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frightening for her that she screamed.
    Let it finish, let it last for ever, she thought as the full force of orgasm broke across her.
    And then with him still hard inside her, others, their faces hooded, came and touched her body too. Sharing their ceremony, his and hers. She didn’t see the knife because her eyes were closed. But she felt it, plunging into her heart as great flashes of white lightning flew all around the clearing like a display of fireworks at a wedding.

C HAPTER 2
    In spite of his father’s protestations to the contrary, Nurdoğan wasn’t convinced that he was right.
    ‘She must have gone to a club; she’s probably at Sırma’s,’ his father said as he took himself and his hangover out to his car.
    But Nurdoğan knew that Gülay hadn’t seen Sırma for months. She hadn’t seen any of her old friends for quite a long time. He walked up the stairs to his mother’s bedroom.
    ‘Gülay’s bed hasn’t been slept in,’ he said to the red-haired woman lying on the bed eating grapes and smoking a cigarette. Her considerable make-up was still, he noticed, plastered to her face from the night before.
    ‘She’s staying over with Sırma,’ his mother coughed.
    ‘I don’t think she sees Sırma any more,’ Nurdoğan replied as he lowered himself down on to his mother’s slippery and, in his opinion, uncomfortable red satin sheets.
    ‘Well, that’s probably for the best.’ She smiled briefly. ‘Where’s Kenan? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?’
    Nurdoğan’s young face hardened. ‘It’s Sunday.’
    His mother just raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement.
    ‘Mum, it is eleven o’clock now and Gülay didn’t take her pump with her. It’s still by her bed.’
    ‘She’ll be OK.’ The woman ground her cigarette out on the plate she was also using for grape pips. ‘Why don’t you go out on your bike or something? Gülay will be here when you get back. It’s not that she hasn’t stayed out before, is it?’ she added tetchily.
    She was always like this when she’d been out to the club with his father. The drink just seemed to carry on taking effect, blunting every real feeling she might possess. He was, he knew, supposed to leave her alone, carry on being in the care of Kenan and the small group of young girls who worked in the house, until she felt ‘better’ again.
    There wasn’t really any great need to be worried about Gülay. Sometimes she did stay out, although not in recent months as often as she had. And, if Nurdoğan were honest, he would have to say that Gülay had been happier of late. But this time, for some reason he couldn’t really articulate, he was worried about his sister. She used to tell him everything, still in fact said that she told him everything, but Nurdoğan was no longer sure about this. Sometimes she just went off without telling anyone and she’d taken to locking herself in her bedroom. Nurdoğan had always been close to his big sister, the two of them in a sense allied against their parents. It was an alliance that had survived all sorts of teenage ‘phases’ on Gülay’s part. Only now, when she was ‘normal’ again, did there seem to be a problem.
    Nurdoğan went downstairs and retrieved his bicycle from the garage. His father, who had taken his car out in order, apparently, to clean it, stopped talking to the large man Nurdoğan recognised as one of his club managers as he passed.
    ‘If you’re satisfied there are no signs of foul play, I’ll release the Ataman boy’s body for burial,’ the small, round man said with a smile.
    Mehmet Süleyman shrugged. ‘I can’t see any reason to hold back,’ he said wearily. ‘He took his own life. Not to any rational purpose but—’
    ‘Yes, he did.’
    The smile faded from the round man’s face. Dr Arto Sarkissian had been employed as a police pathologist for all of his working life and had, during that time, seen most things that people could do to others and themselves. But premature,