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brings you to İstanbul? Do you work here?’
    ‘Yes,’ Richard said with a smile. ‘I work at the university. I’m a biologist.’
    ‘Oh.’ He turned to look at the man’s wife. ‘And you?’
    ‘Oh, I’m just along for the ride,’ she said, ‘although I do run a website.’
    ‘A website?’
    ‘It’s for people, expats, new to İstanbul. It’s called Make the Most of İstanbul,’ she said. ‘It’s just advice about where to go, what to do. Real estate.’
    ‘Ah.’ It wasn’t the sort of thing that Süleyman or even his half-Irish wife Zelfa would be interested in. But then they were Turks.
    ‘I think new people find it useful,’ she said.
    ‘I am sure they do.’ Süleyman began to walk back towards the front door. Just before he reached the hall, he turned and asked. ‘Oh, one more thing: why live in Beşiktaş? I know that it is becoming more popular now, but this part is not so fashionable. There are many people from villages here still, I think.’
    Jane Ford smiled again. ‘Oh yes,’ she said excitedly. ‘And that is why we love it! Village people are so authentic, don’t you think?’
    The Yıldız family had fallen on hard times. Their apartment building on a road off Kennedy Street, the dual carriageway out of town to Atatürk airport, had developed some serious faults after the earthquake of 1999 and had eventually had to be demolished. Partly because of this and partly because they were tired of the city, Constable Hikmet Yıldız’s parents decided to return to their village in Anatolia. This left Hikmet and his brother İsmail, who moved further into the city, to a small apartment in Fatih district. İsmail had, in recent years, developed an interest in reconnecting with his Islamic faith, and so living in a religious district was very good for him, especially in view of the fact that he, unlike Hikmet, was unemployed. His neighbours sympathised and many of them told him when various positions became vacant and encouraged him to apply. But in the meantime, his brother was the sole breadwinner. He was also one of the few officers who lived near to where the Seyhan family were staying. And so Hikmet it was that İkmen chose to make contact with them. He was ushered into the small, crowded apartment by Aykan Akol, Cahit and Saadet Seyhan’s nephew. An overweight lump of a man who apparently worked as a security guard, Aykan waved an uninterested hand in the direction of his uncle and aunt and then left the room.
    Constable Yıldız introduced himself, and then asked the couple if they had heard yet from their daughter. Cahit Seyhan responded with a curt ‘No.’
    ‘You have no idea where Gözde may have gone, assuming that she did in fact leave your apartment?’
    ‘No.’
    It was highly unlikely that Gözde Seyhan had left the apartment to be replaced somehow by some other, unknown woman. But it was possible, and as yet, there had been no word from Gözde’s dentist.
    Saadet Seyhan said, ‘My girl was a good girl. She didn’t go out on her own.’
    Hikmet made a mental note of her use of the past tense and then asked, ‘Why didn’t Gözde come with you on the day of the fire? You came over here, didn’t you?’
    There was a pause. Cahit and Saadet Seyhan were small people who, in spite of the increasing late spring heat, wore a lot of clothes. Saadet reminded Hikmet of his own mother, a woman who also always covered her head and wore voluminous Salvar trousers, which she topped with large dresses and many, many cardigans.
    ‘My son is betrothed to his cousin Nesrin,’ Cahit Seyhan said. ‘We came to visit my sister, her mother, to discuss our children’s future. There was no need for the girl to accompany us.’
    So Gözde would have been left alone to do housework or washing or to watch the television. Nothing unusual in that for a girl from a village background. Nothing that Hikmet’s brother İsmail would find in the least bit out of place. But for Hikmet himself there