by Femi Kayode
‘He was living next to u,’ Kevin wrote. ‘U know it was a setup!’
‘If any1 tip off d police, it wz not me!!!!!!’ Godwin replied, with a series of angry and confused emoji faces.
‘Some1 was sending those pix to Momoh. He told me.’
‘Am going 2 blk u if u keep sending me diz messages. Am blocking u now!’
‘U can block me, but you can’t hide! I know u know sumtin abt this.’
This was the last communication between Kevin and Godwin. I look at Chika. ‘So, it’s all linked to #justice4momoh?’
Chika nods. ‘You remember Tamuno said he was writing a paper that Kevin was helping him out with?’
‘Yes?’
‘I clicked a link on one of Kevin’s #justice4momoh posts and it redirected me to the article in a journal on legal reform. I downloaded it.’ Chika waves a flash drive.
‘Remember, I don’t have a laptop any more.’ Without a keyboard, working off my iPad is a chore.
Chika rises. ‘I’ll just have it printed at the reception desk.’
‘Thank you.’
As he walks away, I return to the exchanges between Kevin and Godwin on his phone. It occurs to me that if Chika’s friend can hack into Kevin’s Messenger account, he can do the same with Godwin’s. Perhaps this would give us some insight into Godwin’s killer and how all this is linked to the Okriki Three. I also think it would be quite useful to speak with Tamuno again, knowing what we now know.
When Chika returns it’s in the company of three policemen, their guns pulled. My heart skips a beat when I recognise the rookie from the Okriki Police Station. Behind them are the armed guards who are supposed to protect the hotel from attack by militants, robbers and kidnappers, but not policemen.
It is the rookie who speaks. ‘Philip Taiwo?’
‘That’s me.’ I try to be calm, but I am remembering too much of what I know. It takes all my willpower to wear a mask of polite surprise, balanced with a slight embarrassment at the scene being caused.
‘You are under arrest.’
‘For what?’ Chika asks insolently, no doubt for the umpteenth time.
The rookie puffs out his chest. ‘For the attempted murder of Chief Kinikanwo Omereji, Paramount Chief of the Okriki Community.’
HIGHER POWERS
Three hours and thirty-six minutes. That’s how long I’ve been left alone in this little room in the Okriki Police Station. My phone was confiscated by the rookie who looked very pleased with himself as he led me to the police car at the hotel, while I gave the unnerved Hotel Manager Abubakar’s number and he took Emeka’s from Chika. The manager had asked me if there was a significant other I wanted him to call. Considering how the conversation with Folake went last night, I told him informing Abubakar was adequate for now. If my suspicions are correct, the Commandant will call my father who, I am hoping, will use his discretion regarding what Folake should know.
All through the drive to Okriki, the rookie refused to answer any of my questions. Chika was transported in another vehicle, and I was without anyone to share my befuddlement at this sudden turn of events. How had I gone from the investigator to the investigated in a matter of hours?
The door opens and Inspector Omereji comes in. He looks like hell and I can see from the expression on his face that he will do whatever it takes to get the answers he wants.
‘My father was shot yesterday night,’ he announces, as he pulls up the chair across from me and sits down.
‘Shot?’ I ask tentatively. I must be careful. ‘Is he all right?’
‘ICU. He’s in his seventies so the prognosis is not good.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say sincerely.
‘Are you?’
‘Of course I am. And if you brought me here because you think I’ve got something to do with it, then you’ve made a mistake.’
‘What about your friend Chika?’
I squash the image of the Brügger & Thomet rising in my mind. ‘What about him?’
‘Where was he last night?’
I shrug and tell the truth. ‘We left here, got to the hotel and went to our separate rooms.’
‘That’s convenient.’
‘Mike –’ He glowers at me when I say his name, so I fall back on formality. ‘Inspector, you’ve got to believe me, I know nothing about what happened to the Chief.’
‘But I think you do, and you will tell me.’ The threat in his voice is unmistakable. In the States, I would be asking for my lawyer and challenging my detention without being read my Miranda rights. But those rules don’t apply in Okriki, and this scares me.
‘Look –’ I make my tone conciliatory, ‘I know you must be terribly distressed right now, but I promise you, you’re wasting your time talking to me when the real culprit is out there.’
‘Let me be the judge of that. What time did you get to the hotel in PH?’
‘Around 6:30.’
‘And what did you do when you got to the hotel?’
‘I told you … Chika and I went our separate ways. I had drinks in the lounge and decided to have an early night.’
‘You don’t know what he was up to yesterday?’
‘No. Not last night at least.’
‘That’s strange, because he swears you and him were together –’
Chika can’t be so stupid as to use me as an alibi, especially as we had not discussed it beforehand. So, I say nothing and just hold Omereji’s steady gaze.
Omereji changes tactics. He smiles and moves closer to me. It is the you-can-help-me-get-the-bad-guy-and-be-a-hero look. Clearly, he doesn’t know of my past life in the San Francisco Police Department.
‘Look, Dr Taiwo, I’m sure you didn’t pull the trigger. I know a killer when I see one.’
‘So, what am I doing here?’
‘Because you know who did.’
‘Should you even be doing this? Are you not too close to the matter to be completely objective?’
His smile is patronising. ‘You are not in America, Dr Taiwo.’
I return his smile with a dry one of my own. ‘So everyone keeps reminding me.’
Omereji is about to speak again when his phone rings. He looks at it and frowns, stands and, without excusing himself, walks out.
I wait, burning with curiosity.
The sniper rifle.
Chika.
Emeka.
Chief Omereji shot.
What is going on? I try to stop myself thinking, to keep a cool facade when Omereji comes back. He stands at the door but I can’t read his expression.
‘You may go.’
‘What?’
He smiles coldly. ‘Your contacts have called higher contacts who insist without more evidence against you and your friend, I must let you go.’
‘Abubakar called you?’
‘Higher. You may go. But pray my father lives, because if he dies, I promise you none of your powerful contacts will be able to save you and your friend.’
‘For what it’s worth, I really hope your dad makes it.’
‘Goodbye, Dr Taiwo. You can be sure this won’t be our last meeting.’
I walk towards him and stop. ‘Get some rest, Mike.’
He doesn’t look at me, so I leave.
I walk past Omereji’s office, the holding cells and into the reception area, which remains as crowded and noisy as ever. The rookie coldly hands back my phone in a plastic bag branded with a popular supermarket-chain’s logo. I look at the people who have paused everything to point and whisper. One particularly angry man spits on the floor, his mouth curled in disdain as he eyes me.
I pretend not to notice all this as I walk through them. I am barely out of the station when I hear the eruption of voices in several dialects and I would bet my bottom dollar that I’m the topic of conversation.
I see Chika standing outside, his clothes rumpled, and it’s obvious he has been roughened up quite a bit. But his eyes are fiery as I approach him.
‘They bring
us here in their vehicles and then refuse to take us back,’ he says as soon as I reach him.
‘We can take a taxi,’ I attempt to placate him.
‘Why should we? They brought us here!’
I am looking at him, looking for signs of guilt, but all I see is irritation.
‘Were they hard on you?’ I ask as we start to walk into the street.
He shrugs. ‘No more than I expected.’
‘You know why they would think we know something?’
‘Is it not the police?’ he hisses. ‘Do they need any reason to bully law-abiding citizens? Instead of doing their jobs, they drove almost an hour to come and arrest us without any proof. Nonsense.’
‘Chika! Hold on. You’re walking too fast.’
‘Sorry.’ He slows his pace and we look out for taxis driving by. Some stop, take one look at us, exchange looks and a barrage of words in Ikwerre with their passengers, and they are gone. It’s clear we will not get transport to Port Harcourt from here. At least not from a local taxi.
‘Let me call the boss,’ Chika says, bringing out his phone. ‘He can send a car –’
‘Emeka’s still in Port Harcourt?’
‘He never left,’ Chika says brusquely and puts the phone to his ear.
I think of calling Salome. She must be devastated by the attempt on her uncle’s life. Maybe that was why she was calling earlier, but I don’t want to speak to her in front of Chika, so I send a text message.
‘Sorry to hear about your uncle. Just leaving the station. Will call.’
Chika has finished the call. ‘We should walk to the bus stop,’ he says, pointing. ‘There’s shade there. The boss says he’ll send a car, but it’ll take a couple of hours depending on traffic.’
We head towards the section of the road where the Okriki Three were killed. A sense of déjà vu hits me as we walk along the road, looking for a taxi in the midst of the cars and the motorbikes – most carrying more than the mandated one passenger – that zip past us. There is also an uneasiness in the air that I can’t shake off, as the town’s now familiar antagonism towards our presence bubbles to the surface.
‘You think everyone knows what we were being questioned for?’
‘We can assume they do,’ Chika answers, his stride quickening. ‘Let’s just get to the bus stop, and if we’re lucky, we might get one that’s not driven by a local.’
‘And the car Emeka is sending?’
‘I just want to get out of this place,’ Chika says harshly. ‘We can meet up with it in another town.’
Perhaps it is the way people are looking at us, or the fact that I am plain nervous, but I am walking as fast as Chika. We quicken our steps to get past Madam Landlady’s compound as fast as possible.
I am sweating and almost out of breath by the time we reach the roundabout where the famous cannon stands. I really don’t feel safe sitting amongst a hostile group of people waiting for a taxi, so I suggest we wait at the roundabout rather than at the bus stop.
A car swings around the circle and stops next to us. The driver, who already has a passenger in the front seat, bends to look at us.
‘You dey go campus?’ the taxi driver asks.
I look at Chika and towards the crowded bus stop.
‘Let’s just get out of here,’ I say.
ATTACK OF THE DAMNED
We get in the back seat and the taxi circles the roundabout and heads towards the empty road that people have stopped using since the incident, proving the driver is new to these parts. We relax.
Chika continues texting and I bring out my phone to check if Salome has sent any more messages. None. The taxi driver makes a turn off the road.
‘Hey, hey!’ Chika protests. ‘This is not the –’ The passenger in front turns towards us with a gun. Instinctively, I drop my phone and raise my hands. Chika does not move.
‘You should not have come back.’ The passenger removes his dark shades and tilts the baseball cap back. I catch my breath as I recognise him as one of the young men who had vandalised our rooms at Hotel Royale.
‘Where’re you taking us?’ Chika asks.
‘Where you’re not coming back from.’ The taxi driver throws a dirty look at us through the rear-view mirror. ‘You tried to kill our chief, and now you’ll pay!’
‘We’ve just been interviewed by the police,’ I say with my hands still up. ‘They can prove we didn’t try to kill your chief.’
The passenger pointing the gun at us doesn’t waver; his gaze is steady on me and burning with hatred. I steal a glance at Chika. He looks as relaxed as if he is being given a tour of the town. His hands are not up, and I can see that he is discreetly pressing something on his phone.
The car stops and I look around. We are at a clearing, off the beaten path. My heart starts to beat faster, and sweat pools under my armpits.
‘Keep them talking,’ Chika whispers urgently, as we are roughly pushed out of the car. ‘The boss is listening.’
‘Kneel down!’ the passenger orders.
Now Chika’s hands are also in the air, and slowly we kneel.
The taxi driver is on his phone, waving his own gun and speaking excitedly in rapid Ikwerre. I hope he is calling for reinforcements. We need the time.
‘We said stay away!’ The passenger kicks Chika.
‘Hit me again without the gun pointed at me, and let’s see who’s a man.’
The passenger partially obeys Chika because he lands the butt of the gun in Chika’s face.
‘Stop it! Why are you doing this?’ Panic makes my voice louder than usual. ‘We told you we have nothing to do with –’
‘You lie!’ This is the driver. ‘Someone saw this one last night.’
He joins the passenger in kicking Chika, who is now crouched on the ground, his face bloodied.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ Chika rises with a malevolent smile that looks eerie considering his lips are split and his teeth are all red. ‘Is that how you kill people in this town? Kidnapping those who can’t defend themselves and burning them?’
I do a quick calculation. If Emeka is still on the phone and perhaps calling for help, where will it come from? Who will he ask to come to our rescue all the way from Port Harcourt? Going by the beating Chika is getting, when the young men turn on me, I am not sure I will weather the blows as well as he seems to be doing.
‘Those boys were thieves!’
‘And your whole town are killers!’ Chika taunts. ‘That’s what you want to do, right? Bringing us to the same place where you killed those poor boys in order to kill us.’
Is Chika giving our location to Emeka over the phone? Oh, Lord, I hope so.
The taxi driver kicks Chika further into the ground and now the passenger is pointing the gun at me. I hear the roar of motorcycles and a car coming closer. Reinforcements for the men or help for us?
‘You! Our chief warned you to go back; he told you what would happen if you kept snooping around.’
Say something, Philip. Keep him talking. ‘Yes. And I left. I told you we were arrested by the police.’
‘Because you tried to kill our chief!’
‘So why did they let us go if we did it?’
In the split second that he is searching for an answer, Chika has risen ever so slightly and spits into the face of the taxi driver. The passenger swears and the driver, enraged, kicks Chika so hard that he slides several metres in the muddy ground.
That’s when the cell phone falls out of his pocket. The taxi driver picks it up, and looks even more enraged by what he sees.
‘Who is listening?’
Chika laughs. ‘The world. They will know you and everyone in this town for what you are!’
‘Chika!’ I shout a warning now. There is goading and there is downright dangerous.
‘You can’t save them!’ the driver shouts into the phone and then proceeds to throw it on the ground and stamp on it repeatedly.
I see three motorcycles, each carrying two passen
gers, and the car come into view. The taxi driver and passenger speak excitedly, raising fists and waving at the newcomers.
Damn! Reinforcements.
Chika has moved slightly, forcing the assailants to back away from me, all their attention on him. I seize the chance, rising swiftly from my kneeling position and running into them with all the force I can muster. I know it is a useless move, but anything is better than just kneeling in the mud with my hands raised.
Chika is up like lightning, and as I swing my hand blindly, it meets with a cheekbone – or is it a jaw? I’m not sure because what must be a stick or something equally hard connects with my ribs and I double over.
More men join in. I hear bone crack and through my pain I see Chika drop-kicking the passenger and trying to get the gun off him.
Kicks and punches land on me from several more attackers, and I double over but it doesn’t stop. I see Chika hit the ground, but my vision is becoming blurred. Then I hear a loud noise. Like a gunshot. I think. Another one goes off, and I see Chika on the ground. Everything starts to go black.
Has he been shot?
Or maybe, I’m the one who has been.
I can’t seem to figure this out as I start falling into a blank, endless space.
THE OTHER SON
I gave John Paul the light so he could meet his mother.
I have been doing this a lot lately, especially as The Final Plan gets closer. Besides, it’s time Mama met her son’s two selves.
John Paul takes the lift all the way to the oncology ward, not bothered by the smell of medicine, puke and sickness. He flashes a smile at the nurse on duty who thinks she recognises him and waves him towards our mother’s ward.
When he enters, he pulls a chair to sit close to her bed and whispers into her ears, ‘I am taking you away from here.’
My mother’s eyes glint with a smile. ‘Don’t speak nonsense. It’s a good hospital.’
‘I can take better care of you.’
‘You’re not a doctor.’
‘I learnt many things at the monastery, Mama, and one of them is how to take care of the sick.’