Treachery in the Yard (8 page)

We police like to work together.

Our suspect was seated at a table, hands cuffed behind his back, looking suitably unhappy. His crotch probably still hurt,
poor guy. I walked up to him and sat down. Femi stood, glaring at our boy for good effect.

Our boy glared back.

He was waiting for his lawyer, but Opuwari would guarantee he'd wait until we were done.

“You won't be looking so confident in a while,” I told him. “Fifteen years for attempted murder. Another seven for possession of controlled substances. Then there's the vicious attack on me and my partner.”

He said nothing.

“Talk to me now. Make a deal; it'll go easy on you. I want the big guy, not you.”

I wanted them all, of course, and he knew it. “Go to hell. I'm telling you nothing. My lawyer will be here any minute. You don't scare me.”

“Your lawyer will be held up. Maybe in traffic. I don't think he'll be seeing you for quite some time, Angus.” He spat at me and Femi punched him in the gut. When Femi hit him, I felt a twinge of not guilt exactly, but something . . . But Meathead had killed at least two people with the bomb and probably would've killed us if he'd gotten the chance. “I want a name.”

It took him a while to get his breath. “You get nothing from me.”

I did not think I would, but I had to try. “Oh? How about some hair?” Femi grabbed a handful and yanked. Our suspect did not make a nice sound.

The door to the room opened and Sergeant Opuwari put his head in.

“Detective. Captain Davies wants you. In his office. Now.” His face told me Angus's lawyer was here.

I nodded. I wouldn't get anything from Angus anyway. He
was more scared of his employer than he was of the police. Femi and I left him in the interrogation room and went down the hall.

When I walked into Captain Davies's office, Angus's lawyer was sitting there comfortably, a young man in a black suit, a white shirt, and a thin tie. I pretended to ignore him. “I heard you wanted to see me, captain.”

“Detective, what's this talk about assassination? Why are you in my district?” The captain was direct enough. Direct enough for me to wonder if the lawyer had already paid him off, especially asking such questions in front of Mr. Nicely Dressed Lawyer. I wouldn't mind a suit like the one he was wearing, but my police salary was out of its league. He introduced himself, and I learned that he was from Osamu and Associates. Someone from Osamu's office was representing Angus?

I continued ignoring the lawyer and spoke to the captain. “It's the Okpara bombing. Our boy is wanted in connection with it. Witnesses place him at the scene.”

“We follow procedure around here. We can't hold him. There's no charge yet and no warrant. I am releasing him to his lawyer here.”

“He attacked two police officers. What better charge do you need?” It was easy enough to see where this was going: straight down the money-greased highway. Our boy had powerful friends.

The captain leaned back, looking carefully at me. “You didn't have a warrant to enter his house, did you? How you do it at headquarters is not how we run things here. We respect the rule of law. I need to speak with your chief. This is our jurisdiction, not yours. Wait at the front desk.”

Ridiculous, but Nigerian. “Yes, captain.”

We left and waited outside. Five minutes later, the lawyer
came out, his pockets looking lighter and the captain's heavier. My cell rang, a bad sign. I looked at it: Chief. He was not a happy police chief. I flipped open the cell and took the call. “What are you doing in Njemanze?” he barked.

“The Okpara case, sir. We found the suspect identified by witnesses.”

“I know you are not there on vacation. But where do you get off, running out to Njemanze like a goddamn rookie?”

“Time was important.”

“Get back here on the double. I will send someone to check out this Angus fella.”

I disconnected the call and looked at Femi. “Well, that's that. It's back to headquarters.”

“Do you think he's being protected?” Femi asked as we walked to my car. Femi has a wonderful sense of sarcasm. “Should we do something about it?”

“Sure, we go back to headquarters. I'm not ready for Chief's tantrum this afternoon.”

This was when we heard the gunshots. Then a lot of yelling.

Suddenly police were running everywhere. Something had happened in the front of the building. We ran back and found a group of officers bunched around something on the ground in front of the building. The something was Angus Sekibo, with several bullet holes in the back of his head. He had been shot as he walked out of the building. Someone had solid information, to move so quickly to silence him. Someone organized. Very, very organized. Organized enough to murder someone on the front steps of this local police station, and not be caught.

Witnesses said two guys in a white Toyota truck stopped abruptly and the one in the passenger's seat brought out a gun and shot Angus.

I'd seen all I needed to. Femi and I walked back to my car.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“I don't know. I didn't count on Angus becoming a dead end quite so quickly.” I got my cell out of my pocket and dialed Chief Olatunji.

“Sir, it's me again.”

“Yes, detective. What is it this time?”

“Angus Sekibo is dead.”

“The bomber? We just spoke. What happened?”

“He was shot and killed as he left Central Police Station a moment ago. He was silenced before we had a chance to get anything out of him.”

“You were damned right. I'd like a full report of what happened.” The phone went dead.

I dropped off Femi at our office, then drove to Osamu's. I called Akpan while driving and brought him up to speed. I parked two blocks from Osamu's office and called his cell phone.

“I know about your client's overambitious plot to take political control of Port Harcourt,” I said as soon as he picked up the call.

“What are you talking about?” He sounded truly surprised.

“Just tell him that I am going to get more proof and expose him before the primaries next week.” I snapped my phone shut.

Then I waited. I had a bet with myself and won: less than ten minutes later Osamu came out the door looking worried. The doorman went ahead of him, making a fuss of opening the door to Osamu's Lexus when his driver pulled up. They drove off and I quietly followed, keeping the distance between us to at least three car lengths. After a while, the Lexus pulled off the main road and onto a side street leading to the heart of Borikiri. I slowed down, looking the other way as I passed the Lexus, and parked at
the end of the street where I had a clear view of the Lexus in my rearview mirror. I got my camera from the glove compartment.

The Lexus just sat there. Osamu was waiting for someone. Sure enough, a black Ford Expedition rolled up behind the Lexus and parked. I started taking pictures. Osamu stepped out of his car and walked to the Expedition. The back door opened, beckoning him. He got in. A few short minutes later Osamu climbed out and went back to his Lexus. The Expedition started up, pulled into the street, and came toward me.

Again, I looked the other way as the Expedition passed. I managed to get a few more shots of it before it turned at the end of the street and disappeared. When I turned back, the Lexus was gone, probably having done a U-turn.

I started my car, the camera beside me on the passenger seat, next to a couple of bottles of water. The headquarters lab would develop and print the pictures for analysis. Hopefully, whoever was inside the Expedition could be identified.

I played with calling Okpara but in the end had a better idea: to leak the story to my friend, Kola Badmus, at
The Nigerian Chronicle.
I flipped open my cell. He was on my speed dial. “Hello, Kola. Working hard chasing news?”

“You can bet on it. How are you?”

“As lousy as ever. And you?”

“Can't be worse. My boss says I'm losing my touch, not coming up with enough new stories. He even suggested I take a vacation. Can you imagine?”

“Then you're in luck.”

“Meaning . . .?”

“I'm going to do you a favor. I have a hot story, about the murder of Mrs. Karibi. It's an exclusive.”

His voice perked up. Exclusives always got journalists interested. “What do you know?”

When I filled him in, he liked it. Liked it a lot.

Maybe a newspaper article would light a fire under someone.

The following morning, around ten o'clock, I walked into my office, a cup of coffee in hand. The instant I set foot in my office I sighed over how little had changed over the past ten years. For me, for Femi, for Nigeria. And for my lousy little office.

It was just as hot as it was yesterday, as hot as it would be tomorrow. I sipped some coffee, wondering whether I should just turn around and go back to my apartment. At least it had more windows than my office.

“Good morning, lieutenant,” Femi said as I walked in.

“Top of the morning to you as well, Femi.”

“Nnadozie from Forensics dropped off a package for you. It's on your desk. Photos, I think,” Femi said.

Sweating already, I removed my suit jacket, hung it on the back of the chair, and sat at my desk. The brown manila envelope was sealed. I did not want to think about anything right now except
finishing my coffee, but I cut open the envelope, and pictures slid out. Pictures I had taken of Osamu. Or at least I thought it was Howell, as I had not done very well getting his face in focus and in frame.

“Nnadozie was going out,” Femi added, correctly reading the expression on my face. “He said it would be better if he dropped off the envelope because he did not know when he would be back.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“He did say he was glad he wouldn't be here when you saw what a lousy photographer you were.”

Okay, Osamu
was
headless in some photos—but really, is it bad to cut off a lawyer's head?

“How did it go with Osamu?”

I showed him the pictures.

“Apparently I beheaded him.”

“Are you giving me a heads up, ha ha?”

“I think we're onto something with Dr. Puene and Osamu.”

“We know next to nothing.”

“I still think Thompson, our murderer, is working for Dr. Puene.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven't had enough coffee.”

“And?”

“Osamu also has Dr. Puene as a client.”

“Puene and Osamu have the power, not you. Are you ready to roll the dice? What if you're wrong?”

“If anyone doesn't like my style, he can go upriver.”

“There's an intelligent response.” Femi cleared his throat. He was smiling, but not very happily. “Is Chief included? What if he doesn't like your style?”

“Chief? What do you mean?”

“I mean the part where you send him upriver.” He burst out laughing.

The phone rang and I answered it. Chief Olatunji wanted to see me. Immediately. I hung up and put my suit jacket back on.

“Going upstairs?” Femi asked.

“Chief requests your presence, you go.”

“A minute ago, you did not give a damn.”

“I don't, but that doesn't mean much, does it?”

“Take my advice. Don't give the old man trouble.”

“Yes, tell me what I don't know. But what kind of career do I have to begin with? Have you looked at our office lately? What career can I have if I'm not related to the president? Or the vice president? Or the inspector general of police from my town?”

“Yes, it's all relative.” Femi smiled at his little joke, but clearly my intensity—he always could see it faster and better than I could—worried him. “Take it easy, detective. Watch it. Your temper might get the better of you.”

I gave him a mock salute and left. But I knew he was right.

When I walked into Chief's office, Stella did not look up. She was pretending to be busy typing, and that was not a good sign. She was my barometer, and no eye contact meant a storm.

Thinking it over, I stopped and knocked on his door. Stella looked surprised that I could behave appropriately if I really had to.

“Come,” his voice called from the other side of the door.

I opened the door and stepped in. “Good morning, sir.” I thought of saluting but decided against it—he would think I was being sarcastic.

He looked up at me. A file folder was in his hand. “You contacted Barrister Howell Osamu yesterday.” It was a statement, not a question. “Captain Akpan has brought me up to date. Which is more than I can say for you, young man.”

I realized Captain Akpan was standing over to one side. His eyes met mine without flinching.

“I did not step out of line, sir. Not at all. I had a suspect. I wanted to know his address and his attorney had it.”

He flipped through the pages of the folder, exchanging a glance with Akpan. “And afterward you followed him to Borikiri, where he met with someone in a black Ford Expedition?”

I was surprised and had no quick response. Chief seemed to know everything.

“Well, detective?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“Who was in the Expedition?”

“I don't know, sir.” I felt not only challenged, but also incompetent.

“Hmmph. And why did you follow the attorney?”

“I thought there was a solid connection between the attorney and the bombing, given his clients.”

“I am listening.”

“Sir, if someone wanted to eliminate Okpara, it would be Dr. Puene. For reasons we all know. The guy Osamu took on bail was a suspect in the murder of Judge Karibi's wife. And Osamu is Puene's lawyer.”

“Do you have any proof of Puene's involvement, detective?” Chief asked me.

“No, sir. Not yet.”