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his face, wiping his now sweating brow with his other hand as he did so. It was considerably warmer here than it had been in İstanbul. But then spring in the far south-east could be quite hot. In Mardin, which was even further east and to the north of Antep, it could be either as hot as hell or freezing cold. Places like Mardin were unpredictable.
    What was not, he felt, unpredictable, however, was what this Inspector Taner was going to be like. He’d be deferential to a man from İstanbul, which was no problem at all, unlike the small-mindedness he would almost certainly exhibit, which would be. Physically he would either be short and thin or short and stocky. People from the far east, in his experience, rarely grew to any great height. He would definitely have a large and luxuriant moustache. And as Süleyman passed through Customs and entered the arrivals hall there, indeed, was a small, thin, middle-aged man holding up a sign with his name on it. His moustache was of heroic proportions. Süleyman, moving forward, forced a smile. When he got near to the small man, he put out his hand. After all, averse as they sometimes could be to hand-shaking in the east, it was his custom and he was the guest, as it were.
    But to his surprise and, for a fraction of a second, his irritation, the man with the sign did not take the offered hand. Süleyman was just about to let his arm drop when another hand, a long, slim thing with painted nails, took and shook his fingers firmly. He looked up and found himself staring into the face of a tall, very handsome middle-aged woman.
    ‘Inspector Süleyman?’ Her voice was deep and smoke-scarred. ‘Edibe Taner.’ She shook his hand enthusiastically. Then, looking down at the small man holding the sign, she said, ‘This is my cousin, Rafik. He lives here and will drive us into the city. Welcome to Gaziantep, Inspector Süleyman.’
    It was late and the hospital administrator was obviously tired. But İkmen needed to get to the truth.
    ‘Listen, sir,’ he said, ‘I need to know who exactly İsak Mardin and Faruk Öz are. They are both missing, and either one could be implicated in what amounts to multiple homicide.’
    The administrator rested his chin in his hands and sighed.
    ‘Now, am I right in my belief that Lole and Öz’s qualifications are in order but Mardin’s are not?’
    ‘Mr Mardin came to work here only a few months ago,’ the administrator said. ‘It was at a time when we were experiencing some staff shortages.’
    ‘So Mardin isn’t—’
    ‘Yusuf Mardin was engaged by my predecessor, Mr Oner. I was not in on the interview and so I don’t know what might or might not have been discussed. All I know is that although there is a note about Mr Mardin’s qualifications in his file there are no photocopies of his certificates.’
    ‘As a rule, you photocopy certificates?’
    ‘Yes. As I said, the hospital was under a lot of pressure with regard to staff at that time. Mr Oner might very well have not taken photocopies due to an oversight. Such a thing is not unknown.’
    ‘Well,’ İkmen said, ‘I suppose we’d better talk to Mr Oner, hadn’t we?’
    The administrator pulled a strained expression. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ he said.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Mr Oner died last month. That’s why I’m sitting here now.’ Then, seeing İkmen’s instantly suspicious look, he said, ‘Mr Oner had been under a lot of pressure for a very long time. Sadly, he took his own life.’
    His suspicions raised even further, İkmen said, ‘How did he do it? How did he kill himself?’
    The administrator, apparently aware that it was important for his future liberty that he tell the policeman everything he knew, nevertheless lowered his voice. ‘He ingested disinfectant,’ he said. ‘A hideous, hideous way to die.’
    In view of his ‘hideous’ demise, Mr Oner’s oversight with regard to Mardin’s qualifications could possibly be understood. Although why a