Untitled chapter 1
One morning in 1932, the doors opened on a bus pulling up to the stop outside the Ministry of Education. The passengers began getting off one by one. Among the last to step down was Ahmet Kara, a man in his late fifties.
Originally from Kars, Ahmet Kara adjusted his dark cap and checked the inside pocket of his jacket. The brown envelope was still there. As the bus pulled away from the stop, he began walking toward the Central Post Office.
On Anafartalar Caddesi, shopkeepers were opening their stores, workers were sweeping the sidewalks, and civil servants were trying to reach their offices on time. Ahmet Kara continued on his way without paying attention to the activity around him.
After a short walk, he reached the Central Post Office. He slowly climbed the stone steps and went through the large entrance.
The spacious lobby was busy that morning. People waited at the counters, some wanting to send telegrams and others handing over their letters. Ahmet Kara took the envelope from his inside jacket pocket. After checking the address one last time, he lifted the flap of the mailbox and dropped the letter inside.
Just as he was about to leave the building, he noticed the sign for the restroom at the back of the lobby. He walked down the hallway, opened the door, and went inside.
The postal employees continued working, and at first no one noticed that Ahmet Kara had not come out of the restroom. After a while, a cleaner noticed that the door had been closed for a long time. He approached it and knocked several times. When there was no answer, he called out.
“Sir, are you all right?” the cleaner asked.
Again, no one answered. Realizing that the door was locked from the inside, he called the other postal employees. Several gathered outside the door. They called to the person inside again but received no response.
When they finally managed to open the door, one of the employees went inside. A few seconds later, he stepped back in fear.
Ahmet Kara lay on his back on the restroom’s stone floor. The chest of his jacket was soaked in blood. His right hand rested on his chest, and his left arm extended to the side.
One of the employees approached and checked him. He was not breathing. Repeated stab wounds to the chest had killed him where he lay.
The postmaster ordered everyone to stay out of the restroom. As the employees cleared the hallway, one of the clerks hurried to the telephone.
A few minutes later, the telephone rang at Anafartalar Police Station.
A murder had been committed at the Central Post Office.
