Hello guys, this is a new series 4rm a blogger called Tunde Leye, it's really intriguing.... Enjoy


Tricia lay on the floor, alone in her cell. She had
often heard hilarious stories of cellmates
maltreating newcomers but this had not been the
case. She was alone in her cell and the darkness
was driving her crazy. But even more, she had not
heard anything from her family. She was certain
that her mum must have heard by now and should
have come here to see her. She waited and waited,
and every sound of an approach to her cell made
her jump in anticipation, only to be deflated in
disappointment. Because of this, she did not sit up
when her cell was approached until its door
opened. A very light skinned man she had never
seen before stooped over her and told her they
would be leaving. She was hustled to a van and
cleaned up enroute their journey. The whole drama
in court was like a blur to her and in the daze, all
she heard was the judge saying she should be held
until the case was brought before a competent
court. Again, she was hustled into the van and
taken to the bigger police station at Ojuelegba. She
was led to a small office by the fair man and seated
behind the desk was a man who looked at her
through hooded eyes like she was some kind of
vermin who should be exterminated. He spoke with
an air of disdain.
“I am Olu Williams, and I will be investigating and
prosecuting your case. I will be frank with you. You
will be tried for the dastardly act of cold blooded
murder you committed. Some people will come to
you to try and convince you to complicate this case
by talking about some rape matter. You will be
wise not to listen to them.”
“But he raped me and I didn’t kill him,” Tricia
interrupted. Dudu stepped forward and scowled
menacingly and she cowered but Olu held his hand
up and he stepped back. “Look young woman, I am
trying to help you here. If you keep saying such
things, I will be forced to ask for the maximum
punishment in a murder case. You will hang. But if
you are a good girl and make this and easy case,
there will be leniency in your sentencing.”
Her lips parted like she wanted to say something
but Olu signaled Dudu and this time, he moved
forward and yanked her to her feet by her left
hand. Pain shot into her brain at the suddenness
and force of the action. “That will be all, Miss Abah.
You will be escorted to your cell now. I do have to
prepare your case as soon as possible.”
AIG Saranja looked out of the window in his office.
He hated the police force. The buffoon who was
now IG had no business being superior to the likes
of him. He had been passed over twice now on the
IG appointment. The first time was almost
understandable. The man who had been appointed
then was politically crucial to the balance of power
to the then Yoruba president. He had needed an
Easterner at the helm of the police and army to
balance off the power of some political elites in the
North. It didn’t make it less painful though. But
then, the sitting IG now was another matter. There
was no logical explanation, whether geopolitical
politics, seniority, clout and whatever else you
wanted to consider as to why this clown should be
his boss. And as is typical of such things, once he
was IG, the guy had effectively cut off every
income source he had. He was living on the
goodwill of some senators now, but that wasn’t
living. This Tricia’s case had dropped the answer
into his laps. That boy Olu had a great track record
of convictions and he had personally asked that the
boy be put on the case. No one had protested as it
seemed irrelevant to them. But they didn’t know
what he knew and hadn’t been made the offer he
had been made. The boy had better perform.
Two men landed in Lagos that day, with different
interests in Tricia’s case. The first was Teju Bello,
forensic investigator, tasked with locating some
evidence of foul play that would invalidate the
claims to millions of pounds that Bruno’s widow
now made. The insurance man, Peter had simply
on instinct sensed foul play and Teju thought he
was right.
The other man was Maro Dickson. Something just
wasn’t right. The Tricia he knew was no killer. After
the initial shock after reading that story, he had sat
down to think about the story well and had been
unsettled enough to take some days off work and
come to Lagos. He wanted to see Tricia himself and
interview her. He would know if she was lying. He
would be meeting her aunt in Ikeja shortly. He
gripped his luggage and called one of the airport
Taxis
Kofo had been in the back of Okafor’s magistrate
court and had watched the charade that resulted in
Olu being able to legally hold Tricia indefinitely
now. She was now beyond convinced that Olu was
going to go through with getting this girl convicted
for murder without taking the rape into
cognizance. She was back in her office now and
powered up her laptop. She logged into her email
and downloaded the pictures she had emailed
herself from Tricia’s blackberry before handing it
over to Olu. He had forgotten the power of
technology. It was not like the old days when
evidence could so easily be destroyed
She then penned a memo, indicating the necessity
of doing getting a doctor’s opinion on whether
Tricia was raped the morning she was arrested as
the door had been broken down and the lady had
reported that the victim had raped her in the wee
hours of that morning, and since it was a report of
rape that had brought the police to the scene, she
believed the doctor’s opinion routine. She sent the
memo to Olu’s office and copied the IG and sent
another copy to the Ministry of Police Affairs. She
would see justice done for Tricia. Then she called
Maro
Maro had been enroute Ivie’s when the call came
into his phone. He picked up the call and a voice
that was evidently female but still lower pitched
than most female voices he had heard said “Hello”,
to him.
“Hello, may I know who is speaking?”
“My name is Kofo, and I believe that I’m speaking
with Maro Dickson.”
“Yes, you are,” he said, wondering if this was one
of those 419 callers, “how may I help you?”
“I was the first officer at the site of your friend,
Tricia Abah’s residence when she called for rape.”
“Rape? I thought she was being held for murder?”
Maro was confused.
“There was a murder, and she might have been the
murderer, but there was also a rape, and she was
the victim and the perpetrator of that rape is the
one for whose murder she is being tried now.”
Maro whistled. He had been right, there was more
to this than that blogger had reported. The report
had conveniently left out the rape angle and had
painted Tricia as a vengeful lover. Kofo was still
speaking “she needs a good lawyer, can you get
her one? I know the lawyer prosecuting her well,
and he will extract the maximum penalty if we
cannot get a lawyer that will puncture his case.
And let me tell you, he is very good.”
Maro thought for a second. “I just got into Lagos
now and will be meeting her aunt here in Ikeja.
Where can we meet in like two hours?”
“Where in Ikeja are you meeting her aunt? I’ll join
you.”
“Fantastic. I will text the location to you.”
She hung up and he extracted Ivie’s text and
description of The Place on Isaac John Street and
sent it to Kofo’s number after saving the number.
Olu was livid. That foolish Kofo had set him up.
Now he had to get that doctor’s report and he
didn’t want to take any chances. Good thing was,
the girl was still using a state appointed attorney,
so he could easily arm twist him into using a doctor
of his choice. And he would ensure that the doctor
gave only the report he wanted.
Oloye was by now very worried. His wife hadn’t
called and she was supposed to have gotten to
Lagos since yesterday but he hadn’t heard
anything from her since she left him. He had tried
to call her severally but her number wasn’t going
through. And he didn’t have that nonsense Ivie’s
phone number. He was on his way to the park now
to inquire if the driver had returned from Lagos.
When he got there, there was an unusual crowd.
He approached one of the drivers and asked about
the station wagon. Once he described the vehicle,
the driver’s eyes went to the ground and he shook
his head. Oloye grabbed the man’s shoulders and
asked “what is the problem? En, what?”
The driver answered in pidgin “Oga, that station
wagon get accident for road yesterday. Wetin I
hear be say nobody for the motor survive am”
Oloye’s hands dropped from the man’s shoulders
and his eyes became clouded. With a head hanging
down in remorse, he began to go to the police
station. Suddenly, the weight of his foolishness
dawned on him. He could have paid for air travel,
but rather put his wife in a car and now she was
gone. He could have given his daughter the money
for an apartment in Lagos, but he didn’t. Now she
was in police custody for murder. He was a fool, an
old fool.

episode 1

Tricia Abah was in trouble, big trouble. It had taken her two years of dedicated hunting to find a job and when she did find one, she had become truly desperate. Gone were her lofty dreams of the oil companies. She had eventual settled for an advertising agency, a far cry from the geophysics she had studied. But then, after two years, such finery didn’t matter anymore.

When she moved to Lagos to start her job, her aunt helped her get a temporary accommodation with Bruno, a male friend of hers. Somehow, the months had rolled on each other, and she had been in the house for three months. He was married, but his family was in the UK. He spent most of his time in UK but had a 3bedroom flat in Lagos which was empty whenever he was away. She had gladly moved into the luxurious flat on James Robertson, Surulere. It was mutually beneficial, she took care of the house while he was away, and she had free comfy accommodation in return. Out of instinct, one of the first things she did was to change the lock to the door of her room. That was her saving grace. On that night, she woke up with a start from her sleep, her head thumping. It took her moments to realize the thumping was not inside her head but on her door.

Startled, she tried to remain quiet, assuming robbers were in the house. Then she heard a familiar voice shout from the other side

“Open this door now”.

It was Bruno. “Uncle Bruno, is anything the matter?” she asked, wondering what could be so urgent that he had woken her up like this. She tried to sniff to see if she could smell any burning. Nothing.

In a quieter voice, Bruno spoke “You’ve been living in my house for three months now, at no cost. You should at least make me happy once in a while”.

She was puzzled, as the Warri girl part of her flashed a light bulb in her head. She didn’t want to believe that was what he was demanding for. It couldn’t be. He had been the perfect host and senior brother for months now. He continued shouting “You think I don’t know about you bringing boys to spend the night when I’m away? If you can give it to them, all the more reason I should eat of it. Open this door now; I didn’t even know you changed the lock.”

He didn’t sound like the Bruno she knew. He spoke with a drawl and his polished UK accent had given was to his native Bini accent. He was back to his raw form. She guessed he had been drinking heavily.

“Uncle Bruno, it’s not like that,” she tried to reason with him. “No man has slept here since I moved in; I won’t disrespect you like that.”

“Shut up!!! And open this door now and give me some.”

She knew she was in deep trouble. She checked the time. It was just 2AM and she was alone in this flat with a man who was bent on breaking the door down and raping her. She looked around the room for anything she could defend herself with. She quickly picked the phone and called Aunty Ivie. The phone rang out. She was probably asleep and would not answer her calls. She composed a text message and sent to her mum and Aunty Ivie. The banging on the door kept getting louder. She raced to the window to see if she could get out that way, even though she knew it was an effort in futility. Most Lagos buildings have iron burglary proofs to keep buglars out. This kept her in now.

“Didn’t Ivie tell you?” he barked from outside?

“Tell me what?” she equally shouted her response, the panic evident in her voice now.

She waited for his response. She got deathly silence in return. After she had waited for half an hour and there was no response, and her door remained intact, her nerves totally frayed as she imagined what was going on behind the door and how long it would hold out. She armed herself with the mop handle and locked herself in the toilet, sitting on the edge of the toilet bowl.

Within minutes of locking herself in, he began to batter the door, the thuds echoing in the deathly silence. It was only moments later that she heard a loud thud that could only mean her door had given way behind his relentless battering. She heard him prowl around the room searching for her, scattering her things and gripped the mop handle tighter as if it would spew bullets if he came in. The fact that she could hear him, but not see him seemed to heighten the terror that she felt. All of a sudden, an eerie calm came over the house, the kind of calm that had an audible quietness. And so she waited. It seemed like a lifetime passed as she waited, but it was a mere two minutes. And then the toilet door creaked open. He came in, dangling a key before her eyes, a drunken glint in his own eyes.

She opened her mouth to scream, but he slapped her hard and she tasted blood. The scream was happened only inside her head, her mouth went numb. Before she could recover, he dragged her into the room and pushed her onto the bed. Dazed, she tried to struggle, but all the shoving had disoriented her. There was really little her petite 5 foot 5 frame could do in the struggle against his bulky 6 feet 1 inch. She fell into the bed like a pack of cards. It was only then she realized he was naked from the waist down. Her flimsy nightgown offered no barriers in his way whatsoever. With a pillow he snuffed out her attempts at screaming and almost suffocated her. She would in fact have been suffocated, except for the fact that it was all over in less than two minutes. He shook and convulsed briefly and then rolled off her. Then without a word, the man that had just shattered her world got up and left the room. She lay, motionless, all manner of bodily fluid all over her, numb from within. A part of her recognized what had happened, while another part tried desperately to block it out. She lay in limbo for only God knows how long. The shrill ringing of her phone shocked her back into reality. Her mum had woken up and had obviously seen her alarming text and called back.

She picked the phone and then the floodgates opened and her tears poured out. Her mum was hysterical

“Hello Tricia”.

The only response was her tears.

“Tricia! What is the problem? Why are you crying?”

Still she only cried, unable to say anything.

“Eduvie!” her mum screamed her native name.

“Mummy,” she screamed, “he raped me!”

“What! Who!” her mum exclaimed.

“Bruno,” she responded, through her tears.

“Ha! Ivie has finished me,” her mum wailed. “So this was her plan, this was what she wanted to do to my daughter. It’s 5 already, you must leave that house today. I’m coming to Lagos now myself with your father. Have you gone to the police?”

“Mama! I have been raped just now! No I haven’t gone to the police.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I will call them myself.” The call cut off and the piercing silence returned.

She checked and realized it was really a little past 5AM now. As if the call had broken some jinx, she picked her phone and sent another sms to her Aunt Ivie. She was the one who introduced her to Bruno.

She then used her phone to take pictures of herself in bed, and then pictures of her door, and her scattered room. She took a cotton bud and took a swab of his semen on her body and sealed it in the cotton bud pack as she had seen them do on CSI. Anything might eventually come in handy. She would make sure the bastard paid in full for what he had done to her. Then she called the police and reported the incident.

A little over an hour later there was a barrage of knocks on the front door, and she knew it was the police. Sure enough, the voice called out “It’s the police, open the door.” She sprang from her bed, and raced to the door. She didn’t bother to clean up or get dressed at all. She got to the front door and unlocked it quickly. The police had been wise enough to send a team of three, with one woman in it, and she seemed to be the superior officer. “Is he still in the house?” the woman asked, obvious scorn in her voice when she said he? Tricia nodded, glad that finally, she was not alone in the house with him. The moment she turned to lead them into the house, she let out a gasp. In her hurry to open the door, she had missed it. Now as she turned, she realized she was in real trouble. At the entrance to his room, Bruno lay on the floor, a knife sticking out of his chest. He was dead.

Hey Bolakale, come back frm exile to finish this story nooowww

Laurina David: Hey Bolakale, come back frm exile to finish this story nooowww

i didnt know somebody was reading... ok i will continue now

That's not d beginin of d story na,I've been followin on his blog right 4rm episode 1.

Interesting

Splendblex: That's not d beginin of d story na,I've been followin on his blog right 4rm episode 1.

thats true, i will adjust it very soon

bolakale30:
thats true, i will adjust it very soon

oya do quick o...we're waiting

episode 2

“Could you please allow us pass ma’am?” Inspector Kofo said, getting impatient. The young woman seemed to have frozen in her tracks and was blocking their entry into the house now. Clearly, she could see the bruising of her face and on her wrists, signs she had been in a struggle with someone who was physically stronger than her. She hated men who would descend on women they were supposed to protect and beat them up. But the highest on her hate list was men who raped women. She had been a police officer for fifteen years and had watched less competent male officers rise above her for the simple reason that she was a woman. She had fervently fought against the rule that female officers had to seek the force’s approval in their choice of husband, when no such rule existed for male officers who wanted to get married. Not that she wanted to get married though. She had made her mind up long ago that she didn’t need men. She had adopted a girl and that was it for her. Her antecedents had brought her to the media’s attention, and the police had been embarrassed. The president had ordered the IG to promote her properly and she had gotten to the Police Superintendent rank within two years. And she had become a personal favorite of the First Lady. It was then she floated the idea that she had harbored for years but hadn’t been able to make happen. With presidential support, of course enabled by the First Lady, the Special Rape and Domestic Violence Squad had been formed, with Kofo at its head. When the call had come into the Lagos State Police emergency number that morning, the operator had passed the details on to the detective on night duty, Detective Adams. He had contacted her just as she was getting dressed for work at 6:30AM and she had been in the office fifteen minutes later. Adams and the first detective to resume that morning had joined her to visit the Surulere address that the caller had given.

Now, as she gently moved the lady who had given her name as Tricia aside, her trained eyes quickly fell on the corpse. Adams stayed back to watch over the girl, as she crossed over to the other side of the room in two quick strides with Samuel, the other detective.

Kofo knew the lady was lucky that it was rape that brought them here and hence the SRDV was first on the scene. If any of her colleagues in the regular force had been on the scene, the girl would have been slapped severally by now. She calmly examined the man. The knife was sticking out of his chest, but it was not the first place it had cut him. There were slashes on his hands as if he had been defending himself, and a gash in his neck. She went around the house and she checked every door and window. No sign of forced entry anywhere. The only door that wasn’t intact was the door to what seemed to be Tricia’s room. The house was not scattered, so the assailant hadn’t been looking for anything. Everything pointed to the Tricia. Except that she was a small woman, and it would have taken superhuman strength for her to confront someone the dead man’s size even with a knife. And in her gut, she didn’t feel Tricia was the murderer. The years had taught her to follow that first gut feeling.

She made the necessary call to the station to arrange for the body to be taken in and to let them know that this had moved from an ordinary rape case to a murder case. She turned to Adams “Arrest this woman; she will be going to the station with us.” Immediately, Adams snapped his handcuffs out and they went onto Tricia’s hands. She was too numbed to struggle.

That morning, far away in Bonny Island, Maro Dickson got out of his bed and went through his morning ritual. He had gotten fat in this Bonny. The laid back, all issues handled life was even more than what he was used to at home. And as the last son of Chief Dickson, his life had been real luxury. But this was his first stint at making his own money, and it felt much better than spending daddy’s money, brothers’ money, sisters’ money and all the not-Maro money. It’s not like there was an awful lot to spend money on in Bonny though. He hardly ventured out of the NLNG areas to the poverty ridden city that surrounded the Europe in Nigeria NLNG area of the island.

His morning ritual involved reading his favorite blogs – tlsplace where he would read whatever madness TL had managed to think up, and the Naija gossip blogs for all the juicy gist beyond the shores of his Bonny. The only ish he had with most of the gossip blogs was that they all seemed to have almost the exact same stories and scoops. Whatever, he still devoured them voraciously. The headline screaming at the top of the page seemed promising. It said “Lagos Runs Girl Murders live in lover,” with a warning of graphic images after the cut. Like anyone heeded those warnings at all. He clicked on the link and saw the image of a dark, good looking man who seemed to be in his early forties. Right beside him was another picture of his corpse, with a knife laid beside it. And right below his image was the image of him, a pretty woman and two kids. He guessed that was his family. He wondered why a man with such a cute family would have a live in lover. He always could never understand these things. He sure hoped the image of the lover who had murdered him was there o. He scrolled down and he immediately wished he hadn’t. It hit him in the face like a Hulk Hogan round-kick; he didn’t see it coming and he unconsciously gasped and then exclaimed “Trish!” The image of the young girl in handcuffs in nightwear was none other than the woman his father had said was a good girl from their area, his own Tricia. He replayed the numerous conversations his father had had with him on the matter. His two brothers were separated from their wives and it seemed his father laid the blame squarely on the fact that they had married Lagos and Abuja girls, city girls wey don tear eye, as he would say. Hence the advice that he marry a good girl from their hometown. And here was the same “good” girl shamed for the whole world to see, shagging a married man. And she was now a murderer. He picked his phone and called his father.

That morning, just as the police was entering Bruno’s house in Lagos, Mr. Abah was woken up by heavy knocking on his room door. He wondered which of his wives would have the effrontery to rudely interrupt his sleep like this. He really didn’t have to wonder. There was only one of them who would not wait for him to wake up, but would actually wake him up if she needed to. And he knew better than keep her waiting. Mama Eduvie could bring down a storm if she actually wanted to. She had been his first wife, and was the only one that knew him when he was just Jolomi. Now, he had grown to be a respectable man in his village, acquired a chieftancy title and everyone called him Oloye. Of course, a man of his caliber could not have only one wife. In the period since then, he had added two other wives to his family and they had borne him something Mama Eduvie had been unable to – male children that would carry his name.

“This woman, what is it!” he shouted in his guttural voice from inside the room and he walked to unlatch the door. As soon as he did, she rushed in and he saw she had come for one of the fights he often wondered if she periodically rehearsed. “Oloye, you have done it! You have ruined me!”

“What exactly have I done this time?” he asked, the irritation in his voice evident.

“You have killed my daughter. Because she wasn’t one of your precious boys, you decided to just kill her”

This was one of the things that annoyed him the most about women. He knew Eduvie was not literarily dead, yet she would not just get to the point. “I know my daughter is alive, so what has happened to her?”

“When we asked and begged you to give her some money to get a house in Lagos, you refused, when I know that you had given money to that your foolish new girlfriend to open a salon.”

He was angered now. How dare this woman come and think of telling him how to spend his money? He had trained her daughter in school, hadn’t he tried as a father? “Woman, if the reason you came to wake me up is because you want to quarrel about something in the past, I will ban you from coming here again. Is she now sleeping under the bridge? Abi is she not with Ivie? Is it not better for a young girl to have someone supervising her than to be living on her own in Lagos?”

“See your life?” she said, clapping her hands all around him. “You were so uninterested in your daughter. Ivie could not accommodate her, but arranged for her to stay in one room in her friend’s three bedroom flat.”

Oloye sighed. “So,” he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation “the problem has been solved!”

“Solved ke? Ivie’s friend is a man! And the man raped our daughter overnight!”

Oloye nearly had a heart attack. “What!” he screamed. “How could you let my daughter stay alone in a house with a man who has not paid her bride price and carried wine to our people?”

She was thoroughly disgusted “Is that what is worrying you now? And who let her stay there? Was it not you? If you had given her money, would she have been in a situation that would have made her stay with the man?”

“SHUT UP WOMAN!” he shouted “I always knew that your Ivie was up to no good.”

But she would not be cowed by his display of temper. “You see what your womanizing has done to your daughter. After three women are in your house, you are still using the money you are supposed to take care of your family to pursue that useless bleaching Carol.”

He raised his hand to slap some sense into her but stopped himself and turned towards his cabinet. He picked his phone and dialed his daughter’s number. It rang and rang out. “Now why is this girl not picking her call?” he mused. Then he turned to her and asked “have you spoken with her yet?” “Yes, briefly before I came here.” He went into his safe and brought out some money. “You need to go to Lagos immediately. This is not something you hear over the phone, you must see with your own eyes. I will make sure the fool that laid his hands on my daughter faces the music.”

About 3hours later, Oloye was hurrying his wife to leave for Lagos, when a call came in. “Hello”, the voice from the other end said and he recognized it as Chief Dickson MFR. “Hello Chief,” he said, almost bending over respectfully even over the phone, as if Chief Dickson was there to see him. He, Oloye was a chief majorly in name. Chief Dickson was a chief in name, wealth and power. He had even been endowed MFR, so he had all the right connections. Arranging that his first daughter should marry the chief’s last son had been a coup he was pleased with himself for executing. So when the chief said the next thing, he nearly dropped his phone. Chief Dickson said “We will be coming over to your house to discuss your daughter and our son. We have come upon some disturbing news about her. We will be there by two this afternoon as I’ll be coming from Warri with my wife”.

With that, he hung. He didn’t bother to mention this to his wife. He drove her to the park quietly.

Somewhere in London, a blond haired man’s phone rang.

episode 3

Kofo was furious. This police force was riddled with all sorts of nonentities. How did that blogger get the story, the images and all, lest than an hour after she reported the crime? She was sure one of the crime scene people that responded to her call must have leaked the information to her. But then, since the informant didn’t have the full details, he must have leaked what he thought was the story. There was no mention of the rape issue and it all made the girl look like a crazed lover who had committed murder after some heated argument. And with the way such news spread, she knew it would trend on twitter, the images would be used as BBM display messages and it would have reached halfway across the world in a matter of hours. This Tricia would have a serious task convincing anyone she was raped by the man she was willingly living with.

Ivie was at her wits end. She hadn’t expected Bruno and Tricia to have problems like this. And a huge problem this was. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Bruno was dead. He was really dead. It had been 4years ago that they had stopped seeing each other after he began forming over-possessive. He was a married man, and she didn’t hassle him over it. So she hadn’t expected to be hassled over wanting to have other men to cater to her needs. She wasn’t interested in marrying any of them and end up like her elder sister who gave her all to Oloye only to become old wife. All men were like that, Bruno included. So she had ended the relationship with Bruno but had kept him as a good friend. Now, she couldn’t believe she was parking in a police station to try and get her niece out from being held for his murder. Taju’s voice broke her out of her reverie. He was the real reason she hadn’t wanted Tricia to stay with her. He was the only man she had been in a steady relationship with for over seven years now, and as they would say, he had her mumu button. But knowing Taju, she would not have felt comfy having her fine niece in the house. She had already caught him with two of her friends in the past but he had been forgiven. She doubted she would be able to forgive Tricia if she caught her in bed with Taju. But for all his flaws, Taju was a brilliant lawyer. “I will try what I can, but if they’re holding her for murder, they will not release her on bail. And a lot depends on who is holding her, if it’s the Anti Rape people or the regular police”.

Presently, they got to the Ojuelegba Police Station.

In London, Teju Bello received a phone call that brought a smile to his face. He had left Nigeria as a ten year old and now he was thirty-seven. He had joined the police at twenty-one with superhero dreams of bringing bad guys to justice. What he hadn’t bargained for was the way the system had limited what he could achieve. Now, a little older and wiser, he had left the force and chose to offer his services to more lucrative endeavors. And suspicious insurance companies were some his most lucrative customers. “Nigeria?” he asked, to be sure he wasn’t hearing wrongly. He had been in the business for seven years now, and had never had to go anywhere in Africa. “Yes”, the voice on the other end said. “I’ve emailed the details to you. It’s a black hole to us, we don’t trust anything that comes from there and we need you to go in and get us confirmation of no foul play.”

“You said you got the documents for the claims today?” Teju asked.

“Yes,” the caller responded.

“That’s a tad too quick and seamless, especially for a death that occurred earlier this morning.”

“My thoughts exactly. Sounded a bit too ready. That’s why we need you to look into it.”

“Going to Nigeria will cost a premium.”

“Teju, you’re Nigerian, why should I pay you a premium?”

“I’m sure you couldn’t get anyone else who wanted to go. And anyway, to answer you straight, I’d have to spend the extra cash to get information out. Nothing goes for free there”.

“How much more are we looking at?”

“Four thousand bucks extra”

“Done”

Teju wondered how much the settlement was worth. His extra demand was not even negotiated. But he would only have to wait to read the email. He hated asking for information he could easily get by himself. He hung up and settled down to work.

Oloye received his guests at the gate to his compound. His efforts at hospitality were dampened by the grim faces of the Dicksons. He had set his wives to task to prepare correct starch with banga soup and ordered the sweet red wine he knew the chief liked to be chilled. When his offer of a meal to ensure that tummies were filled before minds were emptied was declined, he knew this visit was no joking matter. When they had sat down, Chief Dickson cleared his throat and said “Let us find somewhere we can talk,” hinting that they should start immediately. He signaled his wives and they cleared the dishes and then left them alone. Chief Dickson was a bear of a man, with a mole on his left cheek that seemed to call for attention. It always took a supreme effort to talk with him without looking at it. And he always took note of those who made that effort. Dame Dickson was just as large as her husband, and beside them, Oloye looked small. Her body language made it abundantly clear to him that he would not find an ally in her today in whatever discussion they had. As soon as they were alone, Chief Dickson launched into proverb-laced conversation “The toad does not run in daylight except it is pursued or pursuing something. No matter how big a matter is, we cannot use a knife to cut it. There is no point throwing the coconut up to break it; we will hit it head on. Our son called us with a grave report today. He tells us your daughter (Oloye noted this. Normally he would say “our wife”) has been arrested by the police in Lagos on murder charges.”

Oloye was dumbfounded. How could his daughter have been the one arrested when she was the one raped? And murder? Something was certainly not right. It took him a few moments to recover from the shock before he stuttered “Chief, I can explain. It is an unfortunate…”

Dame cut in “We have not finished talking!” Oloye felt the heat rise in his face as the woman shut him up. “She was living with the man she killed, and the man was her lover!” she shouted, loud enough for his wives who would be eavesdropping to hear.

Chief turned to face her “woman will you shut up and let me speak.” She scoffed and sank back into her chair as he turned back to Oloye and continued “So, my friend (he wasn’t sounding friendly), can you explain how your daughter, who was supposed to marry my son shortly, was living with a lover in Lagos.”

Oloye was surprised. He wondered how Maro in remote Bonny had heard news of what happened just a few hours ago in Lagos. And as it was with such news, by the time it had reached him in Bonny, it was well distorted. He desperately searched for the best words to manage the situation.

“My in-law, I can explain. Her mother has left for Lagos already to see for us what is really happening.”

“Oloye, you have not answered any of the questions I asked. Was she living with a man, and is she in police custody for the murder of this man?”

Oloye stammered “let me explain. It’s not what it seems.”

Dame again jumped into the conversation, her eyes flashing like car headlamps “Chief, the man cannot deny it. Even the way his eyes shift have already answered it.”

Chief did not bother to reprimand his wife this time. He just stared hard and long at Oloye and then rose. Oloye stood, and attempted to say something but was hushed by the chief, “we will see ourselves out, do not bother.”

The smell inside the police station hung in the air like a secondary ceiling and Ivie could not help but wonder what it would be like in the cell. She often wondered if there had been any improvements on police stations since the colonial times. It certainly didn’t feel that way. Taju was arguing with the DPO presently “My client deserves to at least see her lawyer!” The DPO, a shaggy man in a uniform slightly less threadbare than those of the constable that ushered them in, spoke in a high raspy voice “Mr. Lawyer of the accused killer, you can speak all the English you want, but you will not see her. And she cannot go on bail, since it’s murder we are talking about.” Taju was livid “Even if she killed the president, she has a right to see her lawyer! How can a whole DPO be ignorant of that simple fact?”

The DPO got up menacingly “Oga, if you keep insulting me like this, I will ask them to lock you up for something, anything. You will know that inside cell is not a hotel.”

Ivie was just as exasperated as Taju, but she knew they couldn’t win Taju’s way. “Sir,” she swallowed bile as she called the scrawny DPO sir “I’m pleading with you, let me just see my sister briefly, I can make it worth your while.” The DPO smiled, like a bird of prey sizing her up. She saw his eyes flit over her Peruvian hair, her gold wristwatch and down to her well manicured fingers. He began to rub his hands together “madam, it’s just human sympathy that is making me allow you see her o, if left to this lawyer, you would not see even her shadow. But I like your approach.” Taju wanted to say something and then thought better of it. However it was achieved, they were going to see Tricia and he would hear her version of the events of the night.

Moments later, they were seated opposite Tricia. Apart from her hair looking unkempt, they had at least allowed her wear jeans and t-shirt. When Tricia sat opposite them, Taju spoke first “Trish, I’m really sorry about this, and I’m going to do all I can to get you out of here. But you’ll need to tell me what happened in as much detail as you can remember. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how insignificant you think it is”

Tricia looked from the police officer to Taju and her eyes finally rested on Ivie. “What did he expect you to tell me?” she growled and it was only then Ivie saw the disdain the eyes gazing at her held.

anybody home?