‘Lock your car. Let us go.’
Donaldo turned and drove the knife into Simon’s stomach. Before Simon’s brain could take in what had happened, the knife was out and thrust in again with greater force. Adrenaline kicking in, he knocked Donaldo down with a blow and staggered, then fell. Donaldo sprang up as Simon was pulling back, losing blood, clutching at his stomach.
‘What… did I do… to you?’
Donaldo kicked his stomach and he screamed in agony.
‘Help! Help!’ He coughed up blood and tried to crawl away from his attacker. Donaldo felt suddenly overwhelmed. Hate. No, more than hate, power. He bent down and stabbed Simon in the neck to curb his screams.
‘This is for trying to rape Adeline,’ Donaldo growled, spittle flying out of his mouth in his rage. He stabbed the dying man once more, in the groin. Simon Chuba’s eyes bulged, he tried to scream but there was nothing but a gurgle as he choked and drowned in his own blood. Donaldo walked back to his car, breathing hard. The pain in his chest was a little sharper but he ignored it, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He got behind the wheel and sped off.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The news of Simon Chuba’s death spread like wildfire through Ishieke town. His body was found sprawled on the ground by a young couple who parked behind the abandoned car to grab a quick kiss.
They drove fast to the expressway and alerted some passers-by, who called the police. Officer Leonard Omelu rushed to the scene with three of his men. Kwame had asked him to inform him if there were any reports of crimes, as one could relate to another, so Leonard called Kwame and he joined them just before the ambulance from Abakaliki arrived.
‘He is Evangelist Chuba’s younger brother. I was with him just a couple of hours ago,’ Kwame told Leonard. Then they heard the siren of the ambulance.
‘Any idea where he said he was going to before he left the house?’ Officer Leonard asked.
‘I didn’t even know he had left the house.’
The paramedics covered the body with a cloth and took it away on a stretcher.
When Kwame came back to the house, the maids were still awake because their master had not gone to bed. Evangelist Chuba was sitting on one of the double sofas, his legs crossed, watching the news, waiting to talk to Kwame. He had just been speaking on the phone to Chief Amechi about the bomb attack in Lagos and had told him that Simon was on his way to the Island to discuss how to tackle Malik Hassan.
Demola opened the front door for Kwame and was surprised that he was with Officer Leonard, who was dressed in police uniform.
Kwame and Leonard found the Evangelist watching the television.
‘What is it?’ he said, thinking that they had news about Adeline.
Kwame asked, ‘Where did Simon say he was going to when he left your house?’
‘He was going to the Island to see Chief Amechi who was attacked today. I couldn’t go since I am not feeling well, so I asked him to go and check on the Chief and find out if he is all right.’ The Evangelist sat back on the sofa. ‘Why do you ask? Is everything okay?’
‘Sir… there is no easy way to say this… I am afraid Simon is dead. He has been murdered.’ The words came out of Leonard’s mouth more easily than he had thought when he had been wondering how to break the news. ‘I am sorry for your loss, Sir. Rest assured we will do everything to find the killer.’ About a minute elapsed. No one said anything.
Demola had been eavesdropping, something she did all the time. She ran to Miss Spencer’s room and informed her, but she was surprised when Miss Spencer did not show any concern.
‘How did you hear?’
‘Officer Leonard came here with Kwame. I heard everything.’
‘Thank you for letting me know. Now, I want to sleep.’ She turned to face the wall, and smiled. Though Adeline had never said anything, Miss Spencer knew how afraid she was of her uncle, and Simon had a reputation for liking his women young. Many times she had tried to broach the subject with Adeline, who refused to talk about it. She had once seen Simon standing very close to his niece – he had jumped when he saw her, only to relax on realizing it was only his niece’s maid. She had hated him since that moment.
That night, Sheikh Kabiru Ibrahim sat with Sheikh Mohammed Seko in his father’s sitting room. The older Sheikh had come to congratulate the men on the success of the two bombings. He had brought many gifts for the commanders of the operation.
‘How many soldiers do we have, Seko?’
‘In the Centre we have less than a hundred. But around Kafurzan and in other neighbouring towns we have close to ten thousand.’
‘Great. Great.’
‘The incentive is good. Beside there is no greater incentive than knowing that you do God’s work.’
‘Well said, Sheikh, well said. In Kano alone we have three thousand. In other states in the North we have a total of about four thousand.’
‘We have been sending our soldiers to the South for over a year now. There are over ten thousand men scattered across all the states in Southern Nigeria,’ Sheikh Seko said.
‘Alhamdulillah!’
‘Who made an attempt on one of the Ustaz in the South?’ Sheikh Seko asked. He was drinking kunu from a small calabash plate.
‘May Allah be praised that the Chief survived the attack. Alhamdulillah! He is a nice man. Sympathetic to our cause. He should have been born a Northerner. A Muslim.’
An elderly woman brought in the food. It was jollof rice with fried meat.
‘We know who did it. Malik Hassan!’
Sheikh Seko’s kunu spilled from his mouth.
‘Haa! Pardon my manners, Ustaz.’
He cleaned his quftan with his handkerchief. The sound of children outside drifted in through the window. They were dancing around in circles and singing:
Young boy young girls listen to your father
Young boy young girls listen to your mother
You must obey what Allah says
You must obey what the parent says
Always ask them first what you want to do
For Allah will love you and they will love you too
Young boy young girls listen to your father
Young boy young girls listen to your mother…
‘He has stepped on the tail of a lion.’
‘He will be taken care of. A bounty has been placed on his head.’
Kwame was in his bathtub, which was filled to its brim with foamy water. He was lying still, just thinking about everything that had happened.
Perhaps Adeline is dead. Or being held by someone more dangerous than we think, the person who killed Simon. And are these crimes related to the Evangelist? The thoughts whirred around his mind as he tried to put them in order.
His mind drifted to Evangelist Chuba and his reaction when the news about his brother was broken to him.
Evangelist Chuba was in his study, speaking with Chief Donald Amechi.
‘If Simon was killed by one of our enemies, it means we are not far from the target,’ he told the Chief.
‘Could it be Malik?’
‘My guess is as good as yours.’ The Evangelist rubbed his temples.
‘We need more security. First Adeline, then the attempt on me, now Simon. I will talk to the Tais, we must get more intelligence on this. In the meantime, tell your men to beef up your security.’
Chuba nodded. ‘The police said they are waiting for the results of the autopsy to determine the blade used – it might help with the investigation. The Commissioner called me a couple of minutes back.’ The Evangelist’s voice was hoarse and he trembled slightly.
‘You see, Chris, I don’t think we need to involve the police in this matter. The investigation might lead to where we don’t want it to.’
Chuba considered for a moment. ‘What do I do, then?’
‘Call the Commissioner tomorrow after the autopsy; the information it provides may be useful to us. Then, tell him to forget the investigation. In fact, call him tonight an
d tell him not to involve the press.’
‘Will he agree?’
‘He has no option. Who made him Commissioner?’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Thursday, 13th May 2010
Officer Leonard and Detective Kwame drove to the Island to interview Donaldo Amechi.
‘I got a call from the Commissioner this morning,’ Leonard said. ‘He said that we should concentrate our energy on looking for the Evangelist’s daughter, that we should forget about Simon Chuba.’
‘Why?’
‘He said that he thinks it’s a distraction. That if we could find the person holding Adeline then we may discover who killed Simon.’
‘That’s bullshit. It could be the other way round, Leonard.’
‘Yes, I told him so. But he wouldn’t listen. Kwame, you don’t understand this country.’
‘It is corruption. A lot of things are amiss here.’
‘Yes. But for me that corridor is still open. Simon Chuba was brutally murdered. We owe him a duty to find his killer.’
‘Did your men take fingerprints and collect evidence at the scene? I would like to see the lab results.’
Leonard replied carefully, ‘Kwame, this is not the US or the UK. Things are done differently here. Here we do not rely on science so much as intuition. They may have some evidence but, please, don’t go demanding big scientific investigations, you understand?’
Kwame thought about that as they got to the Island gate.
There were trees scattered within Chief Amechi’s compound and a deep forest started at the back of the white mansion. There was no gate, but the detectives could see at least five Alsatians chained near the house. The dogs began to bark fiercely at the unfamiliar car.
The two men parked and hurried to the front door and pressed the bell. After a minute a woman in her fifties answered.
‘How may I help you?’
‘Good day, Ma. My name is Leonard. I am the DPO in charge of the Ishieke Police Division. This is Kwame, my partner.’
‘Ha. Oga, welcome, Sir.’
‘Thank you. We are looking for your son, Donaldo.’
‘My son? Donaldo’s mother died years ago. In any case, he is not here, he travelled yesterday.’
‘What?’
‘Yes. What is wrong? Is everything all right?’
The two men stared at each other.
‘Yes, Ma. Everything is fine,’ Leonard replied. They wondered why the woman didn’t ask them in. Her bulky frame blocked the entrance, indicating that she preferred that they remain outside.
‘Why do you want to see him?’
‘We need to talk with him about the missing Chuba girl. We understand that she had visited here with her family before.’
‘Oh yes. At Easter. We all ate together. What is so special about that?’
‘Ma, they are young people, and young people talk to each other. We just wondered if she may have told him anything that might help us find her.’
The woman said nothing. She studied the two men.
‘Where has he gone?’ Leonard asked.
‘He travelled to Port Harcourt. His father was attacked two days ago—’
‘We heard. It is a pity.’
‘You must excuse me now, I have something on the fire.’
She tried to close the massive door but Kwame’s hand went to it. ‘Hold on, Ma’am, when is he likely to return?’
‘I don’t know. Speak with his father when he returns. Both of them travelled together. But I think Donaldo is starting a new job there. His father might be back tomorrow. Excuse me.’
The thick door closed with a thud.
The two detectives stood for some seconds, silent, disappointed. Then they got back in the car and, as Leonard drove out, he suggested they drive around the Island to explore before leaving.
As they drove around, they couldn’t help admiring the beauty of the Island – the jacaranda and gmelina trees, the tall neem trees, the brightly coloured flowers of the Pride of Barbados. They passed a small golf course, then a rice field, which Kwame had never seen before. Finally they saw a signpost leading to the chapel, so they parked and followed the path.
As they walked they discussed the announcement they had heard on the car radio – impeachment motions had been moved in both Houses of the National Assembly against the President for his failure to contain the spate of terrorist attacks in the country. Kwame laughed when he saw the small chapel. He could not understand why the Island with all its wealth would still be using a hut as a chapel that housed the Blessed Sacrament. Kwame noticed that the lamp by the tabernacle was lit so he picked up a Bible from one of the dusty pews and walked to the sanctuary and knelt down. He opened the Bible to the book of Psalms and read. Then he walked to one of the pews close to the altar, and sat down, forgetting that it was covered in dust. Outside, Leonard was throwing stones at some birds in a moringa plant.
Kwame loved the chapel. He was a Catholic and took great solace in his faith. He took a deep breath and was about to stand when he noticed something glittering by the pew in front of him, partly covered by leaves. A breeze from the open door had revealed it and it sparkled in the sunrays shining through one of the windows. Kwame reached out for it. His heart beat faster.
He hurried outside and cleaned it with his handkerchief to reveal a surface like a kaleidoscope.
‘Leonard, look!’
The officer turned and came to him at the entrance to the chapel.
‘What is this?’
‘I found it there. Inside the chapel.’
‘A golden pen?’
Kwame said, ‘No. It’s a golden clutch pencil. One of those refillable types architects use to draw building plans.’ The sun caught it again and it radiated like a rainbow. ‘Who would be using a golden clutch pencil round here?’
Leonard shrugged. Kwame twisted the pencil to see if any lead was left inside, but instead of lead a long needle came out.
‘Jesus!’
‘What is it?’
‘Someone has replaced the lead with a needle.’
Leonard took the pencil and admired it. ‘Who would put a needle inside this beautiful thing?’
‘Whoever the owner is, he must be wealthy. This is pure gold.’
As they left the Island, Kwame still studying the pencil, he remembered one of the Psalms he had read while he knelt by the sanctuary: … He makes me lie down in green pastures… my cup is overflowing…
THIRTY-NINE
Friday, 14th May 2010
The Government’s Joint Task Force, the JTF, whose duty it was to lead the war against terrorism – seeking out terrorist camps and flushing them out – received orders to attack people residing at the Centre for Islamic Knowledge in Kafurzan. They were suspected by the Department of State Security of being members of Jama’atul al-Mujahideen Jihad.
The attack was to take place on Friday afternoon. But while the JTF were busy preparing their operation strategy, the Commanding Officer got a signal. They were to hold off on the attack.
A few hours earlier, a security meeting had been held with the President. Mr Yahaya Ahmed, Director of the Department of State Security, served on the Presidential Security Advisory Committee and argued during the meeting that if the Join Task Force attacked the Centre for Islamic Knowledge with insufficient evidence that it housed terrorists, it would provoke the Northerners and the Muslims. The President had been adamant. He wanted the JTF to storm the place and find out for themselves. But Ahmed held firm that any operation would be a huge blow to the President.
The President was confused. ‘Then, Director, why was the JTF ordered to prepare for an attack?’
‘If we are investigating a place like this, Your Excellency, we ask the JTF to prepare for an attack then wait for presidential clearance. If you give permission like you did yesterday, they will get the signal to carry on. If you refuse permission, they will hold back. Either way, it is better that they are on alert—’
‘All right. A
ll right.’ The President knew how long it could take to organize things in Nigeria, so he understood why the Director would want to be prepared. Furthermore, he trusted him. ‘I am rushing off for another meeting in fifteen minutes. I want all the documents on the Islamic Centre to be on my desk by the end of the day. Meanwhile put the attack on hold until you find out more. What else can we do?’
The Minister of Defence spoke up. ‘Your Excellency, there is only one way to find out. Since there is a mosque inside the Centre, we could send in a spy to worship there and take a look around.’
‘Mr Ahmed?’
‘Yes. We could send a Muslim in there.’
‘Then do it. We cannot attack the Centre based on speculation.’ The President scratched his head. ‘If we attack every Islamic centre and mosque, the media and international organizations will suck our blood. I have enough headaches already. And this impeachment move from the House. Why is everything happening at once?’ He sighed. ‘This spy had better move quickly. I am a Muslim, and these men will not shame my religion – if I find a single terrorist in any Islamic centre or mosque I will burn it down! Simple! Kajiko?’
Everyone was silent. They understood.
Mr Yahaya Ahmed smiled once they had all been dismissed; his brothers in the Sacred Order would be pleased.
Kwame drove to the Amechi residence to show the pencil he had found to the woman there. Leonard had told him if any building work was being done at the chapel, the Amechis would know of it. When he got to the mansion, he was surprised to see several cars parked there, and young men sitting on benches. Two of them stood when they saw him and approached his car, their hands at the ready on their guns.
Kwame was careful. He stepped slowly out of the car. As soon as his feet touched the red earth, a hulking Alsatian swooped on him. If one of the guards hadn’t quickly grabbed the dog’s chain it would have sunk its teeth into the detective.
‘Who are you?’ the guard shouted above the dog’s barks.
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