"
"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."
— Michael Corleone
Nobody left the table, and their meals remained untouched.
Ibrahim, I'm not surprised about, as I know he is determined to watch me like a hawk so I don't escape.
I'm not surprised about Yusuf either, as his fondness for me has made him distressed about the unfolding situation.
But kamsir…I just can't figure out the sudden about-turn in his behavior towards me. It simply makes no sense at all.
A little under an hour later, officer mark walks into the room.
"Good morning, all," he greets. "Forgive me, but I had a meeting with the head of security in the country at Washington, hope you know the minister's death hasn't been taken lightly . May I?" he asks, beckoning at a seat and proceeds to sit when Ibrahim gives a dismissive wave of the hand. "So…you say you have found the killer?" There is no mistaking the cynicism in his voice.
"There she is," Ibrahim answers, pointing at me.
The officer looks my way. "the minister's wife?"
"Surprising, we know," Ibrahim answers sarcastically. "She just confessed."
Officer Mark looks at me, his brows furrowed. "Is this true, Ma'am ?"
I nod. "Yes. I killed him. I stabbed him and hid the knife in the garden. Dr. Jacobi was unlucky enough to find it, and that was when your officer saw him. So, you need to release him…and take me instead."
"zeynep didn't kill him," Kamsir says, his voice quiet. "I saw what happened. She didn't kill him."
Yusuf gasps as all eyes in the room turn to him. My mouth parts in surprise. He saw what happened?
A small smile forms on the officer's lips. "Can you please tell us what you saw?"
He was quiet for a while, his head bowed. "I heard him that night. He was moaning and cursing and sounded like he was in distress. When I got to his room, he was sweaty and clearly uncomfortable. I saw the three used glasses of wine and figured he was drunk. He's never really been able to handle alcohol. He was complaining of his stomach, and at the same time cursing Ibrahim and Yusuf for sleeping with his wife, cursing me for being a disappointment, cursing his father for killing his true love…he was saying a whole lot. Then he said he was thirsty and wanted to go downstairs for a drink of water. I offered to get it for him, but he brushed me aside. I followed him downstairs anyway and poured him a glass here in this dining room. While he was drinking, we heard footsteps coming down the stairs," he looks at me. "It was Zeynep. I was surprised to see her up at that time of night as I wasn't aware of her sleepwalking."
"What time was this?" officer Mark asks.
He shrugs. "About 2:30am. Maybe 3."
"Then what happened after that?" the officer prods.
"Dad started calling her names. He insulted her family, called her a prostitute, a sleepwalking bad omen …so many horrible names. She tried to run away from him, but he chased her into the kitchen. Maybe it was the alcohol, I don't know, but it almost seemed like he wanted to have his way with her right there in the kitchen, not caring that I was standing barely a foot away, screaming and begging him to leave her alone," his voice falters, and she looks at me again. "Then zeynep grabbed a knife from the counter. There was a struggle, and when she got her hands free, she swung it across, and it hit him."
"She stabbed him?" officer mark asks.
"It wasn't exactly a stab," he answers. "It was just a surface wound. I screamed at the sight of blood on his white vest, and she ran away. But Dad wasn't seriously hurt. He was just angry, furious that she'd had the audacity to strike him. He was yelling about how he was going to throw her in jail first thing in the morning, how she was going to rot in prison for daring to attack him with a weapon. I was panicked by his bleeding. I wanted to help him but he pushed me away and stormed off. He walked upstairs unaided. The knife injury wasn't what killed him."
"Why didn't you say anything all this while?" I ask, my voice shaking. "You knew all this, and yet, you kept quiet?"
His eyes fill with tears. "I didn't want to admit being the last person to see him alive."
Yusuf sighs deeply, and ibrahim frowns with a look of distaste at his brother.
"So, what happened next?" officer Mark asks.
"Nothing," he answers. "I just returned to my bedroom. That's where I was when he was discovered dead by Yusuf."
Officer Mark looks at him. "And what were you doing in his room so early in the morning?"
"I was just checking on him," he answers, seeming a bit flustered. "He was piss drunk when I left him, and I wanted to be sure he was okay."
"And you found him on the floor?" officer mark prods.
Yusuf nods. "With the broken chair beside him."
"There was no broken chair when I was with him," kamsir interjects. "That must have happened after he returned to his room."
Officer mark ponders on what has been said for a while, before sighing deeply. "You're right about one thing. The knife wound didn't kill the minister. In fact, that's what I was discussing with them in Washington this morning," he shakes his head.
"When the doctor's confession was all about how he stabbed the man, we already knew the boy was just talking nonsense. He couldn't even tell us the location of the stab wound. He first of all said 'chest', then said 'rib cage'. It became evident very quickly that he wasn't the culprit," he looks at me.
"And when Ma'am started her confession with 'I stabbed him', I ruled her out."
"So, what are you saying? That it was the head wound from the chair that killed him?" Ibrahim asks.
The officer shakes his head. "Not even that." He looks around the room for dramatic effect I guess . "Minister Omar was poisoned."
"Poisoned?" Yusuf exclaims. "How is that possible? He was fine that night, and we even drank from the same bottle!"
"But you didn't eat from the same pot," I say, a sick realization dawning on me. "Only one person ever cooked for the minister."
Madam maria