Satans and Shaitans

by Obinna Udenwe

‘I am a detective.’

  Other dogs started barking. The guard made Kwame sit on the bench till Chief Amechi asked for him to be brought round to his gazebo in the garden, where he was sitting on a plastic chair.

  ‘I am told that you came here yesterday asking to see my son,’ the Chief said after Kwame sat down. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Sir, I am the detective investigating Adeline Chuba’s case.’

  ‘Oh, I see. I was the one that recommended you. I called your mentor in Ghana and put him in touch with the Evangelist.’

  Kwame didn’t know that.

  ‘Why do you want to see my son?’

  ‘We got information that your son was seen with her twice in town before she disappeared.’

  The Chief frowned. ‘And?’

  Kwame knew to tread carefully. ‘Sir, we are trying to tie up every loose end in this case. They are young people and they like to socialize, so I believe that your son could help us with information that may help us find your friend’s daughter. Something she may have said to him.’

  ‘Who gave you that information, detective?’

  ‘We’ve been talking to people, Sir.’

  ‘Well, it is not true. Adeline is known to be a quiet person, a recluse. And my son rarely left the Island. He is an artist, one of the best in the world. He doesn’t have time for gallivanting.’

  Kwame remembered the clutch pencil.

  ‘He is an artist?’

  ‘Yes, man. That is what I said.’

  Kwame brought out the pencil from his pocket. ‘I found this, Sir. Do you recognize it?’

  ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘We found this yesterday at the chapel, lying beneath one of the pews.’

  Chief Amechi took it. ‘Yes, this belongs to my son. We were looking for it before he left for Port Harcourt. He must have dropped it – he often visits the chapel to see the priest there. Thanks for finding it. I will return it to him.’ The Chief placed the pencil beside him and crossed his legs.

  Kwame was confused. ‘I don’t think so, Sir. It is evidence, for now, you see.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sir, we suspect the pencil has been used to commit a crime. It has been modified with a needle instead of a pencil lead. The lab reported that the needle has traces of blood and another substance that appears to be poison on it.’ Kwame saw that the Chief’s expression had changed. The Chief twisted the pencil. The needle had been removed. ‘Sir, I promise to return it when we are through with the investigations.’

  ‘Where is the needle?’

  ‘It’s in the lab now.’

  ‘Okay then, give me your business card. If anything comes up I will let you know. Sorry that you cannot speak with Donaldo himself.’

  ‘We may arrange to see him and talk with him at a later time, Sir.’

  Kwame wrote down his phone number on a piece of paper and left. The Chief sipped from his drink then lit his cigar. He was deep in thought. The clutch pencil belongs to Donaldo. It may have been used to murder someone. It’s been a while since I last saw it in Donaldo’s hands. Apparently he used to bring Adeline to the Island. Kwame said some people saw them together twice in town. The chapel is close to his hut. What if Adeline was killed by Donaldo, or someone else, with the pencil? What if? He knew that anything was possible.

  Chief Donald Amechi stood and paced about. He picked up his phone and made a call. He needed to act fast before someone else found out before him. The Sacred Order of the Universal Forces would demand his son’s head if he was the one who had prevented the sacrifice. It had taken a great deal to convince them to choose Adeline. Why hasn’t this occurred to me before?

  That night, Evangelist Chris Chuba and his wife had an argument.

  ‘Listen, woman. You do what I command. Have you forgotten?’ he shouted at his wife. The door was closed. She was crying.

  ‘I cannot keep on doing your wish. I don’t want to travel to Libya.’

  ‘It’s just for a few days.’ He was frustrated. The deadline from the Sacred Order was drawing nearer, and he wanted Franca out of the way, even though he knew full well that nowhere would be completely safe.

  ‘We have hundreds of people we could send,’ she said.

  ‘You are my wife. And I want to send you.’

  ‘I am not going. It was all this travelling that made us lose Adeline,’ she cried, ‘my only child! And I could never have had another. I bet you’re happy about that, God forbid I should lose my figure!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Chuba slapped her. ‘It was the will of God that you lost your womb.’

  She moaned with pain and held her face where the sting of his slap still tingled her skin.

  He turned her around and started to kiss her. She did not object, she was too weak and tired. He pulled down his trousers, unzipped her skirt and entered her.

  FORTY

  Saturday, 15th May 2010

  The Sheikh was not the one leading the prayers. His eyes were roving over the worshippers in the mosque in search of the spy whom they had been informed was in their midst.

  It was Subh, the early morning Salat. The Sheikh had watched everyone as they entered the mosque. They came in ones and twos and in groups. Then as the prayers proceeded, a young man strolled in. He was dressed in a very common quftan, the cheapest you could find in the market. He was very dark with no tribal marks. He was so tall that the Sheikh would have to look up to his face to talk to him. He had never seen his face before, but his eyes still wandered.

  When the prayers were over he asked five of his men to follow the man, and watch his every move. The man did not leave the Centre, like most of the worshippers, but walked round the mosque towards the classrooms. He went to the back of the last classroom, undid the rope of his trousers and urinated, his eyes looking around the whole time. When he finished he walked away.

  Just before 8am, a fair-skinned man with a scar on the right side of his forehead was sitting on one of the cushions in Chief Amechi’s sitting room. His brown shirt was the same colour as the cushion he sat on. The four ceiling fans whirled noiselessly and the tiled floor seemed to stare up at the fans as if in amazement. The bald headed man was watching the television till Madam Vero took him into the study to meet her boss.

  The Chief stood next to the man, who was a forensics expert, as he talked to the old priest in front of his little cottage. The octogenarian vehemently refused to leave his cottage for a few hours.

  ‘Where will I go to?’ he asked.

  ‘Go to Mile 50. The Bishop’s Court,’ the Chief suggested.

  ‘Just because this man here wants to carry out an investigation? For what, even?’

  Chief Amechi looked at him sternly, his patience running out. ‘Just do what I said, Father, just for today.’

  The priest saw the anger in the Chief’s face. ‘Okay. I’ll go, but just today… let me tell you, Donald, I hate staying with the Bishop.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He prays all the time. I never have time to read.’

  ‘All right. Leave this morning, Father. You can go anywhere but just leave,’ the Chief said. The priest went back into his cottage. He was not happy. He hated anyone ordering him around.

  The Chief watched the forensic investigator as he operated the laser detector that he had unpacked from his kit. They moved around the area slowly, the investigator stopping every few steps to examine the debris and search for any trace of evidence – ‘blood, saliva, bone fragments, that kind of thing, which the human eye can’t see,’ he had explained to the Chief.

  They searched the whole of Donaldo’s hut and the nearby forest where he made his wooden sculptures. They found nothing. They searched the banks of the pond. And the path that led to the chapel. Finally, they reached the chapel itself.

  ‘The pencil was found inside, right?’

  ‘So Mr Kwame said,’ the Chief replied.

  The investigator manoeuvred the device round the exterior of the chapel and inside it and up to the
altar. The fluorescent light highlighted something. He knelt down, focusing in on the area. He noticed that the ground had been disturbed.

  ‘What is it?’ the Chief asked, anxious and impatient.

  ‘There’s something here.’

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘I cannot be sure. The investigation of a crime scene requires time… and patience,’ he added pointedly. ‘The ground here has been disturbed. You see how these leaves are scattered? Though the wind has moved them around there is still an unusual concentration in this area, and some of the leaves are mixed with mud, as though the floor was dug up and turned over.’

  The investigator stood and removed his jacket.

  ‘Has anyone been buried at the altar recently?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think so… it’s only priests who are buried here. Unless the missionaries who used to own this place buried someone here, but that would have been a long time ago.’

  ‘No, this is recent. Very recent. Sir, can you fetch me that shovel we saw near your son’s hut?’

  The investigator started to dig. The Chief paced up and down the aisle of the chapel, as nervous as a man whose wife was in labour. His hands trembled and he took out a white handkerchief to mop the sweat off his face. After a short while the investigator called him over. Chief Amechi watched as he used the shovel to scrape away the red soil, and it came into view. There before them was the body of a young woman, her long hair in a mess around her.

  Chief Amechi’s heart was beating so fast he felt he was about to have a heart attack.

  ‘What… do we do? Can you tell how long the body has been here?’ he asked, his voice urgent and his eyes red.

  ‘No, Sir, that is not in my expertise, though I do not think it has been too long.’ The investigator looked at the Chief, who turned away.

  ‘Never mind, I know someone who can.’

  He took out his phone and called the medical examiner.

  In the evening, Chief Donald Amechi sat mulling over the the medical examiner’s words. A young woman, aged about 18–20. Dead less than two weeks.

  ‘I want this to be our little secret,’ the Chief said to the investigator and the medical examiner as he handed over two large brown envelopes containing one million naira for each of them. ‘You know, a man might be forced to become wicked sometimes, especially when it comes to protecting his family.’

  He smiled. It was a warning to them.

  The investigator said, ‘Chief, every day I deal with different cases. I barely remember one case to the next. If it is not in my files, it does not exist. You do not need to worry.’

  ‘Me too, Chief, I owe you a lot already. No one will hear about this.’ The Chief nodded and with that the medical examiner hurried away.

  Chief Amechi turned to the investigator. ‘No one is to hear that you even came to Ebonyi State.’

  ‘Sir, I have not been to Ebonyi since I was born in downtown Lagos.’ Nodding respectfully, the man collected his envelope and walked away.

  As soon as the men left, Chief Amechi summoned his son.

  FORTY-ONE

  Donaldo had just finished a painting he called Axe of Freedom when his father called and asked him to return from Port Harcourt the next day. It was painted on thick board, about four metres tall by three metres wide, depicting slaves, about a hundred of them – tiny humans, tied with chains – and soldiers flogging them with whips. Above the slaves was a giant bird holding in its beak an axe, breaking the chains. It was a remarkable painting.

  The place where he lived was close to the sea and from his veranda he had a wonderful view of the water. He used the veranda as his studio. It had all he needed for his painting. Different paints, woods from a variety of timbers from across the world, brushes, pencils and every type of art equipment one could think of.

  He left the painting and walked to the rear of the veranda to watch the waves. A young girl came out dressed in a silk blouse that emphasized her generous bust and a pair of slacks made from a light material that outlined her full buttocks. Her hair was tied back tight, revealing high cheekbones and an elegant long neck. Her name was Chomy, a painter too who had just graduated from the university. She was working as Donaldo’s personal assistant during his stay in Port Harcourt, though she hoped there might have been more between them. Any other man would have found it difficult to control himself alone with such a beautiful woman. But Donaldo was far too troubled to notice her looks.

  ‘Chomy, get me something to drink. Something strong this time, not that light beer you brought before,’ he said. He was fast becoming dependent on alcohol, out of despair.

  Chomy served him a glass of vodka and looked at him for a while. She liked Donaldo, she liked him a lot, and wondered why he never looked at her as other men did. She was smart enough to recognize her own physical charms, and concluded that Donaldo must be having problems with a girlfriend back home – why else would he not be attracted to her? Finally, she sighed and left him alone to drown his sorrows.

  Mr Yahaya Ahmed had informed his brothers that the Government might attack the Centre for Islamic Knowledge. Sheikh Kabiru Ibrahim was alerted. He immediately headed to Katsina. And in less than an hour, all the weapons that had been hidden in the madrasa were relocated to a camp in a thick forest where some Fulani herdsmen who were members of JMJ had been encamped for over a year. Over five hundred young men, with more than six hundred cattle, moved into the camp with the weapons. The arms would be returned to the madrasa when the time was ripe. They began to watch out for the spy.

  As the weapons were being loaded into trucks that night, the terrorists travelled to the outskirts of Katsina and attacked a government research institute. They shot five women and nine men. They then entered a police station and opened fire on those inside. The policemen ran for their lives. The terrorists released the inmates.

  As the attacks were going on, Sheikh Seko noticed the stranger again in the Centre. The man, wearing an old gallabiya, came into the mosque for the Ishai Salat then left. He had been seen earlier that day when he came for the Subh and the Zuhr Salats in the morning and in the afternoon; he had also gone to the canteen and drunk kunu and ate some rice. He chatted with the man who ran the canteen. Then he walked round the Centre visiting the hostels and walking along their verandas.

  FORTY-TWO

  Sunday, 16th May 2010

  Donaldo was collected from the airport in Enugu and driven to Williams Island; throughout the journey he did not utter a word to the driver and the guards.

  His face was swollen and lined. His once fine eyes were red and his complexion had darkened. Donaldo knew that he had a serious health problem but would not see a doctor. He had promised Adeline’s spirit that he would only see a doctor when he had suffered enough as penance for his sins.

  Some metres before the Island gate, the driver pulled up and the guards got out. They accompanied him to the gate from where he could see the outstretched waters. Someone who had not been there in the middle of the rainy season before would doubt that it was in fact Williams Island. For days, it had rained continuously, causing the floods to surround the whole island. The late morning breeze created waves. He could see speedboats already waiting for them.

  From his boat he saw Islanders fishing from the banks and locals who had come in canoes to fish at the tributary that flowed into the bigger mouth of the Ebonyi River, from which the state got its name. On the other side he disembarked and walked down the footpath to a large clearing where his Volkswagen Bug was waiting. He passed it and continued walking. He passed the swampy areas. Saw rice plants and heaps of yams and groundnuts. He passed the golf course, down to the Island restaurant, then past the recreation centre and down to the main road leading to his father’s mansion. All the while, thinking, why has he summoned me?

  A man came out of Murtala Muhammed Airport in Lagos and walked into a waiting Honda Accord. The driver drove off immediately at speed, heading towards the exit.

  ‘As-Salaamu ‘ala
ykum, Bala!’

  ‘Thank you, oga. ‘Alaykum Salam! How your journey be?’

  ‘Fine, Bala.’

  ‘May Allah be praised. Welucome, Oga. Welucome!’ the driver responded in his pidgin. As soon as the car left the airport a Hilux gave chase and blocked it, pushing the Honda into the hard shoulder. The Honda hit the kerb, tipped over it and fell into the drainage ditch. Three men, wielding 9mm automatic pistols, got out of the Hilux and shot the driver four times in the chest. They dragged the passenger into another vehicle with tinted windows that had been following behind and sped off. The Hilux took another route.

  That afternoon, the death was announced of a middle-aged driver shot on the airport road, while his boss was kidnapped. A few miles away, Malik Hassan was hanged from a tall tree in a very thick forest. His killers made sure that he was dead before they walked away. It would be better, they had been ordered, if his corpse was left for vultures to feed on.

  As soon as Donaldo walked into the mansion, Chief Amechi’s phone rang. He saw the number and hurried into his library.

  ‘Hello!’ he answered.

  ‘The vultures will dine well today.’

  His heart was filled with joy. ‘Good. Now proceed as planned. God is your strength.’

  Later that afternoon, Chief Amechi sent Madam Vero upstairs to her room and summoned Donaldo to his library. Madam Vero was surprised. What on earth could make the Chief send her upstairs? He had never done that before, not even when people came to discuss business with him. Something must be wrong, she thought. But she hurried to her room as she was ordered to do.

  Donaldo found his father bent over the table. He could see how neatly dressed the elderly man was. His ashtray was full of cigar butts. Chief Amechi lifted his head and stared at his son for a while, which made Donaldo very uncomfortable. The Chief cleared his throat, so that the gods and his ancestors could pay attention. He sat up and placed his arms on the leather covered table.