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“Protection indeed,” Daniel spat, “Who protects himself by drinking poison?”

“I didn’t say I was protecting myself.”

“Whatever you are talking about now?”

“Did it ever occur to your tiny, tiny brain that I’d rather have the poison kill me than watching you drink it and die? It is better to have one person die of poisoning than two. I realise that having me die from the poison is the only way to stop you from drinking.”

Daniel’s eyes opened a little bit wider than normal, “You’re kidding me, right?” He wasn’t sure if Lot was messing with his head or being serious. But he knew the detective was one who didn’t always make unnecessary jokes. He watched in awe as Lot poured himself another cup and drank. With the way the detective swallowed as he drank, Daniel supposed that the tea must have been deliciously rich. He found himself swallowing saliva.

So much for poison! He wanted to reach out and drink from the goblet of uncertainty but he still had reservation about that tea; the liquid could really contain poison. And Lot could really be having a death-wish. Come to think of it, the man volunteered to investigate this case for free, Lot didn’t always do anything for free, he was definitely sure about that. He watched Lot pour the third cup.

Without drinking, the detective placed the cup of tea on the table. This was not helping a bit, for Daniel could not take his eyes away from the steaming, cold beverage. Lot placed his briefcase on the table, opened it and came out with a sheet of paper. Daniel recognized the sheet as the one the detective had extracted from the corpse’s pocket. Lot placed the paper on the table and pushed it across to Daniel.

“Read that and tell me what you think about it.”

Daniel picked up the paper, dragged his eyes off the tea and looked at what he was holding. He said to Lot immediately, “This one is burnt in half. I’ll need the other half before I can make any sense of what is written on it.”

“I don’t have the other half, that is how I found it. Just read the half as it is.”

“It won’t make any sense.”

“Just read it.” Lot snapped.

The first thing Daniel did was count the lines on the paper. They were twenty-five. The sheet of paper was unarguably a full foolscap carefully burnt in half. Why the person who did it would perform the act in the first place totally eluded him. He noticed that the detective was studying his face curiously, so he began to read the insensible text. As he read, he tried to acquire the habit of thinking – something he had never done much before.

I don’t want to ramble too---
it is at this moment impera---
may quite be a chance that---
you read this note; because---
my life is somehow being th---

I should have called, really---
isn’t as hushed as it initially---
may linger behind these stult---
words that come out of my m---
new line from which we ca---
privacy; a safe-house well pa---
compound and we can freely---
the walls grow unnecessary ea---
you will notice when you see---
day between midday and 2---
when you call, I shall be wai---
I expect that the other partie---
of the truth over there. But V---
the truth – we have to act---

I really hope the plan wor---

After this, Daniel noticed that the next lines appeared to be a quote of some sorts. He felt like he knew this one but his mind could still not place its origin. He read on:

*In the beginning*

There is a tid---
In the affairs---
Which, taken a---
Leads on to f---

He read these twenty-five lines all over again, trying to connect the missing links, but as much as he tried, he could not. However, his mind continued to bring him back to the last five lines. The only complete line among the twenty-five was the twenty-first; the one bearing an asterisk:

*In the beginning*

These were the first three words of the Bible:

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth

Although the remaining four lines were incomplete, Daniel felt like line twenty-one was inappropriate to its successors. He held the paper like a feather in his hand and looked at the detective’s eyes.

“It makes no sense, sir.” He told the detective.

Lot nodded, shutting his eyes. When he opened those hard eyes, he said, “I’ve got to complete it for the note to make sense.”

“And how do you plan on doing that? Through divine intervention?”

“Through using the brain,” Lot replied sharply, “Try that some time, it works wonders.” Lot expected himself to get the work done in fifteen minutes as soon as he started deciphering the content of the note, because that was the average time required any simple code of this nature which was devised by anyone lacking in significant education in any branch of higher symbolism; by comparison, more ingeniously composed required days, weeks, even months to penetrate.

“Thanks for the advice, sir.”

“You’re forgetting something very important, dear Famous.”

“Please remind me, sir.”

“This note is the link to everything. Trust me on that. Without this note, I’m afraid the murder would never be solved. Resurrect Sherlock Holmes and he won’t be able to solve this case without connecting the dots in the note first.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Turn your attention to the note you are holding and read line 20.”

Daniel did as he was told; he turned his gaze to the burnt paper, counted the lines and stopped at number 20. He saw what he did not notice earlier; it was the line immediately before the biblical three words he’d pondered over moments ago. He read line twenty out loud:

“I really hope the plan works.”

“ ‘out well’ “ Lot added, “ ‘I really hope the plan works out well’. I can bet my life’s saving that that was what the writer wrote.”

“And that’s the link?” Daniel asked, apparently not impressed yet at the detective’s discovery. Of course, anyone could guess out that particular line. It was straightforward enough.

“That line shows that Jamal’s death was carefully planned. And the plan lies in what is written here. I’m going to find out everything, Famous.”

“Do you know who wrote the note?”

“Nobody can know that until this note is cracked. As a matter of fact, cracking it may not even reveal the identity of the writer. The person who scribbled this note left no forwarding address, and no subscription.”

“It could easily have been written by Mr. Jamal Malik himself.”

“Or by his murderer. We’d only be speculating if we wasted more time arguing about who held the pen. Don’t you think we’ve got some people to question?”

“Who are we questioning first?”

“The maid.”

:Should I go and call her now?”

“Please do.”

Daniel rose. When he reached the door, Lot called him, “Famous.”

“Yes?”

“When you bring her you’re going to ask the questions.”

Daniel was visibly surprised, “Why me? Isn’t that your job?”

“I want to concentrate on deciphering the note while you work.”

Seun, Mukina2, Mynd44 this is front page worthy.

EfemenaXY: You mean comedy.

Okay, that aside, have you got your writers ready? Plan on "recycling" the oldies?

Maybe we should chat via a more secure channel.

EfemenaXY: Hmmm...Crime.

That's a very hard one to work it. Taxing too. Abeg think of other alternatives na...

Anyway, you planning on working with the same writers as before or new ones? I don't even know who's who in this section anymore sef.

When there is a hero and a villain, the conflict usually results in crimes; except if we're writing a hilarious story.

EfemenaXY: Lol! I suppose so.

What's the theme going to be this time though?

Still crime, I think.

EfemenaXY: Lol!

I think you should host another one. Your collaboration thread was quite a success. And it was fun too while it lasted

Then all I can ask is ARE YOU READY?

EfemenaXY: To host? Or to participate in?

*** Pls say to host...***

Lol! Both.

EfemenaXY: Since that time?

It has tey-tey na!

How've you been though?

I know, dear. I've been very busy. I'll finish it soon, I promise.

I'm good. I'm searching around for any writing competition.

EfemenaXY: What an incredibly, incredibly, funny piece!

I'm still gasping for breath!

Nice one, Larry!

Thanks Efebaby. I'm glad you enjoyed the story. Still reading your PDF. I will place my comments as soon as I'm through.

D9ty7: Its been a while Mr Larrysun. How have you been?

Hello, my brother! How are you? Where have you been? I'm still interested in that project if you can still bring it up.

Bless you, sir.

Daniel knew that there was no reason to lie for the detective would easily see through his lie. In a way, Daniel felt that the detective considered even him a suspect. Lying would only make things worse. So, he inhaled deeply, and when he exhaled, he let out everything of consequence he could recall; from his first meeting with the formidable Remi Johnson to his plan to reunite with her. The bone-cracking long journey and the night of the murder. He said everything in careful detail. Occasionally reversing his narratives to fill up the void he had left behind. Lot did not interrupt; he asked no question and gave no reliable sign of interest. At times, he leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, so still and so lacking in expression that he might have been asleep. At other times, his features once again seemed as hard as mortared stone, and he made eye contacts of such discomfiting intensity that Daniel thought he was only talking to the air.

When he was done, the look his superior gave him was not the one he’d tack in his album of fond memories. It was the kind of look one would give a well-dressed man who suddenly decided to walk on his head to work.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Daniel asked Lot.

“Like what?"

“Like I’m an idi*t.”

“Of course, you are. I’ve known that already a long time ago.” Lot replied, “I just never thought you were this silly.”

Daniel was appalled, “Why would you say that?”

“Because you didn’t tell me about the dog.”

“What dog?”

“The caged dog. That large Alsatian, you didn’t tell me about it. You’ve merely shown me the skeleton of this affair, and I am not a wizard. I must know what has been done and what has been overlooked.”

Daniel was trying hard to understand what the detective was talking about but he was not succeeding. “What do you expect me to tell you about a dog? I’m not a veterinary doctor, remember?”

“Did the dog not bark at you when you entered this compound the first time yesterday?”

“It barked,” Daniel agreed, “I can remember how scared I was when it threatened to break loose of its cage and make me a meal.”

“Of course it’d bark maniacally at you. It made an exception in my case; it only made a deep growling sound.”

“Does the dog know you or what?”

Lot shook his head.

“Then why didn’t it bark at you?” Daniel wanted to know.

“I communicated with it.”

“You what?” By this time what little doubt Daniel might have entertained at his superior’s sanity was finally put to rest. He had no choice but to conclude him stricken with lunacy.

“I made a sign that would keep almost every dog from barking at you, regardless of your familiarity with the retriever. Only very few people know this trick.”

“Do you mind teaching me this trick?”

“Maybe later. Let’s come back to the night of the crime. You said you were in your room when the crime was committed, right?”

“Right.”

“What exactly were you doing at the time Jamal was killed?”

Daniel reflected and decided to keep from telling the detective everything he witnessed at the time; he deliberately left out the part where he caught Remi running across the bend. The lady herself did not see him, so he saw no reason to indulge in giving her up to the unpredictable gumshoe. Besides, he also knew Lot well to know that the conclusion he might draw would not be favourable to him, most especially to Remi.

“I was lying on the bed when I heard the scream.” At least, he was not entirely lying.

“Jamal’s scream?”

Daniel nodded yes.

“How did the scream sound?”

“It was terrible. It was like a soul screaming right from the pits of hell. The remembrance still gives me the creeps.”

The door was opened and the maid came in carrying a tray containing four teacups and a jug of tea. Beside the jug and cups were new teaspoons and a box of St. Louis sugar. Without asking for permission she detoured around the large table between Lot and Daniel and deposited the beverage.

“Courtesy of Mr. David Malik. He asked me to make you some tea.” She said pleasantly.

“Thanks a lot, madam.” Daniel said and added, “Tell Mr. Malik we really appreciate his kind gesture.”

“Will do that.” She replied and turned to go.

When she reached the door Lot asked, “Miss—what is your name?”

“My name is Gladys.”

“That’s a sweet name. I just need to ask you the name of that cute dog you caged there.”

“Her name is Trinity.”

“Thank you, Gladys.”

“I’m glad to be of help.” The maid smiled and walked out of the room.
After her departure, Daniel reached for the tea but Lot slapped his hand away.

“May your gluttony never be your end, dear Famous.”

|What again?” the frustrated Daniel asked, “You think the tea is poisoned?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why would David want to poison us?”

“Did you leave your brain behind in Port Harcourt? I can think of more than one reason why he’d want to have us deleted. Like Old Chima said, this job calls for stepping on a lot of toes. I’m less concerned about getting poisoned by David than by Gladys.”

“The maid?”

Lot nodded.

“You’re impossible, sir,” Daniel said, “I wonder when you’ll stop suspecting innocent people. Perhaps when Tuface turns a pope or when I’m able to foretell the correct numbers of next week’s winning lottery, start fire with the power of my mind, and teleport to the Bakassi peninsular to have a plate of sizzling shawarma.”

“Funny, but not funny.” Lot reached for the mug, poured the tea and gulped it down.

Daniel, who thought he’d reached the peak of aghastness concerning the detective, was easily startled at the investigator’s art. A small glistening pink animal poked its head out of the detective’s beard. Daniel leaned forward fascinated until he realized that the pink animal was the man’s tongue. It slid back and forth between lips no doubt best left unrevealed. The detective apparently enjoyed the drink.

“Now who is being gluttonous?” Daniel asked, grimacing.

“It’s not gluttony, it’s protection.” Lot answered, wiping his bearded mouth.

TWELVE

In the days before civilization invaded Africa, the hours of the days were measured by the position of the sun on the firmament, or by the axis of shadows of a stick erected over a plain area. now, the shadow of the electricity pole that occupied a section of this plain was borne on its stem, the shadow standing erect as the pole itself. The position of the umbra was a midday significance. In fact, the chronometer placed the moment at just a few minutes after noon.

The body had finally been relieved of its restive state to take much more comfort in the cold steel walls of the reliable freezer of a mortuary. Adieu. The doctor had done all the cross-examinations required. His reports, however, were still awaiting submission by the presiding sleuth. The police officers, Moses Anuku and Ayo Festus had served as escorts to make certain the cadaver reached the morgue in one piece. This accompaniment was done not out of fondness for the man but of duty. If Jamal were alive to notice this he’d have felt like a state governor.

Currently, with the absence of the corpse and the entourages alike, Lot and Daniel were ushered into a room by David. Mice had once had a significant part of this other building to themselves, and birds had built nests on the front house’s lintels, they’d painted the stoops with their droppings. Everything about architecture in this compound was not unbefitting with the synonyms large, big, massive, titanic, gigantic. The room too was a large one; one, if built in the slums of the historical AJ city, would sleep twenty-nine adults and ninety nine babies. There were two windows, which were apparently too few for a room of such proportion. But because of the direction the room was placed, these embrasures offered sufficient oxygen to get its inhabitants breathing without much risk of suffocation. It was furnished with only a broad table and half a dozen stools. On the wall facing the entrance was a poster with a bolded phrase LOVE IS THE ANSWER. Daniel wondered what the question was. Adorning another side of the walls was a single poster of Goldie with her deep cleavage, bared belly and aggressively sparkling smile. She was powerfully intriguing. The room appeared to have been vacated very recently because the floor was noticeably neat, but the walls did not match that cleanliness. Therefore, the floor must have been stripped of its covering, either carpet or rug. David showed a commendable gesture of hospitality; he replaced three of the stools with an equal number of plastic chairs. This act of benevolence merely elicited a mumbled two-word appreciation from Lot. Everyone was a suspect. He never forgot that.

Lot spoke only when their host had retreated from the room and was out of earshot.

“Now tell me about all that brought you here.” He said to his subordinate.

Flakeey: oh yea yea..can u remind me the name of the guy? Richie Phillip or Ebenezer? *scratches head*

Neither. It was Tolu.

Wow!

oyestephen: WE WANT MORE!!!

I'm so sorry for the delay.

Flakeey: more more moreeee......

Oliver Twist thing..lol

nice one LS

Lol! This reminds me about Abigail Martins first boyfriend who wanted more.

rapmike: Kmj stands for Kayemjay, a nairalander.

Oh! Okay.

The pleasant young man was still staring at him, the smile remained plastered on his face. He added, “My fans call me Ariel though.”

“Your fans? Are you a celebrity?”

“Not yet,” replied Ariel, “I write novels, albeit unpublished.”

“You are not a celebrity and your novels are still begging for publication, yet you say ‘your fans’.” Lot cocked his head to one side, apparently speculating whether a bolt had gone missing from the man’s machinery and the smile was only a gossamer thread still holding his sanity in place. Lot has met more psychos in his lifetime to know that insanity wasn’t only measured by the specks of dust on your clothes. And Lot was not slow to label anybody a straitjacket-fitted.

Ariel cleared all suspicions the detective might have of him by replying, “I have followers on the internet. Although not yet printed in hardcopies, my books are available to be read on my blog. You may check them out. I already have two of the novels posted there.”

Lot didn’t know why but he felt that it was very important he read what the man had written. Without wasting time he demanded the writer’s URL and bookmarked. Intending to read the stories at the slightest chance he got. As he bookmarked the page in his latest BlackBerry model, he also booked it in his brain; never to forget.

He noticed that the writer was genuinely glad when he promised to read his novel. In his glee, he took over the mantle of introducing the family members from Daniel. He introduced the members in his own humorous ways; he used animated qualities to describe every member present in the room.
Ruth Brown he described as the ostrich nursing a boil (Lot nodded in the affirmative at this metaphor), David Malik as the hummingbird without politesse (Lot frowned), Tunde Johnson as the meek bull (Lot hoisted his eyebrows aloft), Remi Johnson the swan made by the ostrich and the bull (Lot nodded in understanding), Esther the peacock with a broken wing (Lot shook his head). All these descriptions were whispered to Lot, as the speaker was certain that some hearers would gladly neuter him if he spoke aloud.

“And how would you describe yourself, son?” Lot asked.

“I’ve already introduced myself.” Replied Ariel, smiling.

“of course,” agreed Lot, “But not in the way you did others.”

Ariel smiled, “I’m not one to blow my own trumpet, especially when I already have people who would gladly blow it for me.”

At this time, Daniel had totally left the detective at the mercy of the writer. He was now seated beside Remi and speaking to her quietly. Lot noticed that the lady was frowning a great deal at almost every word coming from the mouth of her admirer. She occasionally replied him in a tone that matched the footballer’s solemn speech. Lot tried to listen but could catch no word between either of the duo. He gave up and ceased trying; he’d ask Daniel later. Lot had a way of making Daniel reveal even his darkest of secrets.
With steps full of confidence, Lot walked to the middle of the room and addressed all.

“I greet you all,” he began, “I mourn with you over the soul that was lost in the early hours of today. May the deceased’s gentle soul rest in peace.”

Only few people murmured “Amen.”

Lot continued, “As you’re all aware of the reason behind my presence here, I’m going to investigate the deceased’s murder. I’m sure you all agree with me that it’s murder; it can’t be suicide because a man committing suicide does not stab himself in the back, and accident is also out of it, because I can’t believe the kind of accident that can plunge a knife hilt-deep into a man’s back. So, let’s face the truth, Mr Malik was killed in cold, and his killer is among you.

"I understand that the family would be making preparations for burial and obituary, therefore, I’ll try to make my investigation as fast as possible so that the criminal may be brought to justice on time. The truth is, if there is a murderer, which I believe there is, the criminal may decide to commit another murder. I’m not trying to scare any one of you but this is the truth. Therefore, to avoid any chance of another murder, I’d like the full cooperation of every one of you as I begin my investigations. The investigations include the questioning if each one of you. Is there a room I can use temporarily for interviews?”

“You’ll have a room in the other building at the left hand side of the compound.” Said David with an air of authority. Being the first son of the deceased, he’s assumed himself the head of the family.

“Thank you,” said Lot, “We’ll use the room. In the meantime it would be helpful if you stayed here together until we have put some things in order.”

The maid came into the room, with her was an elderly bespectacled man. His apparel delight gave off his profession; the old man was dressed in a white gown, although he wore his carefully-pressed and starched medical attire under the gown; a white shirt over a black pair of trousers and shoes. A rainbow tie squeezed his neck. Poking from the chest pocket of the white gown were the tips of three ballpoint pens; a red, a blue and a black. This stationery inclusion added more fashion to his raiment.

“Aha, Doctor Bantu,” David bellowed, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“How do you do, Mr. Malik?” Bantu greeted. “My condolences for your sudden loss. Your father was a wonderful man, I wonder what he did wrong to deserve such harsh treatment.”

David nodded, “Thanks a lot, Doctor.,” He introduced, “This is Detective Lot, he’s investigating the case.”

Bantu opened his eyes very wide, “You don’t mean it!” he exclaimed, “You mean the same Detective Lot?"

David was lost he didn’t understand what prompted the medical practitioner’s sudden outburst. But he now looked at Lot with a different pair of eyes, like a disciple who’d just witnessed Christ’s miraculous healing for the first time. He realized that there was more to the big man than his body size.

“My God!” The doctor exclaimed again, “You are him!”

“ ‘He’ is a better grammar, doctor.” Lot replied.

“Yes,” answered Daniel Famous, “It’s the same Detective Lot in flesh, the one and only Collosus.”

“My God!” Bantu said, his eyes were still fixated when he added, “Nice making your acquaintance again, sir.” He extended his hand towards the detective.

Lot grabbed it firmly, “It’s a pleasure. But what do you mean by ‘again’?”

The doctor winced in agony at the pressure exerted on his hand, he quickly struggle to free himself of this painful compliment.

When he had had his freedom and the ache in his palm had subsided, he smiled sheepishly and said, “I was one of the doctors who did the autopsy of Elder Pious in 2002.”

“Elder Pious?” Lot had no idea about whom the man was talking about, “Who is Elder Pious?”

“You don’t remember? Elder Pious, the clergyman that was strangled in an Anglican church in Asokoro, Abuja. You investigated the case, remember? That was my first time of meeting you, sir.”

Lot recalled now, but he was not amused, “I remember now. That man who was strangled by a fellow priest over tithes, right?”

Nobody would have guessed that it was Deacon Kura who committed. I was one of the doctors who performed the post-mortem. It appeared as though the Elder was shot but he was already dead from strangulation before he was shot.” He turned to David, “Your father couldn’t have gotten a better detective to investigate his death.” As though the deceased himself had any selection or choice.

“I hope so.” Answered David.

“So, let’s put a stopper on the chit-chat and get down to bedrock.” Lot said, “Daniel, let’s go to the interrogation room. We’ve got a lot of things to find out.”

ELEVEN

After detective Lot’s discovery of the half-burnt note, he demanded to know every member of the house. He was led by the footballer through corridors and finally into the very large living room where everybody was seated, absent only the mistress – Mrs Hannah Malik. Daniel explained to Lot that this woman was without sight, this explained her decision to always keep to herself.

To Daniel’s utter surprise, none of the family members appeared to recognize the man he’d brought in. They all regarded Lot as they’d previously regarded Daniel when he stepped, for the first time, into the room too. They all looked without interest at the detective for a short moment before diverting their gazes back to Daniel, their eyes demanding an explanation.

“This is Detective Lot, he’ll be investigating this case.” Daniel told them.
“Who gave you the authority to bring a detective here?” asked Ruth, not without a note of very obvious rudeness. “Who do you think you are? My father’s illegitimate child?”

“Are you not interested in knowing who killed father?” David asked his sister.
“Of course, I do,” replied she, “But this sewage disposal here is taking things far beyond his jurisdiction. Who needs a lousy detective when we can find out the murderer among ourselves?”

Lot being a man particularly proud of his status, did not smile at the adjective the prissy-mouthed dame used to qualify him. He reacted to the lady’s serenade of bleats and asked, “And how do you suppose to do that.”

“Do what?” Ruth asked back, harshly of course.

He had thought as much, a shallow brook babbles the loudest. “How do you suppose to catch the murderer?”

“What a question!” neighed Ruth, “After some serious tortures inflicted on us all by the police, the criminal would have no choice but to confess.”

This reply caused Lot more than a millimetre rise of the eyebrows. He paused and said, “I don’t mean to be rude, madam, but what just came out of your mouth is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Someone may choke to death on hearing such an asinine idea.”

Ruth glared at him, she wanted to reply but stopped herself just when her mouth was about to open. Perhaps something in her told her told her that she would not win in the battle if she engaged in oral expletives with the big man. Hence both her hatred and admiration for the gumshoe. She still could not stop glaring at the man whose interest was already directed towards something much more interesting. She hated private investigators more than she hated poison.

Tunde turned to face Daniel and asked, “Who’s him?”

“ ‘He’,” Lot corrected, “ ‘Who is he?’. My name is Lot. I’m a private investigator.”

Lot could not but notice how his sidekick watched another fair lady sitting at the extreme furniture in the room. He sighed. When will the ninny ever learn, He thought disgusted, that beauty is dangerous? You don’t fall in love for beauty alone if there is no brain. However, brain itself could be a vice if all it contained were crimes. He’s seen many great men fall because they’d allowed themselves manipulated by hot ladies of Delilah descents. Of course, everything hot must surely scald. And this latest fancy of Daniel’s brought to him memories of stories like Samson and Delilah, Adam and Eve, and some of the Greek gods who were silly enough to put their lives in the hands of the fair opposite sex. He shook his head, slightly in anger and slightly in amusement, at the fate of Daniel who would never stop falling for ladies who were potential suspects in murder cases.

His gaze left Remi and now settled on Esther whose beauty he appreciated better. This one - with her deep cleavage, bared belly, and aggressively sparkling smile – was powerfully intriguing. But the smile unnerved Lot, it was too sincere. The smile was one that could have charmed a snake into a mood of benign companionship. Her beauty was so generous that the poverty of language was unable to express its due praise. This particular beauty was one borne neither of suspicion nor of simmering temperature or icy coldness. This was beauty most innocently graceful. This gracious woman, this enchanting lady, brought him flood of recollections that seemed to drown him in self-pity, in a tide of irreparable loss that had afflicted him years past. This captivation took him so totally that he was oblivious of his surroundings. He didn’t come out of his revelry until a palm was extended towards him.

“Nice meeting you, detective.”

The man was smiling warmly at him, a pleasant-looking young man of about Daniel’s age.

“Nice meeting you, Mr -” he trailed off, expecting the young man to fill up the void.

“Gabriel,” the man replied, “Gabriel Malik.”

Lot studied Gabriel. There was a quality about this person standing before him that Lot at once noticed; it was a quality of repose, of quiet watchfulness, his movements were deliberate. Even his eyes had that deliberate faculty, and his voice was not raised. Lot hadn’t noticed Gabriel in the room. The young man was smiling broadly, and he appeared to be studying Lot too. He was dressed simply in a checkered brown shirt and black jeans trousers but he looked stunning. Unlike Lot who sported a considerable thicket on his scalp, Gabriel was not only mildly afro-styled but also clean shaven. Lot was beginning to like the man but he reminded himself that it was unethical for a detective to have any attachment with any suspect at a crime scene. That was what he’d been trying to teach the ridiculous Daniel who never seemed to be learning anything in the least. Lot nearly questioned why he’d travelled all the way from the comforts of his own bed to investigate a crime with a rather impossible sidekick. And to worsen the situation, he was rendering a free service! Goodness!

bigsholly: Intresting I am suspecting someone to be the murderer ooo but I don't want to spoil the show let me just keep quite and watch how it will unfold. Thanks larrysun for the nice update now you have make me to marry my phone checking for update always

But your suspect might actually be innocent. I'll update presently.

rapmike: A detective that finds falling in love as a waste of time, yet finds time to correct a grammatical blunder while solving a case. What a character!

Nice one Larry, na to wait for KMJ now.

Lol! Even from the first book, Lot was known to be the detective who never allowed grammatical errors to slide.

By the way, what's KMJ? Is it Killer of Malik Jamal?

Daniel was closer to the detective than either Moses or Ayo, so he had the audacity to extend his hand towards Lot for a shake. The pressure with which the gumshoe grabbed his hand matched the snapping of a mousetrap. Daniel winced painfully, and he masked this agony in vain. He nearly cursed himself for extending the hand in the first place. He’d forgotten that the detective’s palms were as firm as Bash Ali's jaw. Naturally, he’d have preferred a hug; for he’d missed Lot too much for just an agony-inducing hand-vibration. But it was too late for embrace. The two men momentarily stood staring at each other, taking brief moments to reminisce on their previous adventure.

Like eating a delicious cuisine, Daniel took his time to savour the delectable presence of the detective. Lot had grown quite bigger within the past three rainy seasons he had seen him. The gumshoe had gathered almost twice the calories he’d proudly fostered three years earlier. He was now considerably large, his shoulders appeared to possess the ability to tear steel doors off their hinges. The bulk of the belly was now straining along the circumference of the belt; a tremendous belly it was, which alone would have held up his pair of trousers, but cautious man that Lot was, he wore a belt to suspend the loops. What particularly fascinated Daniel most about the great man was his face. It was covered in hair. The hair on his head, although greying, was enough for a parliament of owls to seek refuge. His eyebrows were so thick that a house painter would favour them over his brushes, if given a chance to swap. Then the beards and moustache were something else themselves. The detective’s face was so hairy that all Daniel could see were two blinking eyes, and this left the young footballer wondering how Lot lit his cigarettes without setting his face on fire. And if the beards caught fire, what a wildfire that would be!

In addition, the detective favoured thick socks and heavy shoes in which he waddled like a duck. All in all, to Daniel, Lot had a face strong and noble enough to be stamped in profile on ancient coins long ago out of circulation. Sometimes he seemed to be but an actor playing the role of a detective. Although if it was a performance, then it was of an award-winning calibre. At fifty-seven, he gave the impression that he was far wiser than his years, easily commanding respect and fear. There was something of a psychologist and something of a priest in him – qualities everyone in his possession needed but few possessed. He was a rare person who enjoyed having power but did not abuse it, who exercised authority with good judgement and compassion, and he’d been a detective for almost twenty years without a hint of ineptitude or inefficiency in his profession. He now worked privately.

Both men had different tastes in things. Daniel was obsessed with football but Lot never really followed sports much because he had an acute sense of time slipping away and a reluctance to use his precious hours in too many passive activities. Daniel liked Nigerian Hip Hop songs while Lot preferred contemporary African songs. Daniel had no interest in politics but Lot was a PDP aficionado. In foreign movies, Lot’s guilty pleasure was in following every movie that starred Denzel Washington, while Daniel took fancy in watching the immortal Jackie Chan. But still, both men always stood immobile whenever and wherever the national anthem was being sung.

Realizing that the detective was beginning to glare at him for staring too long, he managed to speak, “I thought you’d never come.”

“I didn’t want to come,” he lied, “I am hiding out from the decoration crew that had promised to put up trees and stuff in my house today. They all wear this stupid Santa hats, and every time they see you they shout, ‘Merry Christmas!’ grinning like lunatics. Besides, I recently solved a case and I need another one to make me forget it. The case was another sad little one; brought another sniveling, cheating husband to ground like the big bad hero I am. I had made couple of bales by ruining a family with pictures of Daddy grunting in the backseat of their Mercedes with a woman who didn’t look anything like Mommy at all. I hope never to take up such ridiculous case again!" He paused and continued, "Besides, if you were left alone, I figured you’d complicate the crime committed here instead of solving it. However, I must tell you that you’ve got the spirit of catching the least obvious clues, although I’ll still admit that you’re too dumb to notice this gift you have.”

“Oh, thank you, sir.” He smiled, he knew the detective’s polite vocabulary too much to take umbrage. Every of Lot’s praise always somehow came with a price.

“So, what have you done about the situation?” Lot demanded, “Or have you been engaging yourself in some less admirable ventures?”

“Less admirable ventures like what, sir?”

“Like falling in love again. What new crochet has possessed your excitable brain?’

“Is it wrong to fall in love?”

“I didn’t say that, but don’t tell me you’re in love again.” Lot placed a prominent emphasis on the word again. “Besides, what in heaven’s name brought you to this ranch? Were you shot out of a cannon and landed here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“When will your story ever be short?” Lot commented wearily, “So, what better things have you done besides calling those two layers of eggs?”

Daniel chuckled inwardly; he wondered what would become of a world where humans of the masculine proportionate resorted to the deposition of ovoid materials right from the region of their depletive sphincters. He’d rather not linger in such a world.

“Remember what you did in the former case,” explained Daniel, “after telling me that you’d not be coming I took it upon myself to investigate the case --”
Lot sighed.

“-- with the assistance of the lay-- with the assistance of Moses and Ayo. But before their arrival, after you terminated the call, right in the middle of the night when all the family members had retreated to their rooms, I stole out of the house to check the corpse again. I searched every pocket on him just to find anything that could serve as a clue, a mobile phone perhaps.”

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing. I found nothing on the corpse.”

“What position was the corpse lying when you searched it?”

“The position he was the first time we saw him; he was lying on his belly.”

“What position did you leave him?”

“The same position I found him.”

Lot nodded his head, smiling. Then he walked out on Daniel towards the corpse and dipped his hand in its pocket. When he extracted his hand he came up with a folded sheet of foolscap paper. When he straightened it he realized that the paper had been burnt in half. On the paper were some pieces of writing which would make better sense if the other half of the burnt paper was in handy. Lot searched the two other pockets without much success.

Daniel, on the other hand, was open-mouthed, and evidently surprised at the detective’s discovery. He swore that the paper was not on the corpse when he searched it.

“You’ve got a lot to tell me, Daniel.” Lot declared.

Daniel instantly brought to oral expression what he hoped would be. He said excitedly, “Does this mean we are going to solve the case together, you and me?”

Lot stared at him a short moment and shook his head, “That’s ungrammatical! It’s You and I!” he thundered.

pricelesslove: I read brand of Cain as a guest. i must confess that u so goodest if there is anything like that. well done.

Thanks a lot, Princess. I'm glad you liked the story.

Beretta92: I was here.More updates pls.

Thanks for following, Beretta. It's good to have you back.

Flakeey: hmmmm...is someone thinking what i'm thinking?
David and Ariel received an anonymous call to go to their father's house for christmas.

who could that caller be? he might be the murderer here o

*fingers crossed*

That's true. It might, but...

bigsholly: Mr larrysun stop that please I thought you have update ni when I saw your user Id as last comment. Pls don't comment again until you update ooo which kin thing

Lol! Thanks dear. I will update soon.

TEN

Murderers do not usually give their victims notice. This one death which, however terrible that last second of appalled realization, comes mercifully unburdened with anticipatory terror. It was on these grounds that the famed detective took it upon himself to investigate the crime voluntarily. Contrary to his usual style, Detective Lot didn’t travel in his own vehicle this morning; he sat comfortably at the backseat of a taxi. He was alone in the car save for the driver who was busily but silently articulating the automatic vehicle. Lot was grateful for the driver’s taciturn characteristic. He wasn’t like most garrulous drivers Lot had encountered in the past. He needed time to think now, and silence was one of the factors required for the intellectual task.
He was reading a copy of The Punch he’d purchased a couple of minutes ago at a newspapers stand near the entrance of the car-park. Occasionally, he glanced through the glass of a window of the car at the world beyond. For a fine morning in late December, it was surprisingly chilly; dawn had broken clear and the driver flipped down the visor to keep the sun out of his eyes. Lot was an incurable smoker, he dragged his wheezing lungs through cigarettes at a rate of a pack a day for thirty-five years; he’d decided for a moment to impose upon himself some token abstinence during the journey that lay ahead of him. When they approached the traffic, having carefully perused the column of 'houses to let,' and the column of 'kidnapped child,' and then the two columns of 'wives and apprentices runaway,' he turned the newspaper in his hand to the back page and started on the crossword, his mind registering nothing at all on the first three of the clues across. But on the fourth, a hint of a grin formed around his hairy mouth as he looked down again at the extraordinary apposite words: ‘With malice afterthought? (6)’. He quickly wrote ‘murder’, and with more and more letters henceforth making their horizontal and vertical roads into the diagram-grid, the puzzle was finished well before reading. Very many times, crossword puzzles not only always drew much sweat from his forehead. Sudokus were sometimes more challenging. All in all, these puzzles were juvenile for Lot’s mind, but the detective liked solving them – they always allowed him brief moments of the freedom of the mind.

Having successfully tackled the crosswords and Sudokus alike, Lot leaned as far as his legs would allow in the backseat. He looked out the window again; there was a police car parked at the side of the other lane. ‘To protect and to serve’ went the slogan lettered on the side of the black vehicle. Every day, people laughed and scorned or ignored it. “Serve?” Who knew what that meant? But protecting people was something else. If you cared, like Lot used to do when he was still in service, if people got hurt because you or your partner, or the police in general wasn’t up to the demand of protection put on it, you hurt too. Real bad. Nobody knew it and you didn’t talk about it. Except to yourself or maybe to the face in the bottom of a bottle when you tried to forget about it. This was the bedrock behind Lot’s decision to answer his callings by becoming a homicide detective. His avocation lay in defending the victims who were not in much position to defend themselves.

He peeked at his gold encrusted wristwatch, 8:15a.m., he felt like time was running out. Hours had gone by since he received the call. And the traffic jam was not helping a bit. Out of boredom, he lit a cigarette to pass the time. He decided that he’d abstained from smoking long enough. Curiously enough, he felt relaxed as he took puffs and, without success, attempted to blow a smoke ring. As he sucked one to the hilt, he lit another from the consumed one. By the time the taxi reached the street of his location, Lot was already smoking his sixth stick. The driver, who didn’t favour cigarette odours gave series of coughs to signal his irritation and discomfort, but the detective appeared not to notice this expectoration. But the driver was not in a good position to make any audible complaint, his passenger had been overly generous. Few passengers could pay thrice as much as the normal fare for the distance they needed to cover. So, the least he could do in return for his passenger’s generosity was to endure this fumigation.

They finally arrived at the destination a few minutes before nine. The driver breathed a sigh of relief when Lot finally got off the taxi; the interior of the car was practically filled with smoke so the driver had to wind down all the windows to allow ventilation take the place of pollution. Soon, he drove away feeling happy with his payment.

Lot walked to the gate and was almost instantly admitted into the compound with the automatic opening of the large gate. As he walked down the compound, there was no one who came around to welcome him. He brought out a sheet of packet from his pocket. The paper was where he had written the address which Daniel had given him; he checked it to know if he was really in the right place. The note on the paper confirmed that he was not mistaken. As he walked closer to the main building, Lot noticed a figure covered in white cloth on the ground, it was the corpse of the man who was reported to have been stabbed. A section of the cover was jutted upward because of the knife still embedded on the back of the deceased. Lot instantly knew that this was going to be one puzzle more complicated than any crossword or Sudoku. This was going to require a large part of his intellectual capability.

One of Lot’s three university degrees was in philosophy; consequently, he had taken numerous logic courses. He remembered one class that, in part, had dealt with the logic of mazes. When these three-dimensional puzzles were designed by educated mathematicians or logicians who drew upon all their learned cunning to deceive, the result was usually a labyrinth that few would find their way through in a timely manner, and from which a certain percentage of frustrated challengers had to be rescued by guides. On the other hand, when the maze was designed by anyone other than a mathematician or a logician – by ordinary folk, that is – these more mundane maze makers followed a stultifying predictable pattern, because the design flowed from instinct rather than from intelligent planning; evidently, embedded in every human psyche was an affinity for a basic pattern that rarely failed to be asserted in the designing of a maze. Perhaps this building his intelligent sight was beholding was the pattern of the network of caves and tunnels in which the first extended family of mankind had dwelled, under the aegis of red bricks and stones; perhaps the man of that earliest of all homes had been imprinted in our genes, and represented comfort and security. Lot had spent a considerable large amount of time brooding on the subject. Philosophy was such an interesting course.
His mind pondered about the reason behind Daniel’s involvement in this mess, considering the fact that the young footballer’s home was not very far away from here. A part of him told him that Daniel was not here for the noblest of purposes. Daniel Famous, he reflected, could only be here for one of two reasons; either in his own strange belief in stopping something bad from happening or searching only for what was never lost but also never found yet, Love. The former, Lot supposed, was quite understandable but the latter was simply ridiculous.

Approaching the figure behind the sheet, Lot saw two men emerge from the house. He recognized them; Moses and Ayo. The albino looked darker than the last time he’d seen him. And Ayo, the dark-skinned one, was more muscular now. Both men were discussing as they came out of the building. At first, the man could not recognize Lot when they saw him. And when they did, they could not mask their excitement. By the way they looked, Lot could tell that they were relieved at his presence here. To them, the case was already a hard nut to crack. They approached him with beaming smiles. They bowed when they reached him.

“You’re welcome, sir.” Ayo greeted.

“We thought you’d not come.” The albino added.

“How did you get here?” Lot demanded of them.

“We came by the summons of Daniel Famous.” Replied Moses.

“Where’s he now?”

“He’s inside having a discussion with one of the family members. He’ll come out anytime soon.”

“I suppose that’s the victim, right?” Lot asked, pointing at the white sheet behind the two police officers.

They looked behind them to confirm where the detective’s finger was pointing before they nodded in assent.

“That is the landlord of this property.” Ayo informed.

Lot walked past the two men and bent over the white sheet. Moses and Ayo stood aside as they watched the detective. For a few moments, however, Lot was more than reluctant to pull back the covering. His dark eyebrows contracted to a frown as he mentally traced the odd configuration of the bulge beneath the sheet. Surely the body had to be on its belly, but the protrusion of the hilt was sideways; it was not upright. The body was lying on its side. Lot expected his suspicion to be false as he pulled back the sheet. It was true; the body was lying on its side. It could have been supine if not for the knife embedded in the back. After only a few seconds, he replaced the sheet and stood up.

He asked the police officers, “Did you check the corpse when you arrived?”
“We only raised up the cover to see,” Moses replied, “Just to know who had been murdered. We didn’t touch the body at all.”

“What position was he when you checked him?” “He was dead, of course.” Ayo replied.

Lot scowled at him and said, “I’ll ask the question again, and I’ll oblige you to use your thinking faculty before you reply. What position was he when you checked him?”

“He was lying on his face.” Moses replied.

Lot turned to Ayo and asked, “Is that true?”

The officer nodded, “Yes, he was lying faced-down when we checked him.”

“Kindly check him again.” Lot mildly ordered. There was about the detective nothing of the quality called Nonsense.

The men obeyed him. They gasped in shock at what they saw.

‘I swear this man was lying faced-down when we last checked him.” Ayo swore.

“When did you arrive here?” Lot asked.

“Around seven o’ clock, sir.” Moses answered.

“And when did you check the corpse?”

“About thirty minutes after our arrival, sir.”

“Did you check him after then?”

“No.” Both officers replied in chorus.

“Then between half past seven and nine o’ clock, someone meddled with the corpse. Do you have any idea whom that person might be?”

The two men shook their heads.

“You reply when I’m talking to you, not shake your heads like mannikins. I want to believe that I’m not talking to a pair of dolls.”

“We don’t know who that person might be, sir.”

Then, right at that moment, Daniel came out. He was looking weary and there were rings at the sides of his eyes due to lack of sleep. When he saw the detective, he smiled warmly. And had Daniel been able to observe more closely at that moment he might have seen that in the deep shadows of Lot’s rather cold strong eyes there floated some reminiscences of an almost joyful satisfaction.

rapmike: Bribery and Corruption!

Lol! I don't blame him; he wanted payment before service.

Afamdman: I just came to the and to comment. Good to have you back. Larry. No fail again ohhhh. Now let me go and feed my eyes

I promise. Scout's honour.

Flakeey: nice update..

waiting for more

I wanted to update yesterday but ran into a technical problem.

Bless you, ma'am.

Cencinho1: This work of urs is really fascinating..keep it up sire

Thank you, buddy.

What if the blind man you passed on the street was not really blind? What if the kidnapped victim asked to be abducted? What if that rogue you know was actually a priest?

There are more stories to be written than the grains of sand by the beach.

Peace.