by John Ukah
I shook the clothes and the keys jangled again. I parted the clothes and I saw a nail hanging on the wall behind them. On the nail was the set of keys. I took it and tried it on the lock of the drawers. They opened.
I searched through the first two drawers with care, but without any luck. It was in the third one that I found what I was looking for. A diary bound with a red hard cover for the year 2012. I locked the drawers and returned the key to where I had found it. With one hand on the doorknob, I looked back at the room and satisfied myself that I had not left any sign of my visit.
I opened the door a crack and peeped into the corridor. I saw no-one. I had just stepped into the corridor and was turning the lock, when Tonye turned the corner of the staircase.
“Hello,” he said coming down the corridor towards me. I began whistling in a carefree manner.
“Is he in?” he asked.
“Do you want to see him?” I asked walking away towards my own door.
“Not really,” he replied, staring at the diary in my hands.
“How long are you still staying?” I asked him.
“A couple of days,” he replied. “And you?”
“A couple more days, too,” I said, as I opened my door.
“It's really unfortunate what happened,” he said. He had followed me and was now standing before my door.
“Indeed!” I said.
“I was surprised that Nagoth could do such a thing,” he said.
“Yeah! Me, too,” I said and I shut the door in his face.
“What’s that book you are holding?” he asked from the other side of the door.
I pretended not to hear him; I turned on my radio and raised the volume.
I sat down and thumbed through the pages of the diary. There was no personal entry in the diary. Willie had only compiled quotes and inspirational lines. The only consolation for my efforts was a lengthy love note from Binta to him dated January 10, 2012 and sandwiched between the pages. She had written enough to show that they were lovers, and that they had come to Obudu together. She thanked him for the beautiful time they had spent together. But I was disappointed. I still had no proof of the murder even if the circumstantial evidence was sufficient to convince me that Willie was the killer.
Willie and Binta had been lovers and he murdered her, when she refused to terminate a pregnancy. Maria attended the same church and had discovered their secret affair, when she found the items in her chest of drawers. He had killed her to shut her up. But had Maria also been his lover? She had mentioned in her hypothetical story that she was unwilling to pass on information about the individual to the police because she was in ‘in love’ with the person and would not want him to feel betrayed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE END
It was an hour later, when I climbed up the stairs and made for Willie’s room. Ayuba had told me he was inside. I knocked several times, before the door opened.
“What is it?” asked Willie. He was clearly agitated. He looked several years older and had worry lines etched in his face. He had large sweat stains under his arms and small beads of sweat had collected on his forehead.
“I wanted to have a word with you,” I said, looking over his shoulder into the room. It looked like a tornado had hit the place. His things were scattered about. It seemed he had been searching for something. The room looked quite disorderly.
“Not now, I’m quite busy,” he said, trying to shut the door.
“It is about Maria’s death,” I said, placing my foot against the door so that he could not shut it. His eyes widened in what seemed to be fear.
“What about her death?” he asked.
“I’ve made some enquiries on my own and I have come up with some theories that somehow involve you,” I said
“Me?” he asked with a croaking sound, which he tried to disguise as laughter.
“I’m serious, Willie. I would appreciate it, if you would follow me down to her old room now.”
He looked steadily at me for some minutes. He seemed to be weighing a lot of things in his mind.
“Okay,” he finally said.
I led the way downstairs, as he shut his door. I did not say another word to him until we got to Maria’s room.
“Please hurry up with your theories, Mr. Simpson,” he said, as we stepped into the room “I’ve some urgent things I need to do.”
“I won’t take much of your time, Willie.” I made to sit down on the armchair with the broken leg.
“Be careful of that chair!” warned Willie.
But I paid him no attention and as I sat down, the chair fell to one side.
“That’s funny,” I said getting up and dusting myself. “How did you know that the chair was bad?” I asked, innocently. “Have you sat on it before?”
He saw the trap that he had walked into. “I have eyes, Mr. Simpson,” he snapped. “And from where I stand, I can see that one of the legs is shorter than the others.”
“Oh, I see.” I sat on the other chair.
“My theory is a very short one, really,” I began. “I’ve being doing some running around, lately. Everyone knows that you are the Assistant Pastor of Holy Love Chapel. I went there today and discovered that Binta, the girl who died here in February, was also a member of that church. Then, I discovered that Maria Marshall worships there, as well. Too many coincidences, wouldn’t you say? I’ve been able to establish from a letter she wrote to you, that you had an affair with her and that you did not meet here by chance. You actually planned the trip together. I also suspect that you killed Maria Marshall, because she became a threat to you when she discovered your letters and the affair with Binta. How do you like my theory so far, William Akuma Japheth? Or is it A.J?”
He was staring at me with anger, hate and fear mixed together.
“You fool!” he said, through clenched teeth and shaking with emotion. “You’ve been meddling in affairs that do not concern you. So, you are the one who took my diary? Where is it?”
“I hope you have not been looking for it?” I asked, innocently. “The diary is intact. That should be the least of your worries, right now. You should be more concerned about the implications of my discoveries. I found a love letter from Binta to you in the diary.”
“Your discoveries amount to nothing. You can’t prove I killed anyone because of a love letter. I want my diary. Where is it now?” he asked.
“With the DPO,” I replied, nonchalantly. “He seemed interested, you know how he is, so I let him have it.”
“You fool!” he yelled. “I’ll kill you for this!” And he ran towards me.
But the coffee table was between us and as he made to go around it, the closet opened and the DPO and two of his men came out. Mean Face was one of them.
“Hold your trousers now, Mr. William Akuma Japheth a.k.a. Willie a.k.a. Candy Lover a.k.a. A.J,” advised the DPO. “Don’t do anything rash. “You’re already in enough troubles, as it is. Old habits die hard, they say. You couldn’t resist killing again, could you?”
“Father Lord!” exclaimed Willie in shock and he turned to run through the door. Mean Face put out one leg. Willie tripped over it and fell heavily.
“Handcuff him!” ordered the DPO and the policemen held Willie to the ground and cuffed him.
“Alright, let’s move it!” said the DPO and they marched out with him.
“You have nothing against me that can stand up in a competent court of law. You can’t prove I killed anyone. You’re just arresting one wrong person after another. Blunder after blunder. You can suspect me all you like, but you can’t prove a thing!” shouted Willie.
“I’ve enough grounds to place you under arrest and we have ways of making stubborn people talk!” said the DPO.
As if by foreknowledge, the other guests were waiting in the lounge.
“I thought I knew it all,” said the DPO shaking his head “And I almost had the wrong man fried.”
“What’s happening?” asked John, as they
looked on in amazement. “Pastor William, why have they handcuffed you?”
Willie, who had kept his head down, now looked up with defiance in his eyes.
“Brother John,” he said, solemnly. “Pray for me. These men are accusing me of some very heinous crimes. But the truth will prevail.”
I believed Willie was only trying to be difficult with his denial that he hadn’t killed Binta and Maria Marshall. But his guilt was plain to see. He obviously had motive. By the time he had cooled his heels at the police station for a bit, he would be singing a different tune. It would be easier and things would go faster if we had some evidence to conclusively tie him to the murders.
Getting him into Maria’s room and confronting him with the facts had not gone exactly as planned. We had hoped that he would open up to me with a confession, thinking that we were alone. We thought he might accept that he did it and ask me to go ahead and prove it. Instead, he had rushed at me, threatening to kill me; that, we hadn't foreseen.
I hurried to Mrs. Marshall’s room to inform her of the turn of events. Just as I raised my hand to knock on her door, I heard a muffled scream from inside the room. Perhaps it was my imagination running wild, but it sounded to me like someone was trying to strangle her!
I was scared for her safety, considering the recent happenings at the Lodge and her incapacitated state. Calling out her name like a battle cry, I aimed a good kick at the door and with much gallantry, running into the room to save her from whatever evil or villain that had attacked her.
I was shocked and transfixed to the spot when I saw Mrs. Marshall standing unaided, by the window. Her crutches lay on the floor by her feet. She turned around sharply to see who had broken into her room.
She was peeling an orange and it seemed that she had accidentally nicked her finger with the knife. That was why she screamed.
“Mrs. Marshall, you can walk!” I shouted in surprise. She stared at me with a look of anger, then dismay and finally made a wry face.
“Are you out of your mind, Mr. Simpson? What’s the meaning of this absurd conduct of yours?”
“I heard you scream,” I said, feeling quite foolish. “I wanted to be sure you were fine, considering the recent happenings in the Lodge.”
“How gallant of you,” she said. I did not miss the sarcasm in her voice. “It was also ungentlemanly of you to just burst into my room! What if I was in a state of undress? And to answer your question, yes, I can walk. I’ve been able to walk for quite some time, but it suited my needs to look like a helpless woman on crutches.”
“But why?” I asked.
“It is personal,” she said tersely.
A thought came to me and I involuntarily took a step back from her. The woman was becoming an enigma. She seemed to read my mind.
“Don’t be silly. That I acted like I couldn’t walk doesn't mean I'm a murderer. My daughter was a disgrace, Mr. Simpson. She was a flirt and seemed to be going out with almost every man in sight. But I loved her and could never have hurt her. You should have seen her as a baby. She was always laughing. Never gave me even a moment's sadness. I heard the commotion with the DPO and Willie, some minutes ago. He was arrested?”
‘Yes, from my investigations, I believe he killed Maria and the other lady that we thought committed suicide some time ago.”
“But you really have no evidence to back up your claims?”
“No, I don’t. But we’ll get a break before long, I guess.”
“I’ve all the evidence you need,” said Mrs. Marshall as she attended to her bleeding finger. She dabbed at it with a ball of cotton wool from her First Aid box.
“How? Where is the evidence?”
“You’re not the only private eye in the house, Mr. Simpson. I’ve also done my share of detective work. A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words. Check out the recordings on this video camera recorder.” She picked up a camcorder from her bedside table and set it to play. Then she handed it to me. It was a recording done on the night of the murder.
Someone standing at the head of the staircase captured the first scene. I saw Maria running away from Nagoth, who stood staring at his scratched hands that were bleeding. The time was 10:15pm.
From the angle of the rest of the recording, it must have been done by someone hiding in Amina’s big cupboard, at the end of the corridor.
The next shot showed Willie pacing in front of Maria’s door, as he waited for her to open it. The time was 10:55pm. This was followed by one in which Maria was seen opening the door in her nightgown, before the door closed behind Willie.
Some minutes later, I saw Willie again coming out of the room. He looked up and down the corridor, furtively. As he came out, he had what looked like red stains on his previously immaculate white shirt. He locked her door from the outside and kept the key in his trouser pocket. Then, he quickly walked away. It was at the stroke of midnight. My hand was trembling, as I held the camcorder.
“When and where did you get this?”
“I got it less than two minutes before you broke into my room like a robber. I got it from John Brad. You see, I had also noticed Maria’s pensive and distracted look, that evening. So, I had asked John to keep a watchful eye on her and keep me informed. Unknown to me, he did better than I asked. He followed her about with this camcorder. Being the amateur astronomer that he is, he did his job well into the night and captured these interesting images. By the way, I also saw some pictures he took around the Lodge. Our Mr. Brad is a voyeur!”
“But why didn’t he turn this in?” I asked. “He could be arrested by the police as an accessory after the fact.”
“John Brad has a deep-seated loyalty to Willie. He speaks about him in reverential tones. He was convinced there's a logical explanation for the actions of the ‘ordained’ man of God. He believed that by turning in this recording, he would be leading the police down the wrong path, while the real murderer escapes.”
“How does he rationalise Willie locking her door from outside and the evident bloodstains on his shirt?” I asked, astonished at the naivety. Or was it a conspiracy to cover up the act?
“Until this afternoon, he still believed that there was a logical explanation for everything. According to him, the intruder may have broken in through the window and killed her. You need to understand it from his perspective. They are of the same religious faith. He believes so much in the Pastor Willie, who preached to him and got him converted. He closed his mind to the facts at his disposal, choosing instead to believe blindly in his revered mentor.”
“So, what changed his mind and made him turn over the recordings to you?”
“Maria left me a note on the day of the murder. I didn’t get it until yesterday. She sent it to a friend of hers, who was to send it to me if anything happened to her. Her friend only heard of her death yesterday morning.”
She handed me the short note which read:
Hello Mummy,
Despite our differences, I want you to know that I love you very much. I wish I had the power to make everything okay again with daddy and your legs. Since you’re reading this, it means something bad has happened to me. Maybe I was foolish for love's sake. It is very important then, that you know that Binta Danladi, the girl in the choir whom I told you disappeared some time ago, is the same person as Fati Madu who was suspected to have hung herself in my room in the Lodge in February. She and Pastor Willie were dating. He brought her here just as he convinced me to come and I convinced you in turn. You may have been right all along about him. I’ve a feeling that he killed her.
I love you very much.
“Naturally, her note aroused my curiosity. I read about Binta’s death in old newspaper clippings kept by Amina. I asked her where one could get the kind of cord used in the hanging here in Obudu. She mentioned a number of stores. I sent the helpful John Brad to them with one of the policemen I had become acquainted with, during the murder investigation. They asked to see all their duplicate sales receipt books for January and
February. They stuck gold at “All Bright Stores” where they got this. She gave me a duplicate sales receipt number 911 made out to William Akuma Japheth for the purchase of hand gloves and a coil of cord on 12.02.2012. That was the night before the supposed suicide!
“Brad had a photograph of Willie with him and showed it to the shop attendant, who easily recognised him because of the crucifix he always wears. He was definitely the one who bought the items. So, you now have your killer and the evidence.”
I was speechless.
The next day, I helped Mrs. Marshall pack her things. Her eyes were still red and swollen from much weeping. Yet, she still had her strength of character. It must be devastating to lose one’s husband and only child in the same year, both in tragic ways.
“But it is amazing, Mrs. Marshall, that you did not catch on that there was an affair going on between Willie and your daughter,” I said, as I put her shoes in a bag.
“Of course, I knew,” she said, as she put her knitted caps in a polythene bag. “Who did you think I was warning her against?”