Lightseekers

by Femi Kayode

  I look back down at the paper in my hands. Below Chief Kinikanwo’s name are about a dozen others, which all become a blur as soon as my eyes rest on one.

  Salome Briggs.

  PILLOW TALK

  It’s late when I get back to my room. Folake is still awake, reading in bed. When I close the door, she takes off her reading glasses and lifts some papers.

  ‘You’ve read this? I saw it on your desk.’

  I start taking my night dose of painkillers and antibiotics. ‘Not yet.’ I am still reeling from what Chika told me and the list.

  ‘Did you speak to the student who wrote this?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Do you know there’s mention of Godwin as a witness for the police because he had first-hand knowledge of this Momoh’s alleged homosexual activities?’

  ‘I would imagine that’s the whole point of the paper,’ I say as I get into bed.

  I give her a quick rundown of Kevin’s #justice4momoh campaign.

  Folake frowns and shakes her head. ‘I’ve read tons of case notes, but this one reads like a witness report, at least in the background section. The legal arguments are brilliant, but the notes, impressions and insights, they are too – how shall I say? – first-hand.’

  ‘The boy knows his stuff. A lot of what he told Chika and me led to the breakthroughs we’ve made so far.’

  Folake looks at the papers in her hand again. ‘Professor Esohe. I know of him …’

  ‘He’s the Dean of the Law Faculty.’

  ‘You spoke to him?’

  ‘Not yet.’ And perhaps never, I think inwardly. Knowing the real reason for being hired has shaken me, and for now, I have no plan whatsoever beyond looking for a way to convince Emeka to forget his plans for the people on that hit list. But I can’t tell Folake this, so I try to distract her – and my turbulent thoughts – by ignoring the pain to my side and pulling her close.

  ‘Do you think you can put that article away for a moment?’ I ask suggestively.

  But there’s a stiffness to her, and an unwillingness to melt into my arms as she did in the past. I look at her, frowning, and search for a clue as to what she is thinking. She looks back at me, as if doing the same, but her body arches away from my embrace.

  ‘I assure you I’m healing very nicely if that’s what’s worrying you.’ My attempt at a joke, but it seems to fall flat, because she pulls herself out of my arms decisively and turns to place the papers on the bedside table next to her.

  I hold her from the back and when I simulate a spooning positioning, she doesn’t move away, but I can feel her body tense, as if she wants to bolt.

  ‘Sweet?’ I say to the back of her head, tentatively.

  She doesn’t answer me but I can feel she’s alert, coiled like a cat ready to spring. I tighten my hold.

  We stay like that for a while, and then her body heaves and I sense she’s crying. I stay still and wait. Perhaps talking about it will give me the opportunity to tell her that I’ve forgiven her. Maybe it’s my brief brush with mortality or the simple, undeniable fact that I do love my wife, but from the moment I saw Folake at the foot of my hospital bed, I knew I had moved on. All I want to know is what I may have done to push her into the arms of another man.

  ‘I blamed myself,’ Folake cuts into my thoughts.

  ‘Pardon?’ I’m not sure I heard correctly. I pull her closer, ignoring the pain in my side and hoping she’ll turn around and let me see her face.

  She doesn’t but rather manoeuvres out of my arms and climbs out of the bed. I watch as she pulls the hotel’s bathrobe around herself and walks to the window. She’s silent as she looks out at the night sky and I steel myself and wait.

  ‘What happened with Soji, my GA, I blamed myself,’ she says to the window, ‘that’s why I said nothing.’

  I swear I can hear my heart beat in the silence that follows her words.

  ‘I liked him, and maybe I was too open with him,’ she continues, and I strain to hear because she is turned away from me and her voice is low. ‘He’s a sharp boy, quick thinking and has a legal mind well above his experience. I took him under my wing. I think I saw him as a friend of sorts. I confided in him and encouraged him to do the same. In the States, it would have been okay. But here –’ She looks at me then, her eyes filled regret, ‘I guess I crossed a line.’

  She turns back to the window and sighs very deeply. She wipes her face with a hand and as much as it breaks my heart to see her in distress, I know her well enough to stay on the bed and let her speak.

  ‘He made a pass at me, Phil. He thought all my attention meant I was attracted to him and he made a pass. He confessed his apparent love for me. Even when I told him that he was being inappropriate, he didn’t listen. He got … quite physical.’ She turns to face me and smiles bitterly. ‘You must have walked away before I pushed him off and told him to find another PhD supervisor.’

  ‘The bastard!’ The young man is lucky not to be in my vicinity.

  ‘I felt dirty, cheap, available.’

  I get up and walk to her as she is turning back to the window. I try to pull her into my arms but she resists.

  ‘You are reporting him –’ I say indignantly.

  She turns to face me, wiping tears away. ‘What good will it do? I am a female lecturer in a university system riddled with sexual assault cases from lecturers to students. Can you picture how I would be painted? Returnee American lecturer who doesn’t know where to draw the line?’ She shakes her head and rushes on as she sees I don’t agree with her summation. ‘He was misguided. Young. Definitely stupid. I was the one who should’ve known better and kept the lines unblurred. I was the older, wiser one and I felt there was something about me, about my behaviour that made it seem okay for him to think he could do that. And, yes,’ she looks down and away from me, ‘I also thought maybe I should’ve seen something, suspected something. And that if I didn’t see or suspect something, it was because a part of me was flattered. That was when I started feeling ashamed.’

  I want to tell her she has done nothing to be ashamed of and that it is I who should be ashamed for not trusting her. Not being there to protect her.

  She lets out a deep breath into the brief silence. ‘In the States, I wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing a disciplinary action against him. But here, well, it’s new territory. Who would believe me? He’s young, good looking and smart. I am middle-aged –’

  ‘Hardly!’ I protest. ‘Besides, you’re a brilliant lawyer –’

  ‘A woman first. Of course, I can argue my case very convincingly. The point is, do I want to? Do I need to?’

  ‘Yes!’ I am emphatic, but I see where she is going and a part of me is sad. In less than a year after coming back to this country, my wife, whose nickname at the University of San Francisco was ‘Black Pantheress’ may have lost her fighting spirit. A part of me wonders what caused this. What made us leave the States or come back to Nigeria?

  ‘You can’t let him get away with it. I won’t let him –’

  ‘You will,’ she says firmly. ‘You have to. Besides, think of the children. What will reporting him do to them? They’re only just finding their way in that school. What would I have achieved but just draw attention to myself and distract from my career?’

  ‘So, he’ll get away with it?’ I spit out bitterly.

  ‘I told you, I am not sure I didn’t encourage him. I can’t honestly say I never wondered what if I wasn’t married, with kids –’

  The image of Salome flashes through my mind. That list of names. But this conversation is too important. This, right here in this room, is my life.

  ‘That’s why you never said anything?’ I ask gently. ‘Even to me?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Philip. I really am. If I had known that was the reason you were so cold, I would’ve spoken.’

  ‘But when I did speak, you said nothing.’

  ‘I was angry.’ Her voice rises, and a trace of my strong wife emerges. ‘I fel
t you believed the worst of me too quickly and it hurt.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m an idiot.’

  ‘As much as I’d like to contradict you …’ Folake shrugs but she’s smiling.

  ‘I still want to beat him to a pulp.’

  ‘Not worth it,’ she scoffs.

  I pull her close. ‘I disagree.’

  She doesn’t move away. ‘What?’

  ‘That you’re not worth it.’

  ‘I mean he’s not –’

  I cover her lips with mine, stemming words that no longer have any bearing on now, or the future.

  When she finally gives up her lips to mine, her shoulders relax, and she puts her arms around me. I pause, look into her eyes and search for any doubt about me, her and us. I see none.

  When I gently pull her towards the bed, she follows me.

  TMI

  I am waiting for Chika at breakfast the next morning. I stop myself from tapping on the sheaf of stapled papers where I have highlighted several portions of text. I can’t afford to be impatient. Care must be taken from this point on, especially with Folake being here. Less than two weeks ago, working with several unknowns, I could never have thought that I was in any kind of danger. But Godwin’s murder, the attack on Chika and me and now, the possibility of Emeka planning a series of assassinations, all combine to make me decidedly on edge.

  I can’t endanger Folake’s life, yet how can I avert the disaster that I feel is imminent ever since Chika showed me the hit list? If I was hired simply to confirm who truly deserved to be punished, with death no less, for the killing of the Okriki Three, would it not be irresponsible to walk away? Especially now that I know most, if not all of the people on that list did not deserve the fate Emeka has in store for them?

  Chika comes into the restaurant and I wave at him. When he gets closer I can see he hardly slept. His eyes are bloodshot and because he has not shaven, he looks unkempt.

  He barely settles down before I push the document at him. He looks at me quizzically.

  ‘Philip, I told you I was fired –’

  ‘Yes, but I wasn’t. And I am on the clock here. Emeka gave me a week to get the job done, so I effectively have three days to give him enough information to stop him from doing what you told me he is hell-bent on doing.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  I take a sheet of paper from under my coffee mug and hand it over.

  ‘That’s your booking here at the Tropicana on my account for those three days. All paid for.’

  ‘Philip, I can’t –’

  ‘I know you have a pregnant wife and you have a life in Lagos.’ I lower my voice and lean closer to him. ‘And after what you did to Chief Omereji, you really shouldn’t be around here. But we can’t walk away now, knowing what we know and what Emeka is planning.’

  Chika looks at me and then at the paper in his hand. ‘I’m not sure anything can change Emeka’s mind.’

  ‘We can try, and the only way I can think of doing that is presenting him with the facts.’

  ‘We don’t have that.’

  ‘Which is why you should read this.’

  ‘All that?’ Chika wrinkles his nose as he takes in the cover page. ‘I am not fond of academic papers.’

  I chuckle. ‘You don’t have to read the whole thing. Lucky for you, I have highlighted key areas that should be of interest.’

  Chika drops his hotel booking form, picks up the document and flips through. I wait for him to get to the sections I marked. If I am correct, his expression should prove that I am on the right track.

  He frowns slightly, sits up a bit more and reads: ‘“With the anti-gay bill, using an archaic indecency act, the government of the Federal Republic of Nigeria has effectively weaponised its citizenry, turning neighbours, families and communities on each other …”’

  ‘That word: “weaponised”. It got me thinking about our conversation last week. Remember I said “Outsourced violence”?’

  Chika frowns slightly, then he nods as recollection comes to him.

  ‘Continue.’

  Chika flicks through more pages and stops to read. ‘“Was Momoh Kadiri handed over to the police for contravening the indecency act or was he a victim of inter-cult rivalry within a university that has yet to find ways to …”’ Chika looks at me, his eyes round. ‘You think Tamuno knew Kevin was in a cult?’

  ‘I don’t know, but if you read all the highlighted areas, you will see that Tamuno knew a lot. Folake calls it pre-knowledge.’

  ‘How’s madam? Is she not coming down for breakfast?’

  ‘Folake would gag if she saw all this.’ I wave my hand towards the buffet. ‘She is definitely not a breakfast person.’

  ‘Did you tell her what I told you –’

  ‘No, no. Besides, I was still nursing a bruised ego from what you told me last night.’ I smile wryly.

  Chika goes back to the document. ‘To be fair, Tamuno did say he knew a lot about the case, but the police were not willing to listen.’

  ‘Yes, but go to page eight, in the conclusion section.’

  Chika flips through and pauses on the last page. ‘“Without clear protocols for presenting evidence of homosexual activities, the anti-gay bill places every citizen in danger. In the case of Momoh Kadiri, the police never questioned the source of a tip-off from a prepaid telephone number that was not even registered with the network provider.”’

  His head snaps up, his eyes wide. It was the reaction I had hoped for.

  ‘Exactly,’ I say, nodding. ‘He used Omereji’s words. So, my question is, if Tamuno said he got no joy in getting the police to listen to what he had to say about the Okriki Three, how did he have access to information that suggests he has contacts with at least one member of the police force there or he knows something only the police know?’

  ‘I see what you mean. The boy knows a lot more than he told us.’

  ‘He gave answers to the questions we asked. It will be interesting to speak to him now that we know so much more. Are you in?’

  Chika gives me a wide smile. ‘An all-expense-paid stay at the Tropicana and a chance to get to the bottom of all this? You bet I am.’

  SAME, NOT SAME

  Back in my hotel room, I explain to Folake why I need to go to the State University. She is not convinced, but I think I must have conveyed a sense of urgency, because soon she is making me promise to take it easy. I ask her if she wants to go with me and she flat out refuses to come anywhere near Okriki, except for Mercy’s father’s invitation to the thanksgiving service and lunch.

  ‘And that’s because I am grateful for what he did for you,’ Folake says emphatically.

  I am happy about this, to be honest. The less exposure to Okriki, the better for all of us. As if on cue, my phone beeps, and I check the message.

  ‘I hope you’re feeling better. Please let me know when we can speak, I want to run something by you.’ I frown.

  ‘Who is it?’ Folake asks.

  ‘It’s from Inspector Omereji …’

  ‘The one whose father was shot? Did they find the shooter?’

  I hope not, but what does the Inspector want from me? ‘I don’t know, Sweet, but Chika and I are going to TSU anyway, so I will drop in. You’re sure you’ll be okay?’

  Folake settles further into the bed. ‘I promise you I will be fine.’

  I kiss her and rush off to join Chika, promising to contact Elechi Opara for his address and that of the church where the thanksgiving service will take place.

  When Chika and I get to TSU, we drive straight to Harcourt Whyte Hall.

  There is haste in our steps as we alight from the car and climb the many stairs to Room 481, but since my morning dose of tramadol is still in effect, I can almost keep up with Chika. But still –

  ‘Slow down!’ I cry out.

  ‘Sorry.’ But he does reduce his pace.

  We are now on the fourth floor and by the time we get to 481, I’ve regained my breath
. Some of it.

  Chika knocks on the door. No answer. Another knock and the door is yanked open, by a dishevelled-looking Tamuno.

  ‘What?!’ he barks out so loudly Chika and I take a step back.

  I notice he is not wearing his glasses, but his eyes are sharp and alert, even when he squints in sudden recognition. I see him try to arrange his face into something close to what we saw at our first meeting more than a week ago.

  ‘Hello? Dr Taiwo, right?’

  ‘Yes, and you remember my colleague, Chika.’

  Tamuno seems impatient. ‘Yes, yes. Can I help you?’

  ‘We just have some more questions regar—’

  ‘I’m busy now,’ Tamuno interrupts rudely.

  Chika leans forward slightly. ‘We just want to clarify –’

  ‘I’m busy. Visitor –’ His eyes dart into the room and come back to us in a suggestive wink. ‘Guys, don’t come in and spoil my show.’ He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Come back another time!’

  Tamuno closes the door on us firmly.

  Chika and I look at each other.

  ‘Is that the same guy –?’ Chika says, shaking his head in wonder.

  Even the cadence of Tamuno’s speech was different. Compared to our first visit when he spoke in measured tones, giving the impression of private schooling and impeccable manners, today he sounded like a rap artist trying to find a rhyme.

  I consider banging on the door again until Tamuno is forced to open it, just to be sure of what we just witnessed. Yet I get a strong sense that the young man I just saw is prone to aggression. After what I know of Chika, such aggression will certainly lead to a violence that will be counterproductive. I must find another way to speak to Tamuno. Urgently.

  We walk back to the Land Cruiser and explore our options. One of them is forcing another interview via the Dean of the Law Faculty.

  ‘Folake says she knows of him,’ I say, trying to be careful of my bandaged chest as I get in the car. ‘We can’t keep waiting for the approval letter from Ikime’s office.’

  ‘I guess it’s true,’ Chika muses as he starts the car. ‘These kids are one thing in front of elders and another when they’re alone.’