CHAPTER 1: Mıllı Mudafaa Street
Early that morning, several people stood on the side of Güvenpark facing Milli Müdafaa Caddesi, looking at a car that had struck one of the trees. The rear of the car rested against the trunk. The bodywork had crumpled inward, and one of the rear doors was jammed. People crossing the street joined those already there, trying to see inside.
Someone from the crowd walked up to the car. Seeing the man in the driver’s seat, he leaned toward the accessible door.
“There’s an injured man inside,” he said.
When the man did not answer, he straightened. He told the others he would notify the nearby police post and ran off.
He soon returned with two police officers. The officers moved the people gathered around the car to the roadside. One approached the driver’s side while the other looked into the back seat.
A uniformed man sat in the driver’s seat. His head rested against the seat back, and his eyes were closed. Blood ran down his face from a wound on his head. As the officer tried to open the door, he heard the man struggling to breathe. He made room for his partner. The other officer bent down and checked the injured man’s pulse.
“He’s alive,” he said.
His uniform was that of a neighborhood watchman. The officer leaned closer to see his face.
“Can you hear me?” he asked.
The watchman did not open his eyes. The officer watched his face for a moment, then repeated the question. When there was still no answer, he took the identification from his pocket. He examined it and handed it to his partner.
“He’s stationed in Demirtepe,” he said.
After looking at the identification, the other officer went around to the opposite side of the car. A woman was in the back seat. She was trapped between the seat and the crushed door on the side that had struck the tree. Blood from a severe wound at the front of her head had spread across her face and soaked the shoulder of her dress.
The officer pulled the door handle. The door would not open. He tried again, then stopped forcing it. He leaned through the open door to reach the woman.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?” he asked.
She did not move. The officer turned to his partner outside and said there was another injured person in the back. Some of those who heard him moved toward the car again. The officer on the driver’s side raised his hand and stopped them.
“Step back. Keep the area around the car clear,” he said.
A man stepped forward from the crowd.
“I’m a doctor. Let me take a look,” he said.
The officer stepped aside to let him through. The doctor first looked at the watchman in the driver’s seat, then approached the officer by the back seat. He stopped at the jammed door. Unable to find an opening he could reach through, he moved to the open door.
The officer stepped back. The doctor leaned into the car and touched the woman’s neck. He kept his fingers there for a while. The officer outside watched his face, waiting for him to speak.
The doctor withdrew his hand and straightened.
“She’s dead,” he said.
The officer looked into the back seat again. The woman remained between the seat and the door, her head hanging forward. She had been in the same position when he called to her. This time he did not touch the door. He moved away from the car and directed those approaching to step back.
Those who had heard the doctor stopped talking. People at the roadside tried to look inside from where they stood, while those behind them peered between their shoulders. The officer walked a few steps farther, increasing the distance between the crowd and the car.
The other officer stayed by the driver’s door. He bent down to check the watchman’s breathing. The injured man’s eyes were still closed. After looking at the blood on his face and at his uniform, he examined the identification in his hand again.
They still did not know who the woman in the back seat was.
