Open. I did not like that.
I stepped inside. The apartment was dark. It was hot and smelled musty. I groped the wall until I felt the light switch and flipped it. The not-so-lavishly decorated apartment that the light revealed was just what one would expect from a police officer’s salary. Not a rich man’s paradise in a well-to-do neighborhood.
I almost made it through the living room before I saw the foot sticking out from underneath a padded settee. A man’s foot. Wearing a dark sock and a fairly good quality black shoe. I did not need to guess whose foot it was.
I slowly walked around the settee and came face-to-face with Femi-or at least, face-to-face with what was left of his face. A bullet hole between his eyes definitely spoiled his boyish good looks. I did not bother taking his pulse, but instead bent down, lifted up his jacket, and pulled out his wallet, then went through the rest of his pockets. Nothing I found told me who had killed him or why.
I went back to my car and used the police radio to call in a formal report. A police officer was down: now everything had to be by the book-with a civilian you might cut corners, but not with one of your own. Then, with the sight of yet another dead body lingering in my mind, I stood against my car and lit a cigarette, even though I had no one to annoy with the smoke. A police officer down-that was disturbing, very disturbing.
Soon enough a police car drove up, followed by a van. Sergeant Okoro stepped out of the car and told me the pathologist would be arriving shortly. Officers from the van began to put up red tape and cordon off the area. There would always be onlookers. With few jobs, people had plenty of time.
I gave Okoro a cigarette and we blew smoke together while most of the forensics crew went into the apartment. I would just be in their way. Two of the forensics officers approached us, one with a camera, the other with a notepad.
“You know about this?” the one with the notepad asked me.
“I found the body, but that’s all I know so far. No idea who did it, when, or why. He did not report for duty today, and I decided to check on him.”
He nodded, then he and his partner went into the apartment to do their jobs. Okoro and I followed them, but stayed in the doorway. It was the usual busy crime scene. Officers collected evidence and placed it in bags. There was the periodic flash from a digital camera, recording elements of the scene. I saw three spent shells on the floor. There was a lot of blood on the carpet, but not much more than you would expect from a head shot. After a while, the pathologist showed up and began his inspection of the body before it was moved to the morgue.
“Can you get a clear shot of this?” Nnadozie asked the guy taking the pictures, pointing to a blood spatter on the wall. Another guy was carefully looking for any slugs that had gone through the dead man’s head and out the other side. They were being thorough.
I remembered Femi’s words from our last conversation.
I decided it was better not to tell Okoro about my conversation with Femi yesterday afternoon. He’d think I was losing it. Maybe I had already lost it, but if there was a leak as Femi implied, it could be anybody. Including Okoro.
After I left the scene, I drove to Freda’s office. We went across the street to a small restaurant for drinks, and at a quiet table, I filled her in on everything. It felt important to tell her.
She did not want to accept it. Especially about Femi, that he had been murdered because of the Okpara case. “That’s what my gut says,” I told her. “But I have no proof, and with the restrictions Chief has placed on me, no way to get any. Not yet. I have to think. Let’s get out of here.” For once, she dropped work-she was as committed to her work as I was to mine. We got in my car and drove. I had no idea where I was driving to, and did not care.
“Tammy, I’m afraid,” she finally said. “What are you going to do?”
“No idea.”
It was too hot to think. I took us to another small restaurant and bar: the Grill Restaurant. The food was not very good, but the air conditioners made up for the menu. We both sat there, looking at the food we’d ordered, trying to digest Femi’s death. Freda looked badly shaken. Me, I wished I could wake up and find this was all a bad dream. I gazed out the restaurant window without seeing.
“Tammy, how can you be certain Femi was murdered because of the case? Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it isn’t as bad as that,” Freda said, unable to stand the silence any longer. I looked up. She could see pain and weariness in my eyes.
“Hon,” I said, “I’m praying you’re right.”
There was not much left to say. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’ve thought of one thing.” I took out my cell and phoned Kola Badmus at The Nigerian Chronicles. I was in luck, he was in. He knew Femi was dead but didn’t know the details. I told him that Femi had been shot-and then I really let it fly, telling him I thought Femi had been murdered because of the Okpara case and because of a leak within the force.
“Where do I meet you, Tammy?” Kola said immediately.
“I’m at the Grill Restaurant right now.”
“I’ll come over. Wait for me.”
As I put away my cell phone, I knew Chief would not be happy with me. I did not care. Femi deserved the best.
“Mind telling me what that was about?” Freda asked. I could feel her pulling away from me, wondering about the phone call and what I was going to tell the reporter. I tried to change the subject. “So, darling. How are you holding up in the office?”
“Not bad. One very important client hasn’t made up her mind to buy life insurance yet. Otherwise, it’s all in order.”
“Who is he?”
“She. The wife of the older brother of the Petroleum Minister.”
“Professor Donald Chike?”
“You know him?”
“No, but I’ve certainly heard about him.”
“I met her at a luncheon party. She seemed interested in our life insurance, so I’ve done one follow-up visit. She’s almost hooked.”
“It’ll sure be a big account.”
“I like the marketing part of my job the best. I like selling, finding where their interests and mine link up.”
After that we ran out of conversation.
About twenty minutes later, a light green Mercedes 230 came to a standstill outside. Kola’s tall, heavyset figure got out of the car and came into the restaurant. He was clutching a fat file.
I pulled out a chair and he sat with us. “This is Freda,” I told him. “She’s. . a friend.” She darted me a look as if to say, Why am I here? Good question. I had not thought this through-I had just jumped ahead.
He did not give her a second glance. “What’s the story on the dead officer?” He took out a pad.
“I believe he found out some pretty hot shit, so he was killed.”
I told him my conversation with Femi yesterday afternoon.
He was skeptical. I had expected that.
“I need facts, my friend.”
“I don’t have a lot of facts and I have no proof, but I suspect Femi was killed to prevent him from revealing any more than he already had.”
“You want me to quote you directly.” He said it flatly, not as a question. He knew what I was up to.
“It’s one way to find out, isn’t it? To get some hard evidence. If there’s a leak, he’ll think I’m a wild card. He’ll come after me. Then I’ll have my proof.”
“You’re being a fool.” He thought it over. “I like it. It’ll sell newspapers. Does Olatunji know about this?”
“No. He wouldn’t let me if he knew.”
He seemed pleased, but of course, Freda was the opposite: “My God, you’ve gone crazy. Is that what this is all about? Making yourself bait?”
My mind was already made up; it was made up by Femi’s death. Perhaps it was crazy, but I owed him something. “They’re going to come after me anyway. They know I won’t give up. Life is too short to wait to be murdered.”
Freda was shaking. “You could get killed, Tammy. Did you ever stop to think about that?” She glared at me. “And what about involving me? You’ve put me in the middle of this now.”