by Ayse Hafiza
As an Officer of the law working for the Met Police, we needed answers. A crime had been committed against an innocent child on our doorstep, and we needed to catch the murderer. We needed to show everyone that the most sophisticated police force of the world would not shy away from investigating this heinous crime. Justice would prevail, and I was its face.
Halina didn't want me to go. I had told her before the headline was printed in the papers about the body, and I told her straight away that I would likely be assigned the case. I wanted to manage her expectations and break her in gently with the news. It was good to have prepared her as the media frenzy that ensued guaranteed this case would either make or break my career. If I found the murderer, then I would be in line for a promotion, pay rise and potential directorship of the Specialist Crime and Operations division. For me, there was a lot at stake. The material stuff was great and extra cash unfailingly handy when you have a growing family, although what inspired me, what I was passionate about was far simpler than money and the prospect of promotion. I had always been proud of working for the Police, and I wanted the kids within our small London based Nigerian community to see, that working for the Police was a real respectable career option. If the youth saw me a high-ranking black officer within the Met Police with real respect and values, they would follow. There would be no ethnic silos, it was my secret agenda to break them down. That's what I was doing working for the Met Police, I was proving my point.
Our communities' children surprised me. They spoke as if we were living in Compton, Los Angeles. These were dangerous times, and gang culture was on the rise. We were still far from having the crips and bloods in our back garden. We lived in Peckham, in London for goodness sakes. The kids believed institutional racism and that incidents like police brutality were far more commonplace than they truly were. Sometimes the Met Police felt antiquated, but I was there to smash down barriers. A reminder to the 'old boys' who all happened to be White that as a young black man, a young Christian man, the son of an immigrant, that I could be a pillar of the community, and we Nigerians had a lot to contribute. I wanted to be a role model. I wanted to show the kids that being a man meant standing for justice and truth.
Father had been a Pastor working in the Church and left Nigeria in the 1960s to emigrate to London. Mother and Father left Nigeria to find a better life, but Nigeria was always home. My parents only had the support of the Nigerian community. My parents' friends became my Aunties and Uncles and their children my cousins.
Mother had taken me back once after my Father's death. It was a terribly unhappy time for all of us. Although it was a sad time I had fond memories of sitting at my Auntie's kitchen table with all my cousins, we still managed to laugh, and that is how I managed to recover from the grief of my Father's death. I remembered the distinct smells, the yellow-red fertile lands and the heat of the long hot days and the pungent spices. Halina said I romanticized it, but part of me was glad to be going back. My family was from Makurdi, near Abuja, so I knew I would have time to visit on this trip. My family so warm and welcoming that being there, it would feel like I had never left.
As much as I was looking forward to some home-cooked jollof rice, it would be hard to be away from my women. I had prepared Halina for my departure, but Kesha was another story. Kesha was the apple of my eye, my five-year-old daughter. Words could not express how much I loved her from the moment she was a bean in Halina’s tummy. I loved her with all my heart, being away from her would be hard. She had never experienced my absence from home, and I knew this would be tough for her. She was a sensitive and thoughtful child, so I would need time to prepare her for my absence. I went home that night with a special doll for Kesha, a toy she could hold dear while I was away. I hadn't wanted to worry Kesha about being far from home, but now the meeting had happened and my trip a reality, Kesha needed to know.
We ate together at dinner time, and I told Kesha and Halina stories of when I visited Nigeria last. My cousins and all the crazy things we said and did. It was part of the preamble for what I knew would be a difficult conversation. I set the scene for Kesha of simple living with ochre lands, long golden reed-like grass, saffron-coloured sky. Jovial warm and loving people, religious and well-meaning. I told Kesha that Daddy's boss David wanted Daddy to visit Nigeria to go and find a bad man who had run away from London back there.
"Why was he bad Daddy?" Kesha asked. At five years of age, she knew right from wrong, and her childish curiosity was sparked by my story.
"I don't know Pumpkin," I said, "Only the people who do something wrong, know why they do it.” It was the lone justification I could give her.
"Maybe he is sick?" said Kesha.
"Possibly" I answered. Glad that Kesha had enough forgiveness in her heart to think this way. Kesha was too young to be exposed to the cruel nature of the crime.
This monster was sick. He beheaded a young boy, who the forensics team aged between four and seven years. I was sickened by the fact this boy, the victim of this crime was a similar age to my own child. His body dumped in the Thames in a suitcase. The suitcase had fallen away, which allowed the buoyancy of the water to lift the swollen body of the boy and let rise to the surface near Tower Bridge. That's when the early-morning jogger had seen his body and called the Police. The body of the boy had not been interfered with in a sexual way. Therefore, the only motive left to investigate was that this was an occultist ritual killing. Not something we see every day in London, which is why I had to get involved.
I hope you enjoyed these first few pages of Confessions of a Witch, it forms the sixth book in the Jinn Series.
(Excerpt from Confessions of a Witch © 2017)
Afterword
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Also by Ayse Hafiza
Have you read them all?
Azrael Series
The Afterlife of Abdul (Download Free)
King Solomon and the Cat (Download Free)
Mr. Time (Download Free)
Jinn Series
The Seance (Download Free)
The Crush
Magician's Assistant
Devil's Daughter
The Egyptologist
Confessions of a Witch
Possessing Asya
About the Author
I am a Londoner born and raised, with a proud family history of authors I feel that becoming a writer was predetermined. As a child, my doting father read bedtime stories generally Aesop’s and Anderson fairy tales but also colourful tales of Sultans, Emirs, and Maharanis. Daytime was reserved for stories of Prophecy, and snapshots of the mystical world of the Jinn. The result being a rich tapestry of stories which fuelled my imagination from an early age. Whereas Mum was the one who took us to the library, she appreciated the importance of reading.
After finishing university, I had an illustrious career in the commercial world, employed in business development roles by leading technology brands. My work led me to travel the world. It was during a secondment in Singapore that I connected with my Spiritual self.
I fell in love and married then moved to Istanbul. and regularly travel between the two historic and beautiful cities of London and Istanbul, which is great fuel for the imagination.
For more information
@aysehafiza
aysehafiza
www.aysehafiza.co.uk
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Disclaimer
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author
and have no relationship whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. This story was not inspired by any individuals known or unknown to the author. Any resemblance of any character to real persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.
Additionally, the author claims to have no knowledge of the afterlife and or any of the angels or mystical beings covered in the contents of this story.
It is only the author's imagination, perspective, and limited understanding that is represented by this fictitious series of short stories.
The author wants to convey expressly she has no connection with any religious or political body of thought, group, organization, or otherwise.
In short, her works are only her own.
Copyright
Text copyright © 2016 Ayse Hafiza
All Rights Reserved
This book or any portion thereof, in both printed or electronic form, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.