Kudos to you LarrySun...

Had to join nairaland just to comment on your story.

You're doing a great job.

* Back to ghostmode*

Larry,who was that fearless young guy that was caught up in a bank robbery?

SIXTEEN

The deceased Jamal Malik, who had journeyed to that undiscovered country from whose borne no traveller returns, was considered a rich man but his burial was uneventful; although his death had spread like forest fire all across the states of the nation that mourners poured in like sands in an hourglass. December twenty-seventh had been set aside for his interment. The Maliks had strongly insisted that the detective and his supposed sidekick were never to make any investigation on this day, as inquiries might stir some hornets’ nests which might lead into another reason not to put the deceased under the dust. Lot agreed to this request albeit begrudgingly but insisted to be present at the interment, alongside Daniel Famous, and that in the course of the investigations after burial, if anything which required another cross-examination of the body sufficed, the corpse would certainly be exhumed. The family members acquiesced to this, trusting so much that exhumation was unlikely.

The second corpse, however, whose identity was yet fully confirmed, still occupied a particular section of the cold comfort of a mosque – a breathless sleeper in a mortuary. The name Abel Malik were the only words of the landpersons whom Daniel had questioned earlier before today, and no other person had stepped forward to confirm that the corpse was truly a Malik – this was one of Lot’s utmost priorities; finding out the identity of this bearded corpse. The doctor had extracted the bullet lodged in his skull, but the gun wasn’t found yet. The whole of the house where the corpse was found had been turned inside out in the search for the weapon but without success. The only thing of consequence that was found in one of the rooms was the photograph of a dark-skinned lady with a charming smile. The picture was confirmed by the elderly couple to be the wife of the deceased.

The burial of Jamal Malik went on as planned. Four black limousines were driven down the street in honour of his personality. The long vehicles were supposed to bear the family members as they made their ways to the local cemetery, but it was only Hannah who occupied just one of these vehicles; the rest of the family preferred walking behind the first limo which was the hearse. Although rich the Maliks were, they still had to hire limos for Jamal’s burial. Besides, Jamal was considered by his children to be stingy with his money during his lifetimes, David – the eldest son – found no reason to buy four expensive cars just because ethics demanded that the rich deceased should be buried in a grand fashion. Already, the price of the casket they purchased was enough to cause most financial houses to go bankrupt. The price alone was enough to had one more aircraft to the Maliks’ airline company – Zabmus Airways.

Everyone was dressed in the usual black attires associated with burials. Black was donned right from the family members to the well-wishers and down to the trumpeters who continued blowing eulogies and swaying to their music as if this was not a burial but a birthday, where they instead ought to be singing songs relatively with either suras or canticles of lachrymose outpourings. Even some of the well-wishers could be seen singing alongside the merry trumpeters. The subsequent procession to the cemetery was so lengthy that some people had to park a mile away and trek.
Lot and Daniel followed this procession without much interest. In fact, Lot was disgusted at the prospect of witnessing yet another full body to be immersed in the earth, and with time nature would take its toll; the body would begin to rot, the priceless casket would shatter and insects would feast on the remains. Lot had sworn never to be buried like this, he’d rather give himself up for cremation than having whatever species of crawling insects fattening up on his body. He looked at his own protruded belly and shuddered. Never! No worm or millipede or cockroach or whatever will ever feast on me!

As they followed behind the family who followed the first limousine, Lot thought it was kind of silly the family had to hire a hearse to carry Jamal kilometres down the city in the first place. He felt that they could rather have put wheels under the expensive coffin, like they have on suitcases and travelling bags, and that would have worked just as well. He later felt that it wasn’t his headache, the Maliks had more than enough money to throw about senselessly like a pair of drunken sailors. He looked at Daniel who was walking quietly beside him. The young policeman he’d encountered three years earlier had turned out more mature and quite full of grace and humility. He’d come here simply because of Daniel. When the footballer had called him that early morning he’d rejoiced at hearing the young man’s voice after three years. He’d terminated the call on the basis that no payment for his service was arranged beforehand, but he’d been worried thereafter that Daniel might probably have landed himself in some amount of burdensome ventures. Even now, currently, Lot wasn’t very sure if Daniel hadn’t caused the trouble already, or wouldn’t later on in the course of the investigation. One thing was quite certain though, Daniel would always be a great help to him in the investigation – he’d proved it before and he would prove it; he was quite sure about that. This had already been justified when Daniel broke the Shakespearean quote. Yes, Daniel was a total klutz at investigations but he was a way better sidekick. If working on this case for free was because of Daniel, then it was worth it, Lot decided without regret whatsoever.

Lot had never investigated any case for free before, but he made an exception because it was his beloved Daniel who requested his service. As a rule, Lot had always made sure that his payments were fully made before venturing into any investigation. And his money, he admitted, was a whooping sum. He’d never investigated the poor, and he never hoped to. This rule he’d just broken, however, was going to be his first and last. He’d broken this one only because he felt a sense of responsibility over Daniel. He knew that the young man’s father was deceased, and Lot loved him so much that he considered Daniel the son he never had.

barbiesparkz: Kudos to you LarrySun...

Had to join nairaland just to comment on your story.

You're doing a great job.

* Back to ghostmode*

Oh! You're so sweet. Thanks ma'am.

Beretta92: Larry,who was that fearless young guy that was caught up in a bank robbery?

That was Mark, a very strange guy indeed.

pricelesslove: yes oo larry pls connect me. but u dey confuse me oo.sorry for the ban

Er...I'd need to see your picture first.

ezeigbo194:

bros shwn that tin Oo na like ballon break Oo

Flakeey: now i'm lost

Abel Malik?

Dis LarrySun will not burst my brain o
ehen isorait

Lol! You'll soon understand.

Marcela04: ha, who is Abel Malik again? I only no of Abel Cain. Larry, wat of Mark? Ride on

Something spectacular happened to Mark when he was escaping with the money.

LarrySun:

emabinu koh pkele

if it is my picture u are lookin. are u on watssap? if yes send me ur number. but this ur story dey confuse me oo

LarrySun: Lol! You'll soon understand.

ok
waiting impatiently

heeeee orsiririsi

Lot, giving himself up for cremation? He's definitely gone crazy

but then, that is none of my business *inKermitDfrog'sVoice*



LarrySun, u rock mehn!

LarrySun: The Prequel: The Brand Of Cain



PROLOGUE

… and he gathered all the bits of shell and stuck them together. That is why Tortoise’s shell is not smooth.
(C.A. Achebe, Things Fall Apart)

1975.

GN––Genevieve Nnaji wasn’t famous in 1975––she was still four years short of existence. Neither was Regina Askia; a mere schoolgirl. Wizkid haunted no young women’s dreams. Wande Coal, Dagrin, Darey, D’banj and P-Square––their existence was yet to be accomplished.

General Yakubu Gowon was the Head of States in 1975––he was acclaimed the youngest Nigerian leader. Nigeria witnessed her third military coup that same year.

The best-seller among African novels was Things Fall Apart (though it was actually first published in 1958).

The movies: Behind the Cloud, The Village Headmaster, Aiye.

The music: Ebenezer Obey, Dele Abiodun, Majek Fashek, I.K. Dairo, Fela Anikulapo Kuti.

It was a different time. A different world.

The Nigeria’s exchange rate of the naira to the US dollar in 1975 was sixty-two kobo.

Petrol pump price per litre was less than ten kobo.

Economic Community Of West African States was founded.

Seven federal universities were founded in Nigeria.

1975. It was the year when Cain Martins was still a young lad of eighteen.


He was drunk when his mother died.

The half-mad Cain Martins staggered into the hospital, having his gin bottle firmly stuck under his armpit. Occasionally, he would release the bottle from the bondage of his arm, uncap it and take a deep swig, he appeared not only to be drinking the gin but also bathing in it. Every of his being stank of alcohol, he even sweated alcohol. In his drunken stupor, he entered the waiting room and sat down amongst two pregnant ladies. Offended by Cain Martins appearance and smell, the pregnant women rose to occupy another seat farther from Cain. His eyes scared them; they were granite hard and restless like the eyes of a vulture. The drunken eighteen-year-old ugly boy grinned at the women and said:

“Can I help it if my face frightens people?” giving a mock grimace, “Come to think of it, it even frightens me sometimes. Especially when I suddenly find myself looking in a mirror.”

Cain smiled at his comment, and when he smiled, it was the most unbeautiful thing in the world. He said in his drunken accent that elongated vowels and blurred consonants, pointing at the women’s protruded bellies:

“Did each one of you swallow a watermelon overnight?” his voice sounded as if he had something in his mouth; an odd, strangled sound.

One of the women said, the heavier one, “I think you must be mad! No sane man could talk as you do. No man in his right mind would walk into a hospital in such a drunken state.”

Cain shrugged, “What if I am? What is wrong with being mad anyway? Why do people have such a horror of being thought mad? I don’t. I’m perfectly satisfied with the way my mind works. After all, madness is just a matter of view point.”

Sitting there for just fifteen minutes, Cain decided that he had been waiting too long. More people had come in to sit in the waiting room––waiting their own chance to visit a father who had had his appendix removed, a mother who had discovered a small lump under one of her breasts a bare two days ago, a friend who had been struck in the chest with an invisible sledge hammer while jogging, a brother who had fallen off his bike and hit his head on the tiled road. The faces of the waiters were made up with composure; except, of course, Cain’s.

He got out and made his way to the Intensive Care Unit––where his mother was lying supine on the bed. The petite thirty-five-year old young woman who had once been graciously pretty; the voluptuous curves that had once ruled her body had now withered away. She was now shrunken, her beautiful eyes were now shallow, and her skeletal structures were now visibly pronounced. Her arms and legs were as thin as matchsticks, and this made her feeble limbs look more like a toad’s. AIDS had finally won over her body’s immunity. Pamela was shriveled and withered like an Egyptian mummy.

The room directly opposite the Intensive Care Unit was the delivery room, and two young women had just put to bed therein. And as Cain staggered into the ICU, two ladies emerged from the delivery room, each carrying a bundle of joy. Cain only just made the steps into the ICU. If he hadn’t clutched on to the back of the chair before he sat on it, he would probably have found himself sitting on the floor of the room.

“You aren’t dead yet, Pamela.” He said to his mother.

Although Pamela was Cain’s mother, she always felt a chill crawl up her spine at the sight of her own son, just like she was feeling now. “Cain, I’ve been waiting for you.” Her voice came as a low rasp.

“What do you want from me?” he slurred, and then belched.

“Have you been drinking again, Cain?”

He nodded eagerly, as if he was a little boy and his mother had just asked him if he wanted a new toy, “Yes, I have. Not drunk yet, just a wee bit boozy-woozy. It isn’t against the law to be drunk, is it? Even the Bible confirmed it. Jee-zuz said,” he slurred, “ ‘For in wine shall thou find pleasure’ it’s in First Thessalonians or Second Babylonians, I can’t remember which.”

“How more drunken can you get than this, Cain? I’ll have to go to my grave with the memory that my son is a drunkard. This way you’re drinking yourself like a fish, you may kill yourself if you keep it up, Cain.”

“Pamela, I haven’t fallen off the wagon yet. I’m mobile, am I not? And my words aren’t coming out as lisps, are they? Give me a tongue twister and I will tell you without a slight break. Besides, we both have our different tastes, haven’t we, Pamela? I’m always on the look out for a new bottle of booze while you were always on the look out for something new in trousers. Who knows to how many men you’ve distributed your virus? Now, why did you call me into this shrine they call a hospital?”

Pamela hesitated, as if what she had to say was going to be physically painful. “I have a confession, Cain?”

“And you want me to call you a reverend father?”

“No, Cain, no––I have to confess to you before I die.”

“Wait, let me get my rosary and Bible. What do you want to confess? About where you kept your money?”

“No, no––not about that. It’s about––”

“Where did you keep it?”

“It’s not about––”

“Where did you keep your money, Pamela?” his voice was louder now.

“I want to tell you about––”

“Tell me about the money now or I’ll walk out of here and you shall never see me again. Oh! How you stink so, Pamela!”

Tears flooded his mother’s face as she spoke:

“The money is in the backyard at home––inside a pouch under the water pot. I kept it there because you would have stolen it if I had put it in the house.”

Cain leaned forward, an unusual smile on his face, “How much did you keep there?”

“Everything contained in the pouch is coins. Cain, won’t you listen to my confession before I die?”

“How much do you have in the pouch?”

She said with an effort, “Twenty naira.”

“What!” Cain exploded. He stood up instantly; he nearly lost his balance and quickly held onto the table by the bed to steady himself. Because he was drunk, he was too rocked by the news to stand upright. Sweat poured out from the pores of his face, as if he were a Coke bottle that had been left too long in the freezer. Suddenly his fist clenched itself and came down on the table with a bang; his face crimsoned and two big veins stood out on his forehead. “Is the floor moving up and down or am I drunker than I imagine I am? Did you just say twenty naira, Pamela? You incompetent, useless pin-headed hoe! With all those illiterate, prissy-groined, dye-in-the-wool nincompoops and brutes you’ve been screwing, all you were able to come up with in the end is twenty naira?”

“Cain––my confession––”

“Shut up, Pamela!” he screamed, his face was suddenly vicious. “Just shut up! Lest I kill you before the AIDS do. You filthy woman! I used to think you made real money from your immoral business, so I didn’t care if you trekked up Mount Calvary, climbed the cross and screwed the Christ. Now, you’re here blabbing that all your life’s saving is twenty naira.” He was getting angrier as he spoke, “Listen to me, I know I’m the son of a b*tch––do you know what a b*tch is, Pamela?––and I’ve learned to live with that. But even in death, as you’re busy satisfying Satan and other damned souls in Hell on per minute billings, you are going to wish you had never given birth to me. That, Pamela, I am assuring you.”

He had lost control of the little sense which was still left in his mind, because he was screaming now; thundering curses and vile utterances upon his own mother. Pamela was shivering and weeping, every word from his came upon her like the stab from a knife. Cain, having depleted almost all the curses he was capable of coining, he turned to go, still cursing maniacally under his breath as he exited the ICU.

“Cain!” Pamela called after her son, “Cain––my confession! You must listen––” her shiver had resulted in violent seizures. She began to foam at the mouth. A doctor and two nurses rushed into the room. The doctor switched on the ophthalmoscope and directed the light in Pamela’s right eye.

As though the beam from the machine was a piercing needle and her life a balloon, Pamela let out an explosive breath; her last word came as a whisper:

“Cain!”

She brought her head up suddenly, looked directly into the light which shone on her eyes, slumped back upon her pillow, and died.

With the few techniques and instruments available in the ward, attempts at resuscitation of the diseased and deceased patient were made, but to no avail. Pamela had taken leave of life, and she wasn’t coming back.

As the drink-sodden baboon staggered down the corridor of the hospital he raised his gin bottle to his mouth and drank deeply, the liquid ran from the corner of his mouth down to his chin and the front of his chest, and onto the marble floor of the hospital. When he got out of the hospital the bottle was already empty. He brought it to his mouth again and sucked at air. He was surprised at this; more surprised than at the disappointing news his mother had told him. He brought the bottle up and peered curiously at it so as to be sure it really was empty; the little ram on the bottle label looked back at Cain too. Cain caught the ram’s stare and asked it where the alcohol therein had gone; the ram didn’t offer any answer. Angry at the bottle, the ram on its label, and his mother, he attempted to fling the empty bottle away but it slipped from his grasp. He had no more money to buy another alcohol. Cain swayed home to retrieve the twenty naira inside the pouch which lain under the water pot.

He did not listen to his mother’s confession.

However, Pamela was not the only woman who gave her last sigh back in the hospital. Five rooms away from where Pamela was, a young woman also uttered her last word, and her word also came out in a whisper:

“Abel!”

Both women died at precisely 4:15pm.––June 12, 1975.

Wow! Wow!! Wow!!! All I can say for now is WoW!!! More inspiration sir! More ink in your pen and better energy to write! I love this!

I just dey observe. I have been trying to connect the dots but I couldn't. Eagerly waiting to see how the whole mystery will be unraveled.

He took his mind off Daniel’s biography and his own personal challenges to think about the investigation at hand. There was not much to think about though, except for the fact that there was a murderer gone loose among the Maliks who had committed two murders and would do more if he was not stopped on time – or was it a she? The real investigation had not begun, he knew. There were still hidden secrets about the family to be explored, confessions to be made, and most importantly, a murderer to be apprehended. All these, he was sure, would come in due time. But even after the first day he was beginning to suspect that the case could turn into one of those which all detectives happen to abhor: the inquiry where the murderer is known but the evidence is sufficient in the eyes of the law to justify prosecution. But he knew better than most that what condemned a man was the inability to keep his mouth shut. There were two sides to the coin of the investigation; the head and the tail. The head concerned what would come out of the mouth of every member of the family; the head was like a mathematical equation, like sequence and series; where the first term, assisted by the common difference of an Arithmetic progression, might lead indefinitely to the last term, depending of course on which entity was required to be found, and the formula to be applied in solving the case. To Lot, every murder case required a particular pattern to be traced before it could be solved. This pattern was usually mathematical, and the investigative formula to be applied depended on the method of the crime. The crime could be fundamentally quadratic or simultaneous – as the case was currently; it could also be hypothetical, using theories and theorems, like the Pythagoras or Newton.

Lot’s intuition had been enhanced by part of his life’s work in Physics and Mathematics, in each of which he held a doctorate. Briefly, he thought about the number 29. It was a prime number – it could not be divided by any number except itself and 1 – but otherwise it was not very interesting. The only unusual thing about it was that 29 plus 2x² was a prime number for every value of x up to 28. He calculated the series in his head: 29, 31, 37, 47, 61, 79, 101, 127… One of the things that usually baffled him in the significance of the number Pi. Why should the ratio of circumference be three point one four two? Why not six, or two and a half? Who made that decision, and why? Indeed, Mathematics is a weird psychology. He knew that Pi, being an irrational number, meant that it cannot be written as the ration of two integers. And consequently, its decimal representation never ends and never settles into a permanent repeating pattern. This means that any number you can think about is in Pi. Recently, Lot read that the value of Pi had been calculated into 2.1 trillion decimal places. This would take a person roughly 266 years without stopping, going three digits per second.

But the tail of the coin – the significant tail – involved Daniel. The explanation Famous had given him was quite bogus; it held no liquid. There were loopholes in his defense that even a retard would notice. Lot knew that Daniel was hiding something very important from him. He didn’t know yet but he was bent on finding out what it was. He knew certainly that Daniel’s refusal to divulge that which was hidden was not done out of selfish intents but of plain stupidity. He seriously hoped that it wouldn’t be too late for him to find out what that secret was. But he knew the secret – whatever it might be – involved a woman. With Daniel, everything always involved a woman. He sighed. He was all too aware of Daniel’s impetuous proclivities; always had been an accident waiting to happen.

They arrived at the cemetery; overhead, two magnificent birds with four-foot wings glided in intersecting gyres. The ventral feathers of the first were white with black wing tips. The second was boldly barred in white and brown – they could have been hawks, but Lot wasn’t sure. The detective was surprised that they’d walked kilometres to the cemetery while four empty limousines rode along. He wondered why he’d followed the procession in the first place; everything was sickening from the start. The trumpeters, the street-dancers, the hearse – everything was madness. Now he was about to witness the most maddening part of the madness – he was about to behold the dust-to-dust. A section of the cemetery had been acquired and labourers had done their job of digging the grave. Lot looked around the cemetery, there were over a thousand graves which ran down to the thicket beyond. The gravestones were almost like rows of books bearing the names of those who had been blotted from the pages of life, who might be forgotten elsewhere but remembered here. Lot was wary of his environment; he had no intention of whistling in this graveyard, either literally or figuratively. He knew he’d one day be dead too, but he had sworn he would never be a resident of a graveyard. Most of the graves sheltered corpses assumed to be many years dead. Close by, as they walked towards the exposed new home of Jamal, Lot saw a tombstone whose epitaph amused him.

PAUL OBI, DIED MARCH 17, 1974, AGED 74. The epitaph read: Beneath this stone, I rest my full body in sweet slumber; Christ bless the bed and my generation that lives on.

Lot shook his head, Paul Obi had died almost forty years ago. He wondered what would remain of the full body by now. Everything would probably have turned to sand. He noticed that this particular grave was without weed, unlike most of the others. This really interested Lot, Paul must have lived a very holy and fulfilled life to have his descendants tending to his grave for the past thirty-nine years. As they walked on, another tombstone made him raise eyebrows.

JOHN THOMAS, DIED FEBRUARY 14, 1982, AGED 46. The epitaph on his stone read: when ladies cross my grave, I smile.

Lot smiled, John was definitely a crook in his life. His grave was nearly covered with weed, the tall grasses only left enough view of John’s grave for the epitaph to be read. The detective wondered what he was doing when he died on the Valentine’s Day of 1982. Lot was sure that whatever it was, it had nothing to do with evangelism. John Thomas was dead thirty years ago. In this recent age, no parents in their right minds, with a Thomas surname, would name their son John! It was – it was well, too risqué!

There were spirits all around this burial ground – spirits from another century, from an era long gone. He wondered if, like Paul’s grave, Jamal’s would be cared for in the next forty years – he strongly doubted it. No one really missed the man. At least, he hadn’t noticed the grief on any of the family members’ face. Perhaps it was only Hannah who grieved, but it was hard to tell because the blind woman was wearing a black sunshade. She was assisted towards the open grave by her daughter – the one with the sharp tongue. What’s her name? Is it Ruth? Or Naomi? The others were also gathered around the open grave. The mourners streamed across the plains of the cemetery and among the headstones for the longest time, but the presiding minister, an imam, did not begin the graveside service until all had assembled no one here showed impatience at the delay. Indeed, when the final prayer was said and the casket lowered, the crowd hesitated to depart. The priest reeled out verses out of various chapters from the scripture. These chapters were read as much as could be compressed into five minutes.

When he turned his head to speak to Daniel the young man was not there. He thought it would be hard to find famous because everyone was wearing the same colour. But when he raised his eyes he saw the footballer beside the deceased’s oldest grandchild – Ruth or Naomi’s daughter. Famous was holding the young lady’s hand as they all watched as the coffin was lowered to the ground.

The labourers slowly placed the casket in the hole. These four men who performed the task were muscular, they seemed to have been specially hired too. They had meaty hands and necks and faces that looked like the fission of Bash Ali and Samuel Peters.

As soon as the coffin reached the depth of the hole, every member of Malik’s household tossed a shovelful of dirt onto the casket, except the little baby of David Malik that was too young to notice what was going on. But nonetheless, the mother poured a small quantity of the earth into the baby’s palm and allowed the sand to fall into the hole. Lot knew that most mourners enjoyed this part so much, except the few who always broke down on the pile of earth crying to be buried with their beloved corpse. But in the case of Jamal, no one wept.

After the dust-to-dust ritual had been performed, the mourners slowly dispersed the graveyard, leaving the rest of the burial to the four muscles who had already begun covering the hole with the sand. I’m lucky I’m not dead and buried in some unmarked grave, with worms making passionate worm love inside my empty skull.

As they all headed to their various homes, on one – not even Lot or Daniel – noticed the tall dark-complexioned woman with a black veil over her black gown and wearing black sunshades that covered a large part of her face.

It was the woman in the photograph.

pricelesslove: if it is my picture u are lookin. are u on watssap? if yes send me ur number. but this ur story dey confuse me oo

PM'ed you.

Flakeey:

ok
waiting impatiently

Lol! 'impatiently'

Flakeey: heeeee orsiririsi

Lot, giving himself up for cremation? He's definitely gone crazy

but then, that is none of my business *inKermitDfrog'sVoice*



LarrySun, u rock mehn!

Yes, he wants to be burnt like that Ebola patient we read about. He made that clear in The Brand of Cain.

LordRazor1: Wow! Wow!! Wow!!! All I can say for now is WoW!!! More inspiration sir! More ink in your pen and better energy to write! I love this!

Thank you, sir. I'm glad you enjoyed reading it.

Adinije: I just dey observe. I have been trying to connect the dots but I couldn't. Eagerly waiting to see how the whole mystery will be unraveled.

Soon...sooner...soonest.

u are the man ur stories are so uniquely different hope u will publish it ,i will get the first copy well done larry

This mafia-woman, hmmm. I make just dey observe.

LarrySun:
LOL! Updated.

larry , I'm lost... it's been long. I'll find my way back.

wow , now this got me really reminiscing on the kind of life style I've been leading since this past years *** lolzzz in self pity...
Now I've heard humans got souls any after when the vessel must have expired here on earth the soal is got only one out of two places it must go to... ...
Meeennn I don't think I'd like having my dinner with mr Lucifer after then because I've heard alot of vary cruel and nasty mischief perpetrated by him against those who find themselves with him based on the account I've come across in the holy tome of wisdom, ...
No! I don't think that nigger and his miscrants in that fathomless abyss of sulfur are the
ideal fellows to enjoy My enternity with @ the time when all those silly maggots and termites choses the skull of my expired vessel as their ideal avenue for making their silly love after I must have endured a very tenuous time in a world where almost everyone is going psycho, in the midst of of a vary debauched society...
I've also heard that the.white sparkling paradise that holds the promise of enternal pleasure in magnanimous bliss is gated, coded and warded against any unholy creature of any design and the code is for you to adhere to the commandments handed down to humanity by the Holy crator that dwell in that same Pearl city of elegance,...
but meeenn I must confess it's not easy keeping to the laws and commandments in the midst of this virus infested world...
But there's hope because he's made a promise to us,...
So guys abeg make we take style enter church today go see wetin the Almighty Creator of heaven and earth don promise us...

see psalm 27:4 or from one to 4...

just thinking aloud!!!

SEVENTEEN

It was exactly a week after the burial of Jamal Malik that Lot resumed his investigation. During the break, Daniel visited his family and Lot joined him in the New Year celebration in the Kish household. The detective’s sudden presence in this compound had brought fear to the faces of the members, it was not hard to guess that they thought the detective was there to investigate something that might be tragic, and spoiling the celebration for everyone. Daniel managed to assure them otherwise.

The New Year came and went, and celebration extended to the next day. Richard and Abigail invited everybody; their two-year-old son, Samson, had begun to walk. Only one person was missing in the gathering – Hakeem, and Daniel wondered what had become of the boy since the last three years. He longed to see Hakeem – his only true friend.

On the early morning of Thursday, January 3, 2013, Lot and Daniel left the Kish household to resume their investigation of the Maliks. Daniel wondered how the New Year Day went with this family, considering the fact that they’d just lost the head of the family. He agreed that it wouldn’t have gone well. When they arrived at the house, all the family members were already awaiting them; they all wanted to get over with the case and move on. The man’s death wasn’t really a loss to anyone. Moses and Ayo weren’t present yet.

Lot and Daniel were back in the room, discussing the pros and cons of the case at hand.

“First and foremost, let’s discuss the cases we have on our hands yet,” Lot began, “There are seven known suspects in the murder of Jamal Malik so far.”

“I believe they’re eight.” Daniel countered.

“Really? Would you kindly name them?”

Daniel began naming names, how he was able to remember all the members of the family surprised him, he listed the names hierarchically.

Mrs. Hannah Malik – the deceased’s wife
Mrs. Ruth Brown – their first child
Mr. David Malik – the first son
Mr. Gabriel Malik – the third child
Miss Esther Malik – the last child of Jamal
Mr. Tunde Johnson – Mrs. Brown’s ex-husband
Mrs. Anuli Malik – Mr. David Malik’s wife
Miss Remi Johnson – the deceased’s oldest grandchild
Miss Gladys Simon – the housemaid

Lot jotted down the list of names as he heard them, “You listed nine people.” He said.

“Did I?” Daniel counted the names to confirm the detective’s observation. “You’re right. So, we’ve got nine suspects. Eight are innocent and one is guilty. We’re left with finding that guilty one.”

“They could all be guilty.”

“You know that’s simply impossible.”

“Everybody is always guilty of something, it doesn’t necessarily have to be crime. For instance, you yourself are guilty of something.”

“And what might that be?” Daniel asked, with a smirk on his face.

“You’re guilty of withholding information. You’ve not told me all you know about this affair.”

Daniel started to speak but Lot stopped him with a sharp flick of an index.

“I know you enough to know when you’re hiding something,” Lot continued, “Do you know that the information you withheld resulted in the death of that bearded man?”

Daniel’s eyes opened wide.

“If you don’t tell me everything you know now, I’m afraid someone else’s life could be in danger. Besides, I would be useless to question the members of this household without knowing all that had happened before my arrival. So, my dear Famous, this is the right time for you to tell me what you saw or heard. Your confession would go a long way.”

Daniel weighed his decision, debating whether to tell the detective about the figure that ran past his own window too that night. Does that have anything to do with the second murder? What is really Remi’s involvement in this case? Daniel was beginning to feel guilty for not being forthcoming with Lot. He had put his own emotions first, and that was wrong – wrong indeed!

“Well,” began Famous, he swallowed severally before continuing, “Well, I never imagined that this would have any significance in the case.” He stopped and rephrased, “Actually, I was afraid of the conclusion you’d draw if I told you.”

“If you told me what?” Lot asked, tapping a fountain pen on the table.

He could not bring himself to tell the detective, he could not. “That night we heard Mr. Malik’s horrible scream, I didn’t rush out immediately. I was stunned at first for about a minute or two. I took a moment to think if I had heard right or my hearing was deceiving me.”

“Quit beating about the thicket.”

“It was that moment I was standing rooted in my room when the figure ran past my window.”

Lot stared at him, “If I heard you right, you were telling me that you witnessed what the maid claimed to have seen.”

“Something like that.” Agreed Daniel.

Detective Lot stared at the plan of the house Daniel had drawn for him. He saw that the room occupied by Daniel was at the right side of the house while Gladys’ was at the left, there were two long corridors in-between the two sides as another block of rooms occupied the middle section of this part of the whole building. If it was the same figure that ran past Daniel’s window was the person the maid claimed to have seen, then the runner must have had a hell of a run, considering how large the house was.

Besides, it was a crazy feat to run around the house this way. The maid claimed that the figure ran past her window twice. When he looked up at Daniel, he asked, “How many times did the figure run past you window?”

“Just once. It appeared as though the person was with the deceased when the scream was made. The figure was running from the direction of the front yard towards the back door of the house.”

‘Do you realize that the house has two back doors?”

Daniel nodded. “One was used by the person who ran past my window,” he was hoping the detective would not ask about the name of the figure, “and the other, I suppose, was used by the one who passed by the maid’s window.”

“Is it not possible that it was the same person who ran past both windows?”

From the look on Daniel’s face now, it appeared that the young man had not thought along that possibility, “Oh, no – I don’t think so!”

“Why not?” Lot was studying him.

“That’s simply ridiculous! The runner would be out of breath. Remember, the maid claimed that the figure ran across her window twice. And when I went to the corridor to meet the other members along the way to the front door, I saw the maid with the rest.”

“Who was missing there?”

“I can’t really tell now. We were all panicking and trying to reach where the scream emerged from. But everyone was there when the door was finally opened.”

“Think, Famous, was it everyone?”

‘Yes, everyone – except of course, the baby and the blind mistress.”

“Is that all?”

Daniel pondered and shook his head, “No, there was something else. Some statements were mentioned when we saw the body.”

“What statements? Can you remember?”

“As a matter of fact, I can remember – I’m surprised that I can recall those trivial statements, including those who made them. The first came from the last child of the decased – he looks so small in death – that’s what she said.”

Lot consulted the list in front of him, “Esther Malik said that, right?”

“Right.”

“You have any idea what that means?”

“I think it was an observation. To her, the deceased was shrunken in death.”

“What’s the second statement?”

“The second statement was made by Mr. David Malik himself – he said something about the moon moving to daybreak.”

“ ‘The moon moves slowly but by daybreak it crosses the sky’?”

Daniel beamed, “That’s exactly what he said! It’s a quote, isn’t it?”

“It’s actually a proverb, but it was used in a book. I’m surprised you don’t know the proverb.”

‘I’m just hearing it for the second time, the first time was the night of the murder.”

“Haven’t you read The Gods are not to Blame?”

“I’ve heard about the book but I’ve not read it. I was told it’s a play like Shakespeare’s; an adaptation of the great Oedipus Rex, right?”

“You know the story of Oedipus?”

“Oedipus’ story is quite a popular one – he had an unfortunate fate; he was doomed to kill his own father and then marry his own mother. Isn’t that what the play The Gods are not to Blame written about?”

‘Yes, you’re right. That proverb was used only in the play.”

“Who made the statement in the play?”

“King Odewale.”

‘King Odewale?” repeated Daniel, “A version of King Laius, Oedipus’ father?”

Lot shook his head from side to side, “No, King Odewale was Oedipus himself – the one destined to kill his own father.”

Daniel’s pupils were dilated, “You mean David possibly killed his own father?”

“It’s a possibility. But I can’t conclude on that without speaking with the remaining members of the family. What is the third statement?”

‘The last statement it was; and it was made by David’s wife – she said the deceased won’t be changing his will after all.”

“Will?” Lot frowned, “What will?”

“You didn’t hear about that?” asked Daniel, “I guess I left out that part too. On Christmas eve, Mr. Malik placed a call to one Mr. Okafor.”

“I suppose Mr. Okafor was his lawyer, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Malik called him during the time we were having dinner. He asked him to come the next day. He wanted to have his will changed.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Lot, “The plot is getting clearer now. We’ve got motive.”

“But the lawyer hasn’t showed up. He’s still nowhere to be found.”

“Trust me, he’ll show up. Now that Jamal is dead, it’s imperative that his will be read – it’s so sad that he was not able to alter that will before his demise.”

“All we can say for now is that Mr. Malik was murdered so that he would not be able to change that will.”

‘We shall see,” commented Lot, “Now let’s usher in our first audience today, shall we?”

‘Whom should I call in, sir?”

“Let’s question them according to the list, call in the mistress of the house – Mrs. Hannah Malik.”

“Yes, sir.”

Daniel rose from his seat to summon the widow, but he was called back by Lot when he reached the door.

“Famous.” Lot called.

Daniel turned and found the detective looking at him with bright eyes.

“The figure who ran past your window,” the detective said as he consulted the list in front of him, “It was Remi Johnson, wasn’t it?”

Ladycarol: u are the man ur stories are so uniquely different hope u will publish it ,i will get the first copy well done larry

Thanks a lot, Ladycarol.

I will publish them at the right time.

Thanks again, ma'am.

Adinije: This mafia-woman, hmmm. I make just dey observe.

She's quite attractive.

maputohq:
larry , I'm lost... it's been long. I'll find my way back.

Lol! Bless you, my brother.

Kingso23: wow , now this got me really reminiscing on the kind of life style I've been leading since this past years *** lolzzz in self pity...
Now I've heard humans got souls any after when the vessel must have expired here on earth the soal is got only one out of two places it must go to... ...
Meeennn I don't think I'd like having my dinner with mr Lucifer after then because I've heard alot of vary cruel and nasty mischief perpetrated by him against those who find themselves with him based on the account I've come across in the holy tome of wisdom, ...
No! I don't think that nigger and his miscrants in that fathomless abyss of sulfur are the
ideal fellows to enjoy My enternity with @ the time when all those silly maggots and termites choses the skull of my expired vessel as their ideal avenue for making their silly love after I must have endured a very tenuous time in a world where almost everyone is going psycho, in the midst of of a vary debauched society...
I've also heard that the.white sparkling paradise that holds the promise of enternal pleasure in magnanimous bliss is gated, coded and warded against any unholy creature of any design and the code is for you to adhere to the commandments handed down to humanity by the Holy crator that dwell in that same Pearl city of elegance,...
but meeenn I must confess it's not easy keeping to the laws and commandments in the midst of this virus infested world...
But there's hope because he's made a promise to us,...
So guys abeg make we take style enter church today go see wetin the Almighty Creator of heaven and earth don promise us...

see psalm 27:4 or from one to 4...

just thinking aloud!!!

It's good to know what you're thinking.

God bless you, sir.

Gan gan gan! #inthetuneofnollywoodmovies# Larry u go give person heart attack o!

Fire on