The vehicles parked in a line indicated the teams had already arrived. As the taxi turned back, Süleyman walked past the cars and headed toward the shore. The yellow tape had already been set up, and the crime scene unit was working under spotlights. Apart from the officials, no one else was around. The bustling team disturbed the lake’s tranquility. Süleyman ducked under the tape and walked toward the lights, stopping when he heard a voice behind him.
"Stop!"
The single word command was sharp and left no room for movement. An excited young officer approached slowly, gun in hand, finger on the trigger. "Raise your hands!"
Süleyman complied, raising his hands and clasping them behind his head. The officer, pleased with the compliance, said, "Don’t move!" and approached, pointing the gun at Süleyman’s head. "Now turn around slowly!"
Süleyman turned slowly to face the officer, who scanned him up and down. "Do you have a weapon?" he asked.
"No," Süleyman replied firmly.
"Empty your pockets," the officer ordered, distrustful or perhaps eager to assert his authority. The lights revealed the officer as young and inexperienced. As Süleyman slowly reached for his pocket, Adnan’s stern voice rang out, "What’s going on here?"
Süleyman exhaled in relief. "Sir, I caught this man trying to sneak into the crime scene," the officer reported.
Süleyman stifled a laugh. Sneaking in, when he had simply walked in, was an overstatement. "It's me, commissioner. Süleyman," he said, not taking his eyes off the young officer.
Recognizing Süleyman’s voice, Adnan ordered, "Let him through, son." Süleyman gave the young officer a look that said, "See?" and walked toward Adnan. Twigs snapped underfoot, and a mosquito buzzed past his ear.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Süleyman?" Adnan asked as he approached, now able to make out the silhouettes of the investigation team more clearly.
"I couldn't stay away after hearing about a body on the phone, commissioner. It’s not Buğra, is it?" Süleyman asked, his voice tight with fear.
Adnan took a deep breath, irritated by the rookie’s mistake that had brought Süleyman here. "No, no, calm down. It’s not Buğra. It’s a grown man this time, maybe not even related to our case."
“Thank goodness for the Creator!” said Süleyman. He felt like years had been shaved off his life in just a few hours.
“You should go home, Mr. Süleyman. There’s nothing you can do here. You’ve been miserable coming all this way for nothing.”
They were slowly approaching the edge of the red tape, but Süleyman wasn’t even aware of which direction they were walking in.
“What home, inspector? I’ve been at the hospital since morning. I said I couldn’t leave the kids like that, but the nurse said I didn’t need to stay. How am I supposed to enter that house alone and deal with all this? I feel like I’ve experienced every kind of pain there is. When my sister got married, she was a young sapling at sixteen. Her husband was good at first, then he started hunting for treasure. They said he found gold. Namık was swimming in money, but then he started losing his mind slowly. The gentle, respectful man turned into a monster. My sister was pregnant, she came to my father and said, ‘Father, save me, take me away from him.’ My old-fashioned father said, ‘You entered with your wedding dress, you’ll leave with your shroud.’ I wasn’t any better back then. One day I went to see my sister. Her face was swollen from being beaten. I couldn’t stand it. I found Namık and beat him up, telling him never to touch my sister again. That scoundrel went home and beat my sister again, saying, ‘Look what your brother did to me.’ In the middle of the night, in a snowstorm, he threw her out on the street. She couldn’t come home because of my father’s anger, so she slept in the barn with the animals. I only found out when the neighbors told me. She stayed in that barn for three days, pregnant and starving. I followed her worthless husband, and when he left the house, I went to my sister. I told her to pack her things and took her away. I gave her the little money I had and put her on the first bus I saw. It said ‘Adıyaman’ on it. If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have let her go alone, but I was ignorant, inspector.”
Even though it was dark, Adnan’s eyes were teary. These women went through so much because of men. “What happened then?” he asked, his voice slightly choked.
“Years passed. My father died, still angry with his daughter. He said he wouldn’t call a child who ran away from her husband his own. I told him so many times, ‘Would you rather she died?’ He said, ‘Yes, she should have died.’ My mother wasted away from the grief. She died before my father. Last summer, the police called. They found me through my sister’s ID. They said, ‘Your sister’s dead.’ I went there. Namık had found her and killed her. Her kids were left orphans. I couldn’t take care of them, just like my father.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Süleyman. You did your best given the circumstances. The rest is fate.”
Both of them fell silent. Even though the team’s voices could be heard, the words didn’t make sense. Crickets were chirping, frogs were croaking. Mosquitoes were eating Adnan and Süleyman alive, making them itch. As someone passed under the red tape and approached them, they came out of their sadness.
“Inspector, this man was killed just like Ozan, with a zipper sewn over his mouth.”
Adnan felt cold sweat trickle down his back in the cool night air. They had a serial killer now, and this case was too big for him to handle alone. As he left with Süleyman following the ambulance carrying the body, he thought about asking for help from the big city police department. This wasn’t something an inspector could handle alone. Adnan had solved a few murders in his career, but the culprits were always obvious. A serial killer meant killing someone randomly, without even knowing them. He couldn’t figure out any connection.
Still, identifying the dead man was crucial. He was confident the team’s facial recognition system would find out who he was. The victim had no belongings, and his face was badly deformed. Instead of following the ambulance to the forensic institute, Adnan turned towards the apartment. Süleyman’s tired face showed he needed rest. Süleyman, sitting in the passenger seat, was lost in thought, even though he watched the road.
When the car stopped, Süleyman realized they had arrived at the apartment.
“You should have taken me to the hospital, inspector,” he said weakly.
“You said there’s nothing for you to do at the hospital. That’s what the nurse told you. Get some sleep and rest. Even if the kids wake up, you won’t be any help in this state.”
Süleyman, not intending to get out, lowered his head. Adnan was right, but he didn’t know how to deal with everything alone at home.
“Okay,” he said, yielding to Adnan. He got out of the car and walked slowly to the apartment’s iron gate. Adnan waited until he went inside, then drove off towards the police station. No one was going to sleep tonight.
Süleyman inhaled the oppressive air of the empty house. He didn’t feel like turning on the light. He walked with uncertain steps into Buğra’s room. In the moonlight shining through the open curtain, he took off his clothes and gently lay down on the bed. As he pulled the blanket over himself, he wished everything was just a dream. His tired eyes surrendered to sleep, and another day had slipped away from his life.
While night was putting most of humanity to sleep, all the lights on the third floor of the police station were on. One of those lights was in Adnan’s office. The whole team had gathered, waiting for their chief’s orders. The team had worked faster than expected and identified the victim. What surprised everyone was that the victim, Muhsin, lived in the same apartment building as Buğra. Adnan remembered writing him down as a suspect. Now that he was also dead, there had to be a connection between the killer, Buğra, and Muhsin.
“Ömer, first thing in the morning, I want you to investigate the victim’s past thoroughly. I want everything about him.”
“Yes, sir!” said Ömer, who had been a cop for ten years and married for four. He had a child named Okan at the end of the third year. When they found Ozan’s body, the similarity in names caused him a brief emotional crisis, thinking, “What if it were my child?” His slightly long beard helped him blend in while doing surveillance, and his athletic build showed he kept active.
“Akif, you’re going to the forensic institute. See if Ozan’s autopsy report is ready and push them if it’s not.”
“Okay, sir,” said Akif, a fresh-faced inspector from Malatya who sometimes found living alone difficult. After a 24-hour shift, even making tea at home was tough for his sleep-deprived body.
“Ali İhsan, you’re to go to the victim’s house and check for fingerprints, hair, documents, files, and computers. When I entered the house yesterday, I noticed it was tidy, but the food was spoiled. I got distracted when Hasan came in, so that task was left unfinished.”
“Understood, sir.”
“I’m heading to the big city police department first thing in the morning to give a report and ask for assistance. Finding a serial killer might be too hard for us alone.”
They all nodded in agreement.
“Disperse now, get a few hours of sleep, and be fresh in the morning,” Adnan said, leaving the room. He needed to clear his head. First, he needed to solve the victim’s case. “Let’s see what we find out about you, Mr. Muhsin,” he muttered to himself as he entered one of the empty rooms. The couch in the corner looked ideal for a few hours of sleep. He didn’t have the energy to go home and listen to Birgül’s nagging.
After their two children finished school and left home, Birgül had become fixated on him. She had always been a homebody. She sent her husband to work and her children to school in the morning, cleaned the house, and visited neighbors. She organized gatherings, crocheted, and cooked delicious meals. Occasionally, she would try to read a couple of books but would give up, preferring TV dramas over reading. She only started reading books like “Çalı Kuşu,” “Dudaktan Kalbe,” and “Yaprak Dökümü” after they were turned into TV series, but she always thought the TV versions were better and left the books unfinished.
Adnan, on the other hand, loved reading. Before going to bed, he would pick up a book by Victor Hugo and read until his eyes surrendered to sleep. When he read “Les Misérables,” his eyes had welled up with tears, something Birgül couldn’t understand. After the kids left, she struggled to find new things to do, but as her eyesight worsened and neighbors changed, her enthusiasm dwindled, and she felt lonely. Adnan’s late-night work hours only made her loneliness worse. As Birgül waited for her husband in the thick of the night, Adnan fell asleep on the couch, thinking of Birgül.
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