Nnadozie was trying to lift fingerprints from the car. One of his boys found a pistol in the dirt a few feet away.
Captain Akpan walked over. “You just got here?”
“Just a few minutes ago,” I said.
One of Nnadozie’s crew came over. The pistol they’d found, which was likely the murder weapon, was a.22. Four shells were missing from the clip. It had been fired recently. Probably used elsewhere, then dumped here. Tape around the handle-I’d seen this before-to prevent the lifting of fingerprints. Professionals.
Dr. Onwuchekwa cleared Kola’s corpse for the trip to the morgue, and there was nothing more to do except wait for lab results. I couldn’t see going back to Freda’s, to wake her up to hear about more horrors. I decided to go home and get some rest. I told Ade to do the same, and to prepare a report first thing tomorrow. When I told Akpan I was heading home, he just looked at me and nodded. “The autopsy’s tomorrow morning at 8:30. Be there.”
I nodded. “Of course, captain. Good night.”
“Good night,” he repeated.
When I returned to my apartment, I removed my clothes and slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and an undershirt. I turned my cell off, then turned off the ringer on the home phone so nothing would wake me up. For the moment, everything could wait. I set the alarm for 7:00 A.M., made sure all the doors and windows were locked, slipped a wooden chair under the kitchen doorknob so no one could open it without making a lot of noise. Then I did the same for the front door. I laid my piece down beside me, closed my eyes, and it all went dark.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A buzzing woke me up. I groaned, shut off the alarm, went back to sleep. But after maybe half an hour I woke again, this time for good. Rubbing my face helped wake me up-it hurt. I put the phones back on. When I checked my cell, there were two messages. The first was Freda. She wanted to see how I was doing, and was not happy I had switched off my cell. The second message was also from her, but this time she wanted me to call her. I was not sure I wanted to talk to anyone just yet-but I dialed anyway.
“Why did you switch off your phone?” she asked immediately, anxiety in her voice.
“I needed to have some sleep, that’s all.”
“You could have called when you got back to your place.”
I knew she was frightened and needed some reassurance. “It was late by the time I was done. It was a murder scene. If I’d called, I would have woken you up. I was going to call you this morning. Where are you? In your office?”
“I’m at home,” she said curtly.
“You didn’t go to work today?”
“I called in sick. I’m frightened. I can’t reach you, you turn off your phones-what did you expect me to do? I barely feel safe hiding in my apartment.”
“I’ll come over as soon as I can, okay?”
“That’s better.”
I knocked on her door exactly twenty-three minutes later. “Good morning, honey,” I said.
“Thank God you’re here!” She had already packed a bag.
She locked the door behind her.
As we drove to her aunts’ house, we talked about how hot it was. When we got there, she took her suitcase, kissed me, and went inside. I could see her through the windows saying hello to her aunts. She did not come back out. I drove off and headed toward the city morgue, wondering how this day would go, wondering whether I would live through it, wondering whether I would ever see Freda again.
Port Harcourt was very active at this time of day. Workers on their way to their jobs had jammed the traffic by the time I got to Eastern Bypass.
My route took me straight to the General Hospital-Port Harcourt’s morgue. Captain Akpan and Sergeant Okoro were already there, along with the pathologist and his assistant. The autopsy was just beginning. It did not take very long-this pathologist was quick. Captain Akpan informed me that the.22 found at the scene was the weapon used to kill Kola.
“The victim was tortured,” he said, showing me cigarette burns on the corpse’s chest. “Whoever did this has watched too many mafia films. It probably went on two, maybe three, hours before he was shot and killed.”
I told Captain Akpan that Thompson was the likely killer of Kola. I was almost certain ballistics would prove the same gun shot Wike, after all.
Once the autopsy was done, I drove back to my apartment-it checked out okay. For a while, I sat around, just thinking. I did not want to call Freda or anyone else. But I could not stay alone in my apartment.
I left abruptly and, on a whim, drove down to the Protea Hotel. I needed to get away to think. The Protea Hotel was cool and exclusive, a perfect place to think. And I was hungry. At the very least, I’d get an excellent meal.
I took a seat and immediately a waiter came over. I decided on fried rice with salad and chicken, and some choice red wine.
As I sipped the wine, I looked up to see Okpara walk into the lobby with a younger man. I had seen the younger man somewhere but could not immediately place him. Nice suit, nice hands. The hands seemed familiar. Calluses. And then I remembered. The younger man was the fellow I had seen on Tuesday in Chief’s office.
Well, how about that?
I watched them walk to the elevators and go into one. From where I sat, I could see that the elevator stopped on the sixth floor.
Minutes later, Chief walked into the lobby. No uniform today. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a fez cap. The outfit was odd for him, and he looked awkward. If you did not know who he was, you would not think he was a senior officer. But it was Chief, all right.
I watched him walk directly to the elevators, and take one to the sixth floor.
Well, how about that?
I sat there for a short while, letting it sink in. That floor was getting crowded. But what I saw next was a slap in the face.
A moment later, Barigha Duncan, supposed boss of the Duncan gang, walked into the lobby. What timing. He also took an elevator. It stopped on the sixth floor.
Well, how about that, indeed?
My mentor was involved with Okpara. And Barigha. Police, politicians, and criminals-meeting privately in a hotel room.
I drank the rest of the wine.
When I walked into the lobby, I looked for and saw what I had hoped: surveillance cameras. Which would provide proof. Proof at least that they were all in the same hotel at the same time. The cameras also seemed to cover the elevators-proof they all went to the same floor.
I approached the hotel manager, showed him my badge, and asked him about the security system, in particular the cameras. There were cameras throughout the hotel. We went into the security office. Soon enough I had confiscated the lobby videotape along with the tapes recorded just now on the sixth floor.
A friend of mine, Phil, runs Global Video at Rumuola. He would be helpful. As I drove to his place, I regularly checked my rearview mirror.
I called Phil on my cell.
“Good afternoon,” his thick voice answered.
“Phil, it’s Tammy.”
“Tammy? Long while, buddy.”
“It’s dark-clouds time. I need you.”
“Name it.”
“I have some security tapes. I need to watch them, transfer them to digital, and make a few copies.”
“Is this police work?”
“Yes. But it’s even worse than that. You don’t want to know.”
“Well, come on by then, I’ll be here. You piqued my interest.”
“I’m already on my way. See you in ten.”
It did not take that long to reach his shop. I parked my car behind the building and went in through the back door. If I was being followed, there was no point making it easy for them to find me.
Phil was a thin man whose face barely seemed to have room for his wide grin.
“Okay,” he said. “Hand them over.”
“Can I do this myself? Without involving you?”
“No.”
“It would be healthier for you, my friend.”