‘Donaldo, what I want to say might sound ridiculous to your ears. But I want you to tell me the truth. Our people say that eziokwu bu ndu, truth is life. You have no other kinsman but me, your father… no matter what, I cannot neglect you nor abandon you.’ He paused to light a cigar. ‘You must tell me the truth, so that I can protect you if the need arises…’
Donaldo’s heart flew into his stomach. Perhaps they have discovered Adeline. He began to shiver. And his father noticed it.
‘You continued going out with Adeline, even after my warning, didn’t you?’
Donaldo did not know what to answer. He was confused and scared.
‘Answer me, nwokem!’ His father’s fist hit the table. He jumped. The Chief swept the papers off the table onto the floor.
‘She was just my friend.’ Tears came to his eyes.
The Chief looked at him hard. ‘So, why did you kill her?’
The accusation landed like a bombshell. ‘How can you even think that?’
‘Are you denying it?’
‘You accuse your own son of murder?’
‘Listen. You are in deep shit. The sooner you talk to me the better.’ His father stared hard at him. Cigar smoke spiralled into the air. It made Donaldo feel sick. The two men were silent, staring at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move like players in a chess game.
Chief Amechi made the move. ‘I found a grave at the chapel.’
Donaldo could not look his father in the face.
‘How does that concern me?’
His father continued, ‘Adeline’s body was in the grave, and your clutch pencil was found nearby. It gave you away Donaldo. The golden pencil I gave you.’
‘I didn’t kill anybody.’ Donaldo’s voice was faint. He was sweating profusely.
‘When did you last see Adeline, Donaldo?’
Donaldo was surprised his father had not started beating him. Cursing and shouting. Maybe he did not want to raise his voice in case anyone in the house heard.
‘I can’t remember when.’
The Chief was angry now. ‘The girl was your girlfriend, Donaldo. I know she was. You remember the story of Picasso’s friend who travelled to Paris with him and later killed himself because of a love affair that went bad… Pray… Pray, Donaldo, that this won’t land you in big wahala!’ The Chief was standing now, facing his son, his cigar burning between his fingers.
‘If I knew this was why you summoned me I would not have come.’ Donaldo turned his back on his father.
‘And if I knew you would be stubborn I would have allowed the Chubas’ detective to carry on with the investigation till he apprehended you. I would have given him leads. But it’s not too late. God! I feel like killing you. I cannot have a murderer for a son.’ The Chief squared his lips as he said those words. ‘You remind me of the witch who gave birth to you.’
Donaldo was enraged. To speak of his mother was to put fuel on a blazing fire. He turned on his father, ‘Interesting that you mention my mother, maybe I inherited my killing traits from you.’ Donaldo’s words made his father recoil in horror. He knew then that it was indeed Donaldo who had killed Adeline.
‘I regret the day I held you in my arms as my son. You disgust me. Inwuranwu, you are dead!’ His father grabbed his collar, and tried to hit him, but Donaldo shook him off and shoved him hard.
‘You think I do not know about you? About Christiana.’
The Chief slapped Donaldo so hard that blood flew out of his mouth. ‘How dare you! Anu ofia, bush animal!’ he cursed.
Donaldo wiped his mouth with the back of his left palm.
‘The beatings did not start today, so I do not fear them. You know, it’s your fault. I hate you just like you hate me. You confined me in a small space. Now, I am a fool. I am anti-social. A dullard. I know nothing. How do you think I’d behave, like a saint? You built the monster in me. You made me like this!’
‘Shut up, you bloody fool!’
Their eyes were locked, in hatred, anguish and after, despair and blood tie.
‘You made me kill Adeline. You, with your twisted ideas about women, about my art and my future. Oh! How I loved her, and you made me kill her. And you know what? I killed Simon too! And I won’t stop until I have revenge for me and for Adeline, and for our baby!’
For once Chief Amechi was terrified. He saw madness in his son’s eyes. Donaldo ran out and would have collided with Madam Vero, if she had not been fast enough to dodge behind the thick curtain when she heard the doorknob turn.
Madam Vero breathed fast. Tears mixed with fear filled her eyes. She had heard everything.
Sheikh Mohammed Seko assembled over thirty of his fighters. They had been ordered to meet close to the market in Kafurzan, where the spy lived, with their guns and machetes. It was a dark night, the stars and the moon had retreated into the black ocean of cloud.
Some of the men appeared uneasy – even with their lack of education, they knew it was a grave sin to hurt a fellow Muslim. Seko knew he would need to twist those same teachings in order to settle them. He addressed the men before him. ‘In Sahih Bukhari, Abdullah bin Umar narrated: “A Muslim is a brother of another Muslim. So he should not oppress him. Nor should he hand him over to an oppressor. Whoever fulfilled the needs of his brother, Allah will fulfil his needs; whoever brought his brother out of a discomfort, Allah will bring him out of the discomforts of the Day of Resurrection. And whoever protected a Muslim, Allah will protect him on the Day of the Resurrection.”’
Abouzeid and the men nodded.
‘For this reason it pains my heart that one of our Muslim brothers who worships with us in the holy place of Allah plots to hand us over to the oppressor. And has failed to protect his brothers! Now it is our duty to protect, we cannot fail.’
The men murmured in agreement. Sheikh Mohammed Seko smiled to himself – it had not taken much after all. His friends in the South and those in the Government were doing their best to protect him. They all wanted the same thing – fame, fortune and power.
The men made their move. The spy was standing inside the house, facing away from the door and saying his prayers, when the men surrounded the dilapidated residence, occupied by market traders. A burly man broke down the door with his military boot. The spy turned swiftly; his hand went to his waist to reach for his gun. A shadow moved to the left. The spy fired his gun, but not before the poisoned dagger had lodged in his neck, paralyzing him.
Abouzeid fell, he was bleeding. The bullet had penetrated his right ribs. In their rage his soldiers hacked the spy’s body to pieces. When the police came it had to be packed in plastic bags for removal.
It was 11pm. The Island was as quiet as a graveyard. The mansion was dressed in the same cloak of silence. Donaldo checked his watch. He walked to the wing where his father’s room was situated. He pulled at the door handle. It opened.
Donaldo watched as the Chief slept. He knew that under one of the four pillows on the bed was a loaded pistol.
He was confused and for the brief moment that he stood there it was like eternity, waiting for the day Jesus Christ would come. He thought about his future. If I allow this man to wake in the morning he will ruin my life.
He shook his head and turned. He was ready to walk away. Then, he remembered Christiana and his only sibling. He stopped. Donaldo could see them drenched in blood. They begged Donaldo to kill his father. He walked back to the bed, and picked up one of the pillows. As the man opened his eyes, he struck, smothering his father’s face with the pillow and pushing down with his strong hands.
The Chief threw a punch at his son. It caught Donaldo in the jaw and he was sure that a tooth was dislodged. Donaldo struggled, the pillow shifted and he found himself staring into his father’s eyes, just for a second, before he pushed down again with all his might.
Donaldo leaned towards him, avoiding the thrashing hands. ‘This is for Christiana – for killing my mother and her baby,’ he hissed, ‘and for ruining my life.’
Donaldo relaxed, and noticed how hard he was panting. Sweat dripped off him and his hands were trembling. He quickly placed back the pillow and rearranged the bed, before hurrying out of the room.
FORTY-THREE
Monday, 17th May 2010
Donaldo was seated with Madam Vero, eating breakfast. As Donaldo ate some fried yam with fresh pepper sauce and eggs, Madam Vero sat staring at the kitchen door, her right palm holding her chin.
‘What is bothering you?’
After a few seconds she said, ‘It is very unusual that your father is not down by eight. Let me check on him.’
‘Okay.’
She left, and he heard her footsteps up the stairs. When her screams came from the landing, they were so loud that the guards came running in.
Madam Vero was weeping and panting and sweating. The guards held both her and Donaldo, who cried quietly in the corner. Then, one of the guards stepped outside and rang Evangelist Chris Chuba.
When Evangelist Chuba got to the residence and confirmed that his friend was dead, he instantly took Donaldo aside. He gave him his sincere sympathies, but wanted to ensure that the young man would not ask for an autopsy. The Sacred Order of the Universal Forces forbade autopsy on their dead members. Chris Chuba also suspected this was yet another attack againt the Sacred Order, and the last thing they needed was police involvement.
‘When do you intend to lay your father to rest?’ he asked.
‘As soon as possible, Sir.’
‘Good. Our Lord in Heaven will have his soul now. Your father was a good man.’ He hesitated. ‘I hope you do not intend to carry out an autopsy, son?’ He looked Donaldo in the eye.
Donaldo was surprised by the statement. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Your dad was my friend. The Bible does not support autopsy, son, it is a mutilation of the body and the body houses the soul.’
They could still hear Madam Vero’s sobs from her room and the gentle words of the Island women who had come to pay their respects. He saw Father Simeon walk in.
‘I don’t support autopsy. I am here to guide you as your father’s dearest friend—’ the Evangelist continued.
‘I do not need guidance, Sir. But I do not intend to ask for an autopsy.’ Good riddance, he thought.
That morning, a doctor was tending to Abouzeid inside the Centre for Islamic Knowledge. The night before, when he was brought back, Shedrack Obong had removed the bullet and given him first aid while they awaited the doctor.
‘My Sheikh,’ he muttered.
‘Brother.’ Sheikh Mohammed Seko came to his friend.
‘I do not fear death. For I know that if I die I have a place in paradise.’
‘Alhamdulillah! Thanks to the Almighty for your wisdom. You won’t die. Have faith.’
‘I need to pray. Give me my prayer beads.’
The Sheikh gave the dying man his masbaha. ‘Doctor, how is he?’
‘I wish I had come sooner, it is a bad wound. I am surprised he has lasted this long. All we can do now is wait, and pray. I have done all I can to stabilize him.’ The doctor bandaged his stomach, and set up an IV.
Abouzeid began to say the Shahadah. The Sheikh noticed that he could not go past the first few lines. He was saying it repeatedly.
Ash-hadu an laa ilaaha illallah Wa ash-hadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah. Ash-hadu an laa ilaaha illallah Wa ash-hadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah. Ash-hadu an laa ilaaha illallah Wa ash-hadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah…
Sheikh Seko began to say the creed in English.
I bear witness that there is no God but Allah and that Muhammad is His Prophet…
He was clutching his friend’s hand tightly. When Abouzeid’s mouth stopped moving, his eyes rolled and turned white, staring at the ceiling. The prayer beads fell off the bed onto the floor. The sound startled the Sheikh. He stared at the beads, for he couldn’t bear to look at the dead Abouzeid, but Sheikh Seko did not know that an evil person is not worthy to die with the holy beads in his hands, for Islam abhors evil.
Later that morning, Donaldo received some very important visitors in the small sitting room on the upper floor of the mansion. The Governor of Ebonyi State sat on a chair directly opposite the television. Next to him were the Evangelist and three very old men. Two other men in their early thirties sat together on a sofa.
The men patted his back and shook his hand in sympathy.
‘We are sorry for the sudden death of your father,’ the Governor spoke with a heavy accent. He was a slim man with bushy hair. ‘My family send their condolences.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You may not be aware, for you are still young, but your father was a great man—’
‘Yes, I know.’
The others nodded in agreement.
One of the elderly men said, ‘We were good friends of your father. These two are from Lagos and I live in Abuja but we had to hurry here because of the friendship we share in our club. So we came by private jet as soon as we heard.’
Donaldo shifted uncomfortably on his seat.
‘It is important to us all that we pay our respects to your father – we would like to pray together for him. But sadly, we cannot stay for the funeral, we have responsibilities, you understand?’
Donaldo nodded.
‘Good, good. So, with your permission, we would like to be together privately with your father to pray with him – you know his spirit is still here. It is a tradition among us friends, you understand. It won’t take long.’
‘I see.’ Donaldo thought for a while, looking around at the men. He knew they were very powerful and important. Finally he said, ‘I agree. You were his friends. Do your will. I am glad you all came from so far to sympathize with me.’ He was eager to get everything over with. He didn’t care if the men wished to rip out his father’s heart.
Officer Leonard and Detective Kwame attended the burial. Kwame saw Donaldo for the first time as Leonard pointed him out, standing beside the woman they had seen at the Amechi residence. They needed to speak with him but Kwame knew it would be callous to broach the issue of Adeline and the pencil when he had just laid his father to rest. They agreed to return the next morning.
Donaldo noticed the two men looking at him. One of them was clearly from out of town, and he immediately knew that he must be the detective Miss Spencer had mentioned the week before, the same one who had visited Madam Vero and found the pencil. He felt trapped, realizing it was only a matter of time before they would come back to interrogate him.
FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday, 18th May 2010
The Director of the Department of State Security was on the phone with the President. It was the fourth time they had spoken since the previous night. He had been briefing the President on the attacks in the research institute and the police station. The President was very angry.
‘This is awful! Kai! How can human beings be so cruel? Allah, have mercy.’ He paced his office as he spoke. The death of the spy was bad enough, but the treatment of his body beggared belief.
‘How do we proceed now, Sir?’
‘What was the report from the officer before he died?’
‘Your Excellency, he had just been there for a few days, but he worshiped in the mosque, was able to look around the living quarters, the hostels, even some parts of the school. He reported that he was confident the Centre is used for clandestine activities but needed more time to get solid evidence—’
‘Hmmn. I believe they harbour terrorists in there. Otherwise, why would he have died the way he did? He was getting close to something.’
‘What are your orders, Sir?’
The President was silent. The line crackled. The Director was patient. He knew it was not an easy task running a difficult count
ry like Nigeria. Any action the President took could quickly lead to impeachment.
‘Do not attack the place. At least for now. Go back to the drawing board, Director. And this time, come up with a better strategy. Any idea that will not involve the butchering of innocent Nigerians.’
When Kwame arrived at the mansion, Madam Vero informed him that Donaldo had left earlier that morning to catch a flight to Lagos from where he would connect to Port Harcourt.
Kwame was frustrated and confused – why would a man travel so soon after losing his father, his only family member? It seemed cold hearted, though people dealt with grief in strange ways. But in Africa it was like a taboo, Donaldo was supposed to mourn his father by staying in the father’s house for at least a week, receiving other mourners – relatives and friends. Kwame took a walk down to the chapel and walked around it, lingering for some time. Then he followed a path facing the exit, where Leonard had stood stoning birds a few days earlier. Kwame came upon a barricaded area. He saw that the rusty gate was locked, so he walked alongside it and found an opening, which he slipped through, and made his way down the path, his clothes wet from the dew on the grass.
When Kwame saw Donaldo’s hut, his heartbeat increased. He took his time exploring the place.
As Kwame was leaving, the priest’s voice startled him.
‘Gentleman, O gini? What is it?’ The voice was angry and harsh. Kwame turned and saw the old priest in his white cassock.
‘Oh! Morning, Father.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I am a detective and came to look around, Father.’
‘Again? Your colleague already came here with Chief Amechi and forced me to leave while he investigated. What more do you need to see?’
Kwame’s eyes narrowed, another investigator with the Chief? He wondered what to say that would elicit more information.
Satans and Shaitans Page 20