“Jemal must be subjected to extensive questioning,” I said to Colin as we sat on the balcony outside our bedroom that evening. The view stretched nearly to Topkapı in the south, the hills of the city piling on top of one another as they rose from the Bosphorus. Houses and buildings formed a dense tapestry above the waterline, flat and peaked roofs obstructing all but more roofs behind them, as if each were vying for a superior view. Far to the north was the Black Sea, and a steady stream of ships—barges, feluccas, caïques, and yawls—moved towards it, well out of our sight. “As for the women, it’s all too well organized, too orchestrated. I can’t decide whether they’re hiding something or just afraid.”

“Afraid?” Colin asked.

“Whoever killed Ceyden could strike again. Perhaps the girls are afraid of drawing attention to themselves.”

“They’d be better served by allowing you to gather as much information as possible. How else will this man ever be stopped?”

“How can you be sure it’s a man?”

“It’s difficult to strangle someone,” Colin said. “More likely that a man would have the strength for it. I don’t know that a woman could do such a thing with her bare hands.”

“Hideous.” Not wanting to dwell on the details, I mentally flipped through the catalog of women to whom I’d spoken and determined that each was far too delicate to pull off the task. “So we need a man in the harem.”

“I’d say they could use several men in the harem.”

“You’re dreadful, and I’m going to ignore you.” I let my eyes rest on his just long enough to fill my head with all sorts of visions about which I could do nothing at the moment.

“What of the other women?” Colin asked. “Did Ceyden have any particular friends?”