₦airaland Forum

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