The heavy, muddy high-vis vest he wore during the day was not just a work uniform for Yekta; it was a magical cloak hiding Izmir's most dangerous predator. But when the sun went down and it was time to go hunting, Yekta would throw that cloak on the floor of his damp house in Eşrefpaşa and reveal that cold, flawless machine underneath. While washing himself in the bathtub with a stiff brush until his skin turned red, a sharp smell of pine turpentine and industrial soap filled the bathroom. He was scraping off that black soil at the base of his nails, that heavy fertilizer smell of the nursery from his body. As he watched the water flow down the drain like a whirlpool, there was only one image in his mind: that flawless woman coming down the stairs of the Police Headquarters. Deputy Inspector Hale. Yekta got out of the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. He smoothly covered the crude stitches on his neck with a special medical tape he bought from the pharmacy that perfectly matched his skin color. He put on a thin, black turtleneck sweater and dark canvas trousers over it. When he combed his hair back, the reflection in the mirror was no longer "loser worker Yekta". The reflection in the mirror was a respectable, quiet, and dangerous shadow that would never draw attention in crowds. Towards midnight, he was waiting under a dark streetlamp right across one of those dim and elegant jazz bars around Pasaport Pier, frequented by Izmir's elite. Yekta had tailed Hale after her shift. The woman had taken off that flawless police uniform and worn an elegant, black silk blouse and slim-fit fabric trousers instead. But even her civilian clothes couldn't hide that authoritative, statuesque aura of hers. Hale was sitting at the table in the deepest corner of the bar, slowly sipping the red wine in the glass in front of her while examining the reports of today's press release on her tablet. Yekta popped his collar and entered the bar. The guard at the door didn't even stop him; because Yekta knew very well how to wear that invisibility shield. He sat on a stool in a secluded corner behind a pillar, with a diagonal view of Hale's table. He ordered a glass of whiskey and just held it in his hand, not taking a single sip. His eyes were on his prey. Like examining a piece of art, he was watching every micro-expression, every breath Hale took. He looked at that flawless, symmetrical lipstick mark the woman left on the rim of the glass as she took a sip from her wine. Even the strand of hair falling from Hale's nape had a harmony. When choosing the beauty of his victims, Yekta wouldn't just look at physical lines; he would look for the victim's "crack". He searched Hale's face for that spoiled, vulgar, or basic expression that appears on the faces of most beautiful women when they are alone. But there wasn't any. Even when alone, Hale was hard, cold, and perfect like a diamond. This is it, Yekta thought to himself. While his heart accelerated with a rhythmic, dark pleasure, the index finger of his right hand involuntarily touched the cold metal of that crescent-bladed pocketknife in his pocket. You will be the masterpiece of my collection. I will not surrender you to the disgusting hands of time, to aging and rotting. Right at that moment, the door of the bar opened and someone with civilian clothes, slumped shoulders, and deep purple under-eye bags from sleeplessness walked in. Chief Inspector Aylin. Yekta's fingers went rigid on the handle of the knife in his pocket. He held his breath and bowed his head a little deeper into the shadows. Aylin walked straight to Hale's table with exhausted steps and collapsed into the chair across from the woman without even asking for permission. Hale closed her tablet and looked at Aylin in surprise. "Aylin? What are you doing here, the whole department is looking for that boy," said Hale, maintaining that distant professionalism in her voice. "We couldn't find the boy," said Aylin, signaling the bartender for a coffee with her hand. Her voice was raspy and exhausted. "It's as if the earth cracked open and swallowed the little bastard. How is the media?" "I've been dealing with 'Elite Killer's Subcontractor Vanished' headlines since morning," said Hale, taking an elegant sip of her wine. "The Chief of Police wants to see that boy or his 'elite' boss in handcuffs in front of the cameras tomorrow morning, Aylin. Otherwise, both our heads will roll." Listening to this dialogue from just five meters away, Yekta beamed with a demonic smile in the shadows. The two brains of the police department; two women, one burning with arrogance, the other shining with perfection... Both were unaware at this very moment that the legendary, 'rich and elite' serial killer they were looking for was breathing the same air as them, even making precise calculations to cut one of their necks. Aylin leaned towards the table while drinking her coffee. "I'll find that boy, Hale. Whoever that elite snob is, I won't let him hide behind his subcontractor. I'm just waiting for him to leave a piece of evidence, make a small mistake." Yekta gently put the whiskey glass on the table. He had no intention of making a mistake himself. But he was going to give Aylin that piece of evidence she so desired, in the most ruthless way. While the bill was being paid at Hale and Aylin's table, Yekta had already stood up and blended into the darkness of the night through the back door of the bar. In his mind, the plan was now flawlessly drawn. He wasn't going to kill Hale on the street or in her house. He was going to harvest her at the place where the police felt the safest, where arrogance was at its highest, meaning while she was on duty. Let the Izmir police keep looking for the "Elite Killer"; that gardener in the high-vis vest had already started sharpening his shears to pluck the city's rarest rose.
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