₦airaland Forum

Flakeey: haha
which kain thing be dis naaa?

Abel is Hannah's first son...
Abel's mother died the day Cain's mother died in the same hospital *confused*
and is it not, another Abel dat was forced to sleep with his sister?
how many Abels do we have now? 3? *scratcheshead*
wo, Larry come back and clarify things here o.. i'm running out of patience...chaiiiiiiiii

Larry...3 gbosas for you
weldone man

Lol! Are you really this exciting? Chaiiiiii...lol!

bigsholly: The family where cain made the brother to rape the sister hmmmm so the sister name is hannah if am not mistaken. The vail of the story is removing small small. Larrysun weldone oooooooo

The sister's name is not Hannah, it's Ruth.

Flakeey: not at all boss
morning sire

and why is Daniel overprotective of Remi? abegy jor..Lot is too wise, i knew he would find out..the old man is good

*still reading*

Daniel loves Remi. Sometimes, we fall in love with the wrong people. I'm speaking from the detective's perspective.

It's one thing to have good ideas, it's another to work on them.

ezeigbo194: Fire on

Okay, my good friend. I'm honoured to still have you by my back.

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

Lol! You're such a darling. I remember that tune well. Lol!

Flakeey: [i][/i]the most maddening part of the madness

lol...Larry will not kee me o

let me continue reading

LOL! I hope the phrase isn't censored. You always make me smile with you rather hilarious comments.

Good morning, ma'am.

kaylasparkz: Kudos Larry,dis story is a masterpiece and has kept me on my toes.pls update ASAP!

Thanks bro. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

EIGHTEEN

Mrs. Hannah Malik was ushered into the investigation room with the assistance of Daniel Famous. She was dressed in flowing white gown – she wore nothing but white; white gown, white veil, white shoes, white wristwatch and white-rimmed spectacles. She only needed white wings to become an angel – an old angel. She looked amazing. As she stepped into the room through the door, the light from outside in the background made her seem to radiate halo, like a saint. But as she walked in, she appeared to be in a state of what seemed to be bleakest dejection.

Lot stood up from where he sat and drew out a chair for her. She thanked him warmly for his kind gesture before sitting down. Mrs. Malik looked majestic – like a queen. There was an aura of respectfulness about her; an honour that was pleasant to behold. The first thing Daniel noticed about the woman was her hands. They were the most elegant hands he had ever seen, slender and long-fingered, and as supple as those of a young girl. Her wrinkled face was somewhat squarish, no more as beautiful as it would have been in youth, but it was disturbing and vivid in the way that makes you think of old times even when you do not know what times.

“Do not mind my attire,” she told them, not smiling. “I’m a widow, and I prefer mourning my husband’s death in white, rather than the common black.”

“Isn’t that a bit inappropriate? Lot said, “Black is regarded the normal colour for mourning.”

“I don’t like wearing black, I only forced myself to wear it on the day of my husband’s burial. I’m not planning to wear it for the next one month or so, I’ll rather wear white – a colour of purity.”

Lot shrugged at this. It wasn’t his place to argue with the widow. It was her decision. Whatever colour she preferred to use in mourning her husband wasn’t any of his business. His business here was to find out who killed her husband.

“You look great in white.” Daniel complimented. He noticed again the grey hairs on her head which were quite visible now; and he supposed her deceased husband had put it there with his paint brush of misery. He felt sorry for her. She wore bitterness as though it were a crown.

“I look great in every colour, that’s what people say.” Hannah replied him grimly.

“I intend having a conversation with you, and this is as good a place as any to investigate your husband’s death,” Lot said, “I shall have to ask you a number of questions.”

“As you wish.”

“I’ll need to know if it’s okay by you.”

‘Of course, my husband’s death must be investigated. He cannot just die in vain, and I’m relying on you to bring the truth to light.”

“I’ll be asking you some questions, Mrs. Malik, I’ll need you to answer all the questions with utmost sincerity. Some of those questions may be personal, but I assure you that I won’t ask them if I don’t feel they are important in the investigation.”

“Okay, I’ll co-operate as much as I can. Just don’t ask me if I saw anything.”
Lot smiled, he was beginning to like the woman. She seemed both clever and intelligent.

“Mrs. Malik, for how long have you been married to your husband?”

“Over thirty-eight years. Please call me Hannah.”

“And what a lovely name is Hannah. Did you know it is derived from the Greek? It translates, ‘God has favoured me’.”

“I know. I was the only child of my mother.”

‘On the night of the unfortunate incident, did you hear anything?”

“I heard a very loud scream – the scream was a shriek, a very strange noise like a shriek.”

Lot looked at her sharply, then he nodded and asked, “What else did you hear?”

“After the scream, the next sound I heard was a couple of shuffling feet across my window. I stayed in my room with my door tightly bolted. I needn’t go out to check the source of the scream because there wouldn’t be much to see. Of course, considering my sightlessness.”

“I’m very sorry about that.”

“My blindness isn’t your fault.”

“If I may ask, madam,” Lot asked, “What led to your sightlessness – or were you born blind?”

Hannah smiled ruefully, “No, I wasn’t born blind. My blindness stemmed from a terrible motor accident on Highway 99.”

“Highway 99?”

“You know the express-road, don’t you?”

“The one that connects with the Third Mainland Bridge?”

“Exactly. I was driving home that evening at around seven when the vehicle suddenly appeared at the curve. I lost my nerve and crashed head-on with the oncoming vehicle. The next thing I knew was that I was thrown through the windshield, then my head hit something hard and then blackout.” She smiled, “Well, it has been blackout since then. I regained consciousness in the hospital but I didn’t regain my sight. The doctor said I hit my skull against a steel and the impact affected my optic nerves. In the explosion minute fragments hit both my eyes, perforating my cornea. According to him, the corner is a thick membrane that covers the eye. Each eye is filled with a substance that appears somewhat like egg albumen that keeps it inflated like air in a tyre. My eyes were mildly penetrated, the fluid leaked and the eyeballs collapsed. I suffered a rather severe concussion from the impact which put my normal vision out of focus. The doctor assured me that my blindness was temporary and within a few months, or a year at most, my sight would return. But it has been almost a decade now and I’m still as blind as a bat. I’m still full of hopes though. I’m certain that when I regain my sight I’ll not only see people but also possess the ability to see through their souls and read their thoughts.”

Daniel smiled and said, “I admire your optimism, but that is quite far-fetched.”

Hannah replied him, in her voice was a finesse of seriousness, “It’s close-fetched. Before I became blind, I used to read a lot. I read about a man named Homer who, as a six-year-old child, suffered a mysterious neurological disorder that left him unable to smell anything for the next thirty years. One day, when he was thirty-six, as he picked a rose to savour the sight of it and the texture of its petals, his sense of smell returned to him full-power, so overwhelming him that he fell to the ground in shock. In the years thereafter, while he enjoyed every bewitching scent of a world, rich in them, he was so sensitive to the fragrance of a rose that he could smell a bush of blooms two streets away and knew before he opened the door of a flower shop if it had a generous supply of roses or was temporarily out of stock.”

“That’s quite some story, Mrs. Malik.” Lot commented.

“You don’t know what I can risk to regain my eyesight. Again, call me Hannah.”

“If you don’t mind, Hannah – can you remove the pair of glasses? I’ll like to see the eyes.”

“I don’t mind,” said Hannah. She slowly released the spectacles covering her eyes. Her eyelids were shut.”

“Can you open the lids?”

She obeyed slowly, and Lot saw one of the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen. Even though sightless, her eyes were as bright as emerald, wide and searching. They seemed to be looking at Lot. The detective leaned forward and waved his palm across the face. But the eyes maintained their positions, the eye lids did not even blink.

“ What are you doing?” Hannah asked, “Waving your hand across my face.”

“How did you know that?”

I felt it; I felt the little breeze your palm blew across my eyes. A lot of people have done that to me many times just to confirm if I'm truly blind.”

“Did your eyes hurt when you woke up in the hospital?”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite serious. Did it hurt?”

“I screamed for mercy to every god I knew and all the gods I didn’t know. The doctor said it was because my vision was trying to adjust to the blindness.”

“I pray you regain your sight soon.”

“Me too, thanks.”

“Now, let’s come back to the next part of the case, I believe you heard about the second corpse we found last week.”

She nodded.

“What can you tell us about the man?”

She replaced the glasses on her face gently before replying, “I don’t know anything about the man.”

“Do you know that the man called himself Abel Malik?”

“So I heard.”

“Do you know any Abel Malik?”

She paused for some time before replying, “Abel is my first son.”

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.

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

Lol! Bless you, my brother.

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

She's quite attractive.

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.

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?”

Okay. Still waiting. It sounds quite interesting.

Hi! Fellow fans.

The OP is currently under the weather. She needs your prayers. She apologises for her sudden disappearance, and she has promised to definitely continue the story as soon as she's back on her feet. Thanks for your understanding.

God bless you all.

L.S.

People are bound to disagree.

I was mentioned, and I was here.

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.

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.

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.

Flakeey: ok
waiting impatiently

Lol! 'impatiently'

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.

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.