Dear Madge,

I know my letter is the last thing you want to see right now. But take it as the fading heaves of a desperate man. I miss you my love and nothing I repeat nothing can extinguish my love for you. I guess I am also writing this letter hoping some kind of spark can be lighted, you remember our relationship began through a series of letters in college. Haaaaaa, those were the days, me too shy and you all so worldly. I wonder what you saw in me then, oh well. . . .

You know what, rather than me rambling on, I should tell you what I am up to now in the department. A most fascinating and sinister matter I tell you. And you always showed a great interest in my work before my troubles. Yes I know, I am back to doing police work now, and a cracking case at that. I must confess though, the case fell to me because no one would have it. But my oh my, who would have thought I might get a chance in the limelight again and in international circles too. There I was, in my little cubicle doing the crappy desk job I have been doing since getting back when Macpherson called out to me and asked if I were interested in handling a case. You do remember Macpherson don't you. We started out in Scotland Yard together, a real mandarin if you ever met one. No surprise he has advanced in the force a great deal. He took a liking to me but you know these jobsworths have never been to my liking. Gotta hand it to him though. He has got me out of a real pickle. I was dying ever so slowly in the bloody cubicle.

I really need to stop rambling on ever so much. . . .  Okay, so the case.

So Macpherson drops the file on my desk, and tells me there is a suspicious death in Peckham. You know Peckham don't you. Out there in South London. yes, the location for Only fools and Horses, the Del boy show. Well, it sure has changed from Del Boy's days. Swarming with Nigerians now. Their own little enclave. I bet seeing it would bring out the Maggie Thatcher in you. It still amazes me how we got along so well considering how far apart in the political spectrum we were. Me so liberal and you so conservative.

Anyway, Macpherson tells me there is a death in Peckham and the department had its hands full, and he knew how eager I was to get back on the beat The latter was a lie though. I knew both Simpson and Jackson had some minors on their hands but were capable of taking on one more homicide. But I wasn't complaining.

The victim was Nigerian as you might have guessed, his passport says he was 22, but he looked a lot older by my reckoning. And apparently Nigerians have a habit of err shall we say augmenting their ages. One of their compatriots told me the whole football national team reviewed their ages downwards. You were never much of a footy fan, but you might know a Nigerian Premiership player called Kanu. Used to play for Arsenal. Well, his official age is 32, but my tells me his real age is north of 40.

Well our victim had no footy ambitions to my knowledge. He was in Britain illegally in fact, and had been for three years. Came on a student visa to study Accountancy at a sham of a college in Euston, but never bothered to leave. He was lodging in the council flat of a compatriot Nigerian, a middle aged woman who couldn't stop crying when I went to question her. It was a three bedroom flat with the last room unoccupied. I reckon her second tenant took to their heels at the slightest hint of trouble. Probably illegal too.

The victim, oh I see I forgot to tell you his name, curious name as well, Boniface Heineiken, his passport said. Not very African I am sure you are thinking. My informant tells me a section of the country have a penchant for taking European names. Their Vice President, another man from that section of the country he tells me is called Goodluck Jonathan. Don't know if this info would come in handy on those quiz shows you used to like so much.

Back to the case. . . .How did the victim die I am sure you are eager to know. Well, surprise surprise, he was the victim of a stabbing. What an anticlimax you must be thinking. A black victim of a stabbing in South London, probably one of the expected minimum of twenty, one would expect in a year in that part of London. Well, so I thought as well. I did the usual police work. Placed a board appealing for witnesses, but it was going to be hard getting anyone to come forward of course. You know how suspicious people in such areas are of the police. So I did not expect much help. Plus the scene of the crime was one quiet street, an open ended cul-de-sac if you could imagine one. And there was no CCTV help. I know what you're thinking again. Places like Chelsea and Knightsbridge have a camera for every corner while crime ridden areas have none. Just ease up on the liberal bashing okay.

I was pretty much at a dead end with the case. The victim had not much contact with the outside world apparently. A bit of a hermit his landlady told me. Was addicted to his laptop computer she said, always hunched over it, even took it with him when he went to the loo. She suspected he was one of those scammers Nigerians are notorious for, but who was she to interfere. She needed the rent to help her people back home in Africa. Some activity on his account gave some support to her suspicions. There had been consistently some money going into his account, cash transactions as well, on average about a thousand pounds. Of course the last thing Macpherson wanted was an inquiry that would take an international dimension.
It was looking increasingly necessary though, to tie up the loose end about the payments into his account. At the time I thought it was possible, he had a rich family or benefactor in Africa who sent him money through wire transfer or a third party.

But two days before I was to give Macpherson an update, the case took an intriguing twist. I was sitting in the office, working on the word processor, when my phone rang. It was an international call from Nigeria no less. A ''Detective Inspector Burukutu'' asked if I was in charge of a murder investigation of the death of a Nigerian citizen, Boniface Heineken. I replied in the affirmative. He suggested he had important information that might help my investigation. Of course I was eager to hear what a policeman in Nigeria might possibly know to help solve a case in a damp street in the south side of London.

He informed me, he was also working on a case in Nigeria that might be linked with mine. Apparently, there had been a series of murders in Nigeria, all the victims linked by a particular website, Koboland.com. A popular forum like website noted for its virulent pontificating members, the victims had all been habitual visitors to the forum, as had Boniface Heineken. He told me he suspected all the victims including Heineken were murdered by another member on the forum, a serial webster if you like. He also told me one of the victims was the child of a very powerful man in the Nigerian government, hence the urgency which the Nigerian police attached to the case. We ended our conversation, promising to keep in touch and co-operate to resolve the case.

Wow, can't believe how much I have written already Madge. I guess I should give it a rest now. I hope you are as entranced by the case as I am or maybe not. I presume I have been bored for so long and am glad for any work. In any case, do let me disturb you with more details of the case in subsequent letters. I hope its not too much to ask.

Goodbye My Love.

Yours,

Dickie

looking forward to more letters.

Dear Madge,

Oh Madge . . . .I write to you in a most excitable state. I apologise in advance for my subsequent ramblings. But I cannot hold my excitement. This case really has got me going. I am currently in Lagos, the former capital of Nigeria. Yes Madge, not on some impromptu holiday but for the purpose of the murder. I hope you are not too jealous, but it is north of thirty degrees outside and I am on the verandah of a hotel not too far from the major airport here. Don't worry, it is not as busy as Heathrow or anything, so the noise levels are pretty manageable.

I am at a loss as to how to continue. Ah yes, I think I should take it from the phone call I received from the Nigerian detective Burukutu. Well, I remember writing I had to report to Macpherson. You can imagine he was aghast at the dimensions the case was taking. Last thing the Yard wanted was an international spectacle with all the diplomatic shenanigans that came with it, and in the cyber world no less. He initially told me to sit on the file for a bit, leave it open ended and maybe things would cool off. I was disappointed of course. I had gone all quixotic dreaming of a working vacation in the tropics. All dashed with a dismissive wave of Macpherson's hand it seemed.

But Oh Madge, dreams do come true I tell you. Barely the next day, Macpherson sends word for me to see him in his office and there and then he asks if I would consider going to Nigeria. The case was being pursued aggressively by the Nigerian police with one of their victims being a scion of a ''big man'' as they called it. The Police in Nigeria were going to play up to the ''big man'' they had help from Scotland Yard to help investigate the murders. And there I was, on my way to Nigeria in pursuit of a cyber murderer.

Err Madge. . .I think I should stop here now and start on my next letter with my arrival in Nigeria. An artistic delineation you might say hahahahaha.
Don't be impatient, you will be getting my next letter in a hurry.

Bye for now Darling.

Yours

Dickie

I too am looking forward to where all this is leading . Very well-written and richly worded .

Hmm, who'da thought it? You actually write passably well, I like the letter concept. Now I'd like 2 see how the investigation progresses. . .please make it believable, big ups.

Dear Madge,

I hope you are not still seething from the abrupt manner with which I ended the last letter. But you remember I had this furtive cheekiness, one of my attributes you found so irresistible. Okay, enough of the cheesiness. The case has gotten no less interesting, as a matter of fact, events have moved on so rapidly, I had better get a head start to bring you up to speed.

I was met at arrival on Lagos by Inspector Burukutu, the chappie who called me in London about a connection between the murders in Lagos and London. He is an agreeable enough chap. Things can get a bit awkward sometimes you know Madge, with the accents and all. But rather than Burukuta ask me to repeat stuff he doesn't understand like I do, he chooses to laugh irritably instead. Accents aside, he has been a nice enough guide shall I call it. Its hard to define who is in charge here to be honest. There are not the most organised force, the Nigerian Police, despite Burukutu's efforts to be as helpful as possible.

I am sure it has crossed your mind already how the the connection was made between the London and Lagos murders. The connection wasn't made by the local police here actually. It was all stitched together by the owner of the Koboland.com website, one Jeun Okuwa, in his mid twenties, and meant to be some kinda hot budding entrepeneur. He made sure I knew it too.

Burukutu arranged a meeting with the Mr Okuwa the day after I came. He assumed I had questions I might want to ask him. Which was fair enough really, as I did have many questions from the file Burukutu had sent over to London prior to my coming to Lagos. You can tell Burukutu had put a lot of effort into the dossier, but even you dear Madge could pick holes in the methods of these police force.

Ah now. . .before I tell you about how my meeting with Mr. Okuwa went, I should give you a background on the state of affairs as it were in Lagos. There are three murders in total. And all victims had been habitual devotees of this koboland website. Let me now give a detailed description of each of the victims and the circumstances surrounding their demise:


The first was a female in her twenties named Diana Ebulemolo ( i shall simply refer to her as Diana now for obvious reasons). Her username on the

website was Sisi-gee. She suffered multiple stab wounds according to the report, and was found dumped in a quiet street in the city. (If you ever

were to visit lagos, I am sure you will find it as preposterous as I do to attach quiet with the city at all. The din is unrelenting). From the autopsy

report she must have been dead a few days, probably moved from the scene of the murder before getting dumped on the side street. Her username

on the website was Sisi-gee. Burukutu also noted her family was of middle class stock, Father was a lecturer and Mother was some sort of business

lady. She had also just finished some kind of compulsory youth service Nigerian graduates are meant to pass through after graduating from

University, so called by the acronym N.Y.S.C.


The second victim was male, in his thirties called Emeka(I think I had better omit the surnames from now, this one will literally have you cutting your

tongue). His username on the website was 6play. Also the victim of a stabbing, he was found in a hotel room in the middle of Lagos, and not just

some seedy hotel, but the local Sheraton, one of the top three hotels in the city. You can imagine the location led to a bit of publicity in the papers.

Coupled with the status of the victim. Unemployed and living in one of the unsightly parts of the city, suspicions were aroused as to how he could

afford such lodgings albeit temporarily.


The third victim was female, a lady by the name Desiree and the primary reason why I am here. Her username on the website was Lady Eko. Her

father has been a mainstay of governments past and present in Nigeria through which he had accumulated not a little wealth and a lot of clout.

Ironically she was found in a part o ftown someone of her status would not nominally be, and right on the outskirts of the city. She had only just

returned from finishing graduate studies in Birmingham as well, so the father was especially distraught, as she was quite a favourite. She was also a

victim of a stabbing, and in Burukutu's words, of the quite 'gruesome' variant.



Well Madge, those are the sketchy details from down here. I am going to be cheeky again and pause for breath here. I will get to the very
interesting Jeun Okuwa in my next letter.

Yours

Dickie

I luv d creativity. Lukin 4ward 4 d nxt letter abt mr jeun okuwa hehehe wHaT a FiCtIoN

Impressive  . Lol @ Sisi-gee and Jeun Okuwa . . .
I will be watching  .

spikedcylinder:

Rubbish writing, rubbish letters, rubbish everything. I think you should look into a career as agbepo instead.

I prefer the ones from Shane. I love Shane. Everybody loves Shane.

@spiked: What r we gonna call this one? Bad belle or just plain aproko? Nawa for u o, i expected better from you, really.


@doyin: Please keep it coming. You aint no Grisham or Stephen King, but i love it all the same. "But rather than Burukuta ask me to repeat stuff he doesn't understand like I do, he chooses to laugh irritably instead. . . . " - exactly the kinda response a typical naija cop would give.

Nice one there, Dickie.

But what year was this? I doubt anyone writes letter in college.

Its called e-mail, baby!

.keEp it c0ming!. . .i cnt wait to c where it al endz. . .lol.

spikedcylinder:

Lol. Ok, Kay.

Apology acceped _{(on behalf of doyin13 )}, but forgiveness not yet granted. The requirements for COMPLETE absolution: 4 live cockerels (white), 11 big tubers of yam (the Amiacha variety), 35 alligator pepper (sun-dried), 4-and-half bales of Hollandies (you better find out what it is!), and a white envelope containing a $500-worth Bank of America-issued credit card (this last one was added recently after a member of our elders' council came back from a visit to his son in America, say thankya)

lol y did i not see this earlier.

sisi gee huh?

bawomolo:

lol y did i not see this earlier.

sisi gee huh?

bcoz u ar puttin on a black speck.

Dear Madge,

Its me again you must be thinking. But you will not be surprised either, I have maintained a certain doggedness where you are concerned from way back in college. I know my case as it is might be viewed as some form of entrapment. Feed her little morsels and slowly but surely she will come back into your world. There might be some truth to that. In the far recesses of my mind, such cunning might have played out. Though I would rather believe it is the re-establishment of communication lines between soul mates.

I know I sound different too. You must be wondering why my cockney antecedents (I surprise myself too, who would have thought I will be using words like ''antecedents'') are not too evident in my letters. Blame or praise the Nigerians, whichever one you choose. Honestly sometimes I suspect they keep a little pocket dictionary where their wallet should be. Blimey, they sure do use the most obscure and complicated words. An Englishman from the very heart of England, Stratford-upon-avon even, might proffer ''Madge is so beautiful. A Nigerian would offer ''Madge's beauty has a peregrinating shimmering quality of colossal proportions''. Madge I kid you not.

Thankfully, the example I just gave might be extreme. Mr. Jeun Okuwa, the party to whom much of this letter is devoted is made of more sensible stuff. Perhaps too sensible for his own good. Burukutu initially told me he arranged the meeting when I first arrived in Lagos. I later found out it was actually our Mr. Okuwa who suggested the meeting. It was more evidence of Mr. Okuwa err taking the lead in a police investigation. You remember I told you, it was he who made the link between the murders and informed the police.

We met in a choice hotel on the Island part of the city. I have since discovered, the police are using every opportunity to rack up the expense account of our ''big man''. I can't fault them here though. The police facilities here are pretty dire. They don't need interrogation rooms either. They know how to get confessions from suspects in close quarters. I probably am not being fair to the chaps. I thought the tightfists at Whitehall were destroying the force with their gross underfunding but we don't have it a single per cent as bad as these guys. Couple that with the really horrible stuff they must face. Really horrible criminals.

Okay enough of my digressions. One of the things you first notice about Mr. Okuwa are his eyes. Big robust eyeballs steady in the socket and in their gaze. They held something of a challenge, daring you to blink first. He sat right opposite me in the booth with Burukutu right alongside me in a sort of spectator pose. As we shook hands, Okuwa and I, his eyes never left mine. I have to admit, I found it somewhat unsettling. I will try to recount as best as I can now, how the meeting went.

''Good Afternoon Detective Dick McCrackles'', he greeted. I hope you notice the deliberate formality. His accent wasn't very thick either, not like most Nigerians. It was quite regal, straight from the spires of Oxford or Cambridge.

''Please Mr. Okuwa, we would be here all day if you insist on addressing me that way,'' I replied with a slight chuckle, trying to splice the air with some humor. ''Everyone calls me Dickie''. Of course I was expecting him to reply in kind and give me some appellation (gosh, I am a honorary Nigerian) for me to address him. Kinda like Burukutu who I have called B.K since we met.

He shrugged his shoulders in reply, like it didn't really matter to him. He sat straight backed and of course with the unflinching gaze.

''So, Mr. Okuwa, I hear you have been quite the detective''.

''Is that a question?'' he asked.

I guess I was taken aback momentarily with the continued formality. Really, I know I might be harping on a bit about formality this formality that, but you have to understand, you notice the relaxed demeanour of the average Nigerian once you get off the plane. From the customs to the restauranteur, there is a laid back atmosphere. But not our Mr. Okuwa.

''No, more like a compliment.''

''Well, I guess I should say thank you.''

''Hmmm. . . .well that would not be necessary.'' At this juncture, I decided to give up the whole try-to-break-the -ice-approach. I doffed my toughie police hat dismissing the fact I was on foreign territory.

''You see,'' I continued and leaning forward with my elbows on the table, ''Its not often one meets a real life Poirot.'' At this he sort of half grunted half shrugged his shoulders. I keenly felt his challenge again. I surmised he expected something more from the cop out of town, from the world famous Scotland Yard.

''You told the police all the victims were moderators on your forum?''

''Yes. Like it is in the statement and dossier I prepared for the police. The one I see in front of Inspector Burukutu.'' I could see Burukutu flinch slightly from the corner of my eye. I ignored his condescension and delved on.

''How does one qualify to be a moderator then?''

''I look for certain characteristics. Integrity mostly. Integrity assures me the individual will work hard to keep the forum clean, assure me the moderator can handle him or herself with respect at all times, assure me they can carry out simple instructions.'' He paused after this err shall I call it bossy speech before adding for good measure,'' unfortunately, you will have noticed we Nigerians are not one to possess such a quality, so I pretty much picked the best of a bad bunch.''

What I intended to be an informal chat had turned thoroughly uncomfortable. I felt like I was in the lone communist in the middle of a fascist gathering trying to convert them to my cause. The chap had that kind of effect. I could see Burukutu shifting uneasily too, which was eerily reassuring.

''You say these moderators are meant to keep the forum clean, I assume you mean the language on the site, etcetera?'' He gave his bored shrug again and then nodded.

''I also hear it gets very lively on these forums with opinions and stuff. . . .yours was no different was it?''

''Well. . .my site is rated the number one website of any Nigerian character. As at the time I left home, the membership count was just under half a million members of which about two hundred thousand are unique. Add to that our country is made of diverse tribes of opinions, so yes Detective, it is a safe assumption things can get a little out of hand sometimes.'' Really Madge, the written word cannot nearly convey the dismissiveness of the young man's tone.

''And I guess you want to ask me if it got lively enough to cause someone to kill four fellow forum members, three in Africa and one thousands of miles away. My answer to that is yes, it can get that lively, but good luck to you, trying to sieve through all the data and determining which one of the people they had differences with could possibly be mad enough to want to kill them.'' His voice had gone up a notch now, and I noticed the first register of searing emotion on his face. There was some silence now between us three, Burukutu looking down at his locked hands, seemingly impervious to the tension enveloping the table.

I decided to play him at his own game, and we just sat there, two of us staring at each other. I don't know if he felt his queer definition of integrity was being assaulted, because he decided to stare at his watch. I pretended not to notice and continued staring.

I guess it got too much for him and he asked testily, ''So would that be all Detective?''

''Not quite Mr. Okuwa.'' I leaned back in my chair now. ''I am still trying to understand how you fit into all this.''

''How do you mean?''

''Whats with you Mr. Okuwa. You sound all so worked up about these murders.''

''Its about integrity detective. One cannot stand still and watch while things go wrong. Its how our country got to be the way it is. Very few men of integrity.''

''Hmm. . '' I looked searchingly at him now. ''How close were you to the victims?''

''Not very close. It was largely by chance my coming up with the link between murders. I used to convene meetings between all the moderators say once a week to see how everyone was doing and knock heads together to come up with ideas improving the site.'' He had noticeably mellowed now. My meeting his challenge had seemed to calm him down. ''But sisi-gee, 6play and Lady Eko were repeatedly absent. I sent them emails threatening to deny them moderator privileges but still received no reply.''

''I notice you are using their online usernames. How did you recognise them with their real names in the media?''

'' Detective. . . .I treasure my site immensely. . . ''

''I can tell,'' I interjected.

He ignored my interruption and continued. ''. . . .it provides an opportunity for many of my compatriots to be in a vibrant community. There are many challenges our country faces, and I feel it is my responsibility to try to keep the site going. keep the interest going and all. So I take it upon to myself to know my members, especially the more active ones very well''.

''Hmmm. . .what is starting to concern me is maybe you knew them too well.''

The import of what I just said wasn't lost on him of course. He gave a chuckle now and simply raised his hands palms outwards like he didn't have anything to hide. It was only then I noticed the book that had been under his right palm.

At that moment, he looked at his watch and announced he had to leave as he lived on the outskirts of Lagos and wanted to avoid Lagos at night. Some of the formality was gone now, but I still considered him a git.

As he walked away, I called after him, ''I suspect we will be seeing a lot of each other Mr. Okuwa''.

To which he turned back and winked, ''Wouldn't have it any other way Dickie.'' before he disappeared into the hotel courtyard.

And there Madge is a summary as best as I can of my first meeting with dare I say the sinister Mr. Okuwa.

I think I should let my pen lapse here now. Recalling and writing has really taken a bit out of me and I am not one to write and come back to it the next time. I like to pour all I have at one sitting.

Oh before I go, you remember the book I saw with our Mr. Okuwa. It was the singular classic by Martin Debosky, the Russian American author. You know the one that trailed a murderer while the latter was on his murder trail. You remember it later emerged he was the provocateur of the murderer back then.

Oh well. . .Thats all from me for now. Bye Dear.

Yours

Dickie.

This letter 2 long bt d story is bcumin real

What can I say?? This is so funny!! And very good. Let Jeun catch you .

To be honest, it's quite an interesting read o. Jeun's facial description has got to be the funniest thing I've read in a long time. Apart from the first few lines, there's really nothing to trash errr critique here. You're lucky. I dare you to keep me enthralled with subsequent letters.

''I look for certain characteristics. Integrity mostly. Integrity assures me the individual will work hard to keep the forum clean, assure me the moderator can handle him or herself with respect at all times, assure me they can carry out simple instructions.'' He paused after this err shall I call it bossy speech before adding for good measure,'' unfortunately, you will have noticed we Nigerians are not one to possess such a quality, so I pretty much picked the best of a bad bunch.''

You really could start writing plays(theatre) like Bola Agbaje you know.
Very nice put together

Doyin, you're open to criticism right? Cos there's stuff I want to point out, wouldn't want U 2 take it the wrong way.

ravenzord:

Doyin, you're open to criticism right? Cos there's stuff I want to point out, wouldn't want U 2 take it the wrong way.

lol. . .of course. I write these 'things' off the cuff without any care for structure or stricture.

Its all for fun.

Hmm. . .

U don start ur torey, storyteller

Interesting

I am speechless. . .completely and utterly loss for words. How did I miss this??!!!!

Doyin is simply AMAZING!!!

Sisi_Kill:

I am speechless. . .completely and utterly loss for words. How did I miss this??!!!!

Doyin is simply AMAZING!!!

Sisi. . .make fun of me oo.

Your sarcasm is not called for 

kill 'em . . . . kill 'em all

doyin13:

Sisi. . .make fun of me oo.

Your sarcasm is not called for 

kill 'em . . . . kill 'em all

oh hush up and accept the compliment!

Sisi_Kill:

I am speechless. . .completely and utterly loss for words. How did I miss this??!!!!

Doyin is simply AMAZING!!!

i couldnt find the bowing down emoticon so this will do
good lord doyin where have u been hiding this?

doyin13:

Sisi. . .make fun of me oo.

Your sarcasm is not called for 

kill 'em . . . . kill 'em all

What you "hear" is Admiration not sarcasm.

This is BRILLIANT!!

[size=3pt]Yeah, let's Kill Them ALL  [/size]

bluespice:

oh hush up and accept the compliment! i couldnt find the bowing down emoticon so this will do
good lord doyin where have u been hiding this?

Thank you sis!

Was gonna use the the bowing down emoticon because I don't wanna give him a big head. . .ya know but here you go.

Wow!

Dear Madge,

Errr. . .I feel awkward at the start of this letter. I write these long epistles without any assurance you actually read them. It is highly likely you throw every letter with any kind of African insignia into the bin once it passes through the letterbox. Regardless, it is only right I make the proper salutations. I hope the London winter hasn't been as harsh as last year's. Lagos is experiencing its own coldish season with the arrival of the harmattan. While I am grateful for the respite from the humidity, there seems to be literally dust floating in the air. No  surface is left untouched sentient or otherwise. And I am ever so tired of rubbing balm on the lips to relieve the chappiness. But you must think me an ungrateful sod. Here I am basking in twenty degrees plus temperatures and still running my gob. Haa. . but it is the nature of man isn't it. Never satisfied.

Talking about satisfied, there has been some grumbling in Lagos lately from very high quarters. Remember the 'big man' bankrolling this investigation. Well, he has been on the edge lately, and giving it to everyone within an earshot in the police department, more often than not Burukutu. I can't help but feel for the man. You can tell, he has risen the ranks in a profession he is ill suited for. The other officers have a certain edge to them as they reek of the errr ''streets''. I have seen more than one or two in dark corners at headquaters, talking in silent tones, probably negotiating one bribe or the other. With their bloodshot eyes, testament to long sessions smoking joints or drinking the local alcoholic brew, one understands why Lagos has such a tatty security reputation.

But all this is of no interest to our ''big man'' of course. In Nigeria, money talks. Human beings are bought and sold, whole cities erased and new ones built and governments fail and . . . well they have never succeeded have they, with the exchange of a few wads of cash. So our ''big man'' with his filthy lucre expected this filthy business to be summarily disposed of, and punishment handed out to whoever dared deprive him of his daughter.

At this juncture, I should make a confession. Macpherson put me on this case in order to simply make it go away, to keep it hush hush. To my surprise, it occured to me not long after arriving in Lagos, many of my new Nigerian partners had thesame disposition as Macpherson. You see, investigations in Nigeria follow a particular pattern. In the event of a crime, the police looks for people in the immediate vicinity when they belatedly arrive at the scene of a crime and round up everyone that remotely looks suspicious. They look for the usual clues. Bloodshot eyes, inadequacy in the English language and the clincher, the presence of a collection of individuals. These are all for public crimes, for ones in private quarters, discretion is left to the participants. No questions are asked so long as enough is paid to buy silence. This case did not fit the bill. They were no suspects they could lay their hands on, they were no criminally minded sort lurking in the shadows. Cyberworld might as well be in Timbuktu for all they cared. So the onus was all on me, and they would watch the white witch doctor perform his magic.

Burukutu though was of different ilk from his colleagues,  A man of hitherto high ideals, you can literally see the cynicism emanating from his pores and in his comportment. Many shrugs of the shoulders and spreading of his arms in a helpless manner testify to the years, as he watched any sense of purpose seeped or decency seeped out of the Police he once believed in. Initially reluctant to open up to a foreigner, he slowly grew to trust me and recounted tales upon tales of corruption you can only imagine going all the way to the top of the tree itself. I grew to like him very quickly because in many ways, we shared thesame fate. Outcasts, maladjusted to a system that does not forgive.

So I was hurt as I watched the big man berate Burukutu over the lack of improvement in the case. We had gone to see him in his palatial home in the choice part of the city, or I should say Burukutu had gone to see him and I decided to tag along despite my partner's objection. Now I understood why he did not want me to watch his man-shaming.

''You are a slowpoke Burukutu,'' said the big man.

''Sir, we are putting all our efforts sir into the case, we have. . . .''

''Don't give me that nonsense my friend'', the big man interrupted, ''You think I will let you waste all the money I have put into this thing without any results. Look my friend, if by next week, you don't start giving me names and suspects, I will deal with you in a way you will not like.''

''Sir, we are really trying our best . . . . ''Burukutu kept repeating.

''Your best my foot,'' he interrupted again.''What more do you need, I got you a white man,'' he said this without looking to my direction, ''I gave your supervisors tons of money and yet nothing.''

He was practically foaming at the mouth. And you got the impression, he was a master of the art. Many before Burukutu had been subjects of this manner of deprection and by all indications many will come after. But I got the urge, and couldn't hold myself.

''With all due respect sir, I think you should calm down and let the police do their job.'' I said.

He appeared,nay he was shocked at my interjection. I was not meant to speak unless spoken to.

''Excuse me. . .'' he stammered out.

''Sir, I think you are underestimating the complexities of this case.''

''The complexities unh?''

''Yes, this is no ordinary case. Governments around the world are grapling with cyber crimes and its sophistication. Your police are making do in a not too favourable environment.''

I waited for a reply but none was forthcoming. He was looking at me, sizing me up. Then he sighed,

''You know what some young lark of a journalist nicknamed me?''

''No idea.''

''Well, am surprised Burukutu hasn't educated you. I was nicknamed Jackal the Hannibal. Apparently I was gruff, rude, impatient, loquacious etcetera.''

''Errr. . .Okay.'' I was a bit lost but I indulged him.

''But you will agree I have not been rude to you Detective McCrackles, '' he said as he sat up in his throne-ish seat. ''Even when you rudely interrupted a few moments ago, I let your indiscretion pass.''

''I don't think I was rude Sir. . . I was just. . . ''

He raised his hand to silence me.

''Its okay. This case isn't about me but finding the man who murdered my daughter.''

''Why are you so sure it was a man?''

He looked at me askance, then at Burukutu. And suddenly both burst out laughing, while I just sat there looking at them explore their mirth. We left not too long after. He walked us to our car before retiring. As the gateman opened the gates, he knocked on the passenger side window. When I responded, he passed a note to me before walking away not saying a word.

The note read: Hello Detective McCrackles. I told the gateman to pass this note to you. My name is AdeAbeke, sister to Desiree. Please meet me at Eko Hotel on Wednesday at 6pm. I was an active member of koboland and might be useful to you in your investigation.

There you have it Madge for now. I know this letter really did not offer too much in terms of say the eccentric Jeun Okuwa but I am hopeful this lady Abekeade might offer something when I meet her.

Errr. . . I guess its bye for now.


Love You

Dickie



''