People started to scream. Thompson was already running, into the crowd.
Thompson? Wike? No choice. I rushed to the victim, who was slowly slipping to the street. His shirt was very red now. I caught him, let him down gently. His eyes were glazing over. He never had a chance.
I flipped open my cell and speed-dialed. “This is Detective Peterside. Civilian down. Gunshot, multiple wounds. I need an ambulance at 56 Orominike, outside the Kumar Department Store.” It was already too late, Wike was as good as dead. I looked in the direction Thompson had run off, but there was no point in searching. He could have gone in any of a hundred directions, ducked into a hundred alleys or shops-assuming that he did not have a car around the corner waiting to pick him up. I speed-dialed again and gave headquarters a heads-up on Mr. Out-on-Bail, then leaned against Stephen’s car, looked down at his lifeless eyes, and pulled out a cigarette.
A police siren came closer, then several. Soon there were plenty of cars, all too late. Uniformed police officers began to secure the scene, putting up a rope to block off the growing crowd of onlookers. I flicked my cigarette and watched the ashes fall to the ground in the dead hot air.
My cell rang. I looked at the screen. Freda again.
“Honey?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did you cut the line like that?”
“I have a situation.”
“I hope you are not the situation.”
“Not this time. All I did was stand there. I’ll call you back. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, I. .” Her voice trailed off, she could think of nothing to say; my tone was a closed door. “Bye. For now.”
“Sure.”
The forensics van carrying Nnadozie and his crew drove up, followed almost immediately by Captain Akpan. A dead Wike was a big deal. Femi was in Akpan’s car. They walked over to me while Nnadozie and his forensics unit started unloading their equipment.
Akpan looked at me as I took a drag. He did not like smokers. “What happened?”
“I was shadowing Stephen Wike. He came out of the store over there. Thompson was waiting for him.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. Thompson pulled out a.22 and emptied half a clip into him. He disappeared into the crowd.”
Akpan turned away and got out his own cell phone, made a call and started giving orders. When he was done, I said, “Thompson has to work for Puene. There’s no reason for him to be running around killing Okpara’s people on his own. Unless he has a very odd hobby.”
Akpan nodded.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Femi and I then drove back to headquarters in my car. I wrote up a statement, then went up to see Chief. Stella let me in right away. Chief was sitting behind his desk, on the phone. He finished his conversation quickly when I came in.
“Chief, I want to bring in Dr. Puene for questioning in the Okpara bombing and today’s shooting of Okpara’s assistant.”
He eyed me warily. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I think he’s a key player here.”
“I don’t have to tell you he’s a powerful man.”
“Then why are you?”
“Am I supposed to laugh? Is there something here that amuses you? Mrs. Karibi is dead, Angus Sekibo is dead, Howell Osamu is dead, too; now Wike?” He leaned back. “You’re on dangerous ground.”
But he did call Police Commissioner Ahmed Abdullah, to get his okay to invite Dr. Puene into headquarters to answer some questions.
I went back to my office, got Femi, and we drove out to Dr. Puene’s house. We found him in the same room as four days ago. An assistant remained hovering in the background.
“Good day, sir.”
His eyes had the same wariness Chief’s had, but some of his earlier arrogance was gone. “Yes?”
I had plenty of ways to say it. “Doctor, we’d appreciate it if you came downtown with us for a while.”
“For what?”
“Just some questions.”
“What about? This does not have anything to do with Okpara. . does it?”
“Sort of. Stephen Wike was shot to death about an hour and a half ago.”
“Which station did you say you’re from again?”
“State Police Headquarters. Homicide.”
He picked up his phone and punched in a number. If I was lucky, he was calling his lawyer. I smiled. I didn’t think so. Osamu was dead.
“This is Dr. Puene. Yes. Good afternoon, Isaac.”
Femi and I exchanged looks. He was calling Chief.
“Some of your detectives are here. Yes. Yes. They want me to come in for some questions.” Pause. “I see. Yes, of course.” He hung up. Smiling. He turned to his aide. “I’m going down to police headquarters with the detectives here. I’ll be back soon.”
“Are you sure about this, Doctor?” the assistant asked.
“It will be fine. I’ll be back soon. Just postpone my appointments.”
The ride back to headquarters took about fifteen minutes. The good doctor did not ride with us, of course. He was driven in his Toyota Limited SUV. When we got to the station he acted more like a visitor than a suspect, and everyone but myself and Femi treated him that way. As we came in, one of Chief’s assistants met us-he’d been waiting patiently-and took Dr. Puene, Femi, and me straight to a conference room. He told us to wait for the police commissioner, the area commander, my captain, and Chief himself.
I was starting to get a good idea of why Dr. Puene was smiling. Not that I had not already guessed. I told Femi to go back to our office. If I was going to shoot myself in the foot there was no point dragging him down with me.
I felt like lighting another cigarette. I don’t enjoy smoking that much, but it gives my hands something to do, and by putting something in my mouth I’m not as likely to open it as much. The area commander arrived first. He smiled grimly at me and nodded at Dr. Puene. Then Chief and Akpan came in. Now we were all together. The good doctor sat at the far side of the table. He looked calm, his custom-made suit without the slightest wrinkle.
The police commissioner arrived at last. Ahmed Abdullah was as tall as Dr. Puene, largely built, with dark coarse skin, a rounded fleshy face framed with glasses, and a neck as thick as an ox. Probably with a brain to match.
His protruding stomach tugged at his crisply ironed uniform, threatening to dislodge the shiny brass button there. A very harsh man, bad tempered. Officers in the state had a morbid fear of the man. You should-if you want to remain on the force.
He and Chief greeted one another in the Moslem fashion.
I saluted.
We all sat down.
Commissioner Ahmed sat opposite Dr. Puene. To his left, from Area Command, was Jonathan Amadi. To his right, my chief of police, Isaac Olatunji. Captain Akpan sat to his right. I sat near no one. None of them looked at me.
The commissioner spoke up first. “Dr. Puene, first I want you to understand that you are not under cross-examination. You are not under any obligation to answer any questions.” The good doctor said nothing. I muttered something to myself about sacred cows. The commissioner continued, “But to see justice served, of course we expect you will fully cooperate.”
“Of course,” Dr. Puene said quietly. He sat back in his chair.
It was Amadi’s turn. “Doctor, of course you know that anything you do tell us could be used in a court of law. Do you wish to have an attorney present?”
“Do I need one?”
They all smiled at him. No, he did not need an attorney.
My mentor, Chief Olatunji, leaned forward. “Dr. Puene, do you know Okpara?”
“Of course. He’s a friend and party member. He’s running against me.”
Chief cleared his throat, going through the motions. “What is your relationship with him?”
“We’re politicians running against each other. But we’re also members of the same party. Some of our supporters do not quite get along as well as they could, but he and I are fine.”
“So your relationship with him is cordial?”