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Authors: Adimchinma Ibe

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BOOK: Treachery in the Yard
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“You're going after Osamu with no proof at all? That's beyond weak. We know next to nothing. Osamu is not a good person to harass. His clients include some of our most powerful individuals. If you are going to mess with him you had better be certain you can prove your case.”

“Of course. You are right, sir.”

“We don't know who was in that Expedition. It could have been one of his clients, it could have been his mistress. There is no way to know if it has any bearing on this case.”

“Right now, no.”

He rested his hands on the desk. “Right now, it's all just sounds, just you mouthing off. You can't say who was in the Expedition, much less that it was Dr. Puene. No proof of any kind. Just guesses. You do not make the rich and powerful uncomfortable unless you have a good reason.”

Chief's eyes were steady.

Akpan cleared his throat to break the silence between us. “So what do you think, detective? What do you really think?” Akpan asked. I was surprised at his support.

“My bet is that Dr. Puene is our man.”

“Hmmph,” Chief responded. “Detective, this is the most ridiculous casework I have heard this year. You are talking about powerful, highly placed men. They do not have to resort to murder to get what they want. That is what money is for. Money works much better than murder.”

He sounded confident but I did not believe him. I looked at Akpan, who did not look back.

“Chief,” I continued, “the doctor wants the statehouse. You can never tell what a desperate man will do. The higher the goal, the more desperate. Governor is a high goal.”

“It's a long shot, detective,” Akpan said.

“Agreed. In the end, it's just a hunch,” I said. Even with support from Akpan, I was alone—his support could only go so far. Whether Chief had career worries, whether he knew something I did not know—I was on my own. I turned back to Chief. “All I need to do is to get ahold of this Thompson character, sir. He'll prove me right.”

“Good luck with that. There is more at stake than you realize, detective.” He leaned forward, eyes grim. “There is a lot you do not know. I will not have you jeopardize our investigation into Osamu's activities with the Duncan gang.”

“Investigation?” That caught me up short. “I don't understand.”

“Tell him, captain,” Chief said simply. He leaned back, watching me.

“Detective, we have followed Osamu's dealings with the Duncan gang for close to eighteen months now after the Barigha Duncan case. We have put a lot of resources into the investigation.”

“I didn't know.”

“Very few people can know. You were not supposed to be one of them. That is why the investigation has been successful—so far. The real problem is, this is not just the Okpara bombing. The stakes are high. We can't have you jeopardize our operation to break the Duncan gang by alerting Osamu in any way. If he realizes you are watching him, if you make him suspicious, his guard will be up. Even if he does not know about our investigation, our work could be lost or seriously damaged. We believe the Duncan crime family uses Osamu for their money laundering. Osamu has to be in the dark about our investigation for as long as possible.”

“Detective,” Chief said, his voice changing to something resembling friendly, “you are in the middle of an interagency task force operation involving the police and the National Drug Law and Enforcement Agency. We are trying to break the Duncan gang and flush out Barigha and others. Police Commissioner Ahmed Abdullah put me in charge. Now you may have put Osamu on alert, and we had to bring you in. Osamu is not to be rattled. Not now. We need enough evidence to put them all behind bars. Do you understand?”

“I do, sir, but . . .”

“No buts. Stop seeing him. You're not going to ruin a year and a half's work against these criminals by playing the hero.”

“Isn't it in your operation's best interests that he thinks the police are after him—not about your investigation, but mine? Would that not throw him off?”

Akpan scratched his chin. “He has a point.”

Chief chewed on it. “If I let you proceed, detective, what would you do?”

“Get Dr. Puene, using Osamu. If I get enough dirt on his hands, maybe he'll turn over Puene.”

“Out of the question,” Chief said after a moment. “We don't know if it'll work. Maybe he'll think you're somehow our point man on the Duncan gang. Maybe he'll shred his papers and skip town. Then our operation is in the toilet. I am not changing my plan. You've already done enough damage, just going to see him.”

“If I don't see him again about Thompson, Osamu would get even more suspicious. He doesn't expect me to back out easily.”

Akpan nodded in support when Chief looked at him.

“Very well,” Chief said reluctantly. “But report every detail to me. And you are now part of the interagency Special Ops. You will report directly to me and no one else. No one else. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Chief. Perfectly clear.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A few minutes later, I was out of the cool air and back into the heat, although Chief's office had been hot enough. Forty minutes later, I parked across the street from Osamu's office and went upstairs to the top floor, the envelope of photos under my arm. I walked up to Carol's desk. She recognized me and pressed a button. A red button.

I smiled. “Good afternoon, lady. Is your boss free?”

The door to the office opened, revealing an unsmiling Osamu. “Again, detective? Leave before I call security.”

I smiled again. “Good afternoon, counselor. I came by to drop this off,” I said, handing him the envelope.

He opened it. The photos slid out onto his open palm. He took one look and his eyes narrowed.

“Carol, hold my calls,” he said.

“Do I call security?” she asked rather sweetly.

“No need for that. No need.” He walked back into his office. I winked at Carol. She frowned.

I followed Osamu into his office, closing the door behind us.

“I assume the headless man is me?”

“Doesn't he look better?”

“Detective, your point is what, exactly? That I drive in my car? That I walk in the streets?”

“We know all about his plan. We know Thompson works for him. We know Thompson killed Mrs. Karibi, too. Mrs. Karibi saw Angus Sekibo. I need to find Thompson and the murder weapon; he'll be going down. Counselor, if you've moved past being an attorney and into being an accomplice, you can still save yourself. Throw in with us. Tell me what you know about the bombing and the plot to take political control of Port Harcourt.”

His face went into frown mode. “I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about.” He was a bad liar, especially for a lawyer.

I leaned forward, inches from his face. “He is not a nice fellow. He's unfit to lead. It'll be partly your fault if such a man becomes governor.”

“How dare you speak to me this way!”

“You don't have much choice. You have to work with me. By now, he probably knows I am seeing you. If he doesn't know, I'll see to it he does. I bet you can guess how they treat a snitch. Help us nail him. I can guarantee your safety.”

“I do not need any guarantees for my safety. If you keep this up, it is you who will need protection.”

“Is that a threat?”

He backed off immediately. “You are trying to blackmail me, detective.”

“Sure I am. Call me. Don't wait long. You may not have long to act.”

When I walked out of the building I looked up and down the road for our surveillance van. If Osamu was being watched, the van should be somewhere. I saw nothing—which probably meant good surveillance. If I were they, I would park a block or two up the road, out of obvious sight.

I got into my car and drove two blocks.

There it was, parked quietly on the street, windows dark. I imagined the boys sweating in the van, waiting and watching, taking pictures with a long telephoto lens, conducting audio surveillance, downloading it all automatically. Special Ops had resources I could only dream about.

If I could not have decent equipment or support, at least I had one advantage over the men locked in the van: for me, it was time for lunch. Let them stay glued to their telephoto lenses and wireless speakers. At least I got to be outside and enjoy good meals at nice restaurants around town. I started to drive to one as I replayed the drama in Osamu's office in my mind.

Howell was not a bad guy . . . maybe. He came across as controlled by forces he could not stop. Was he just a lawyer who had the usual guilty clients? Or was he more than a lawyer to the criminals who controlled parts of Nigeria?

My cell phone rang. I saw a number I had not seen before.

“Detective, it's Howell Osamu.”

“And?”

“I'll do it.”

He must have already known or guessed about the surveillance, and my visit pushed him over the edge. He had risen to the top ranks by knowing how to play the angles—so I had to be careful.

“You don't know how happy you've made me.”

“I'm not doing it to make you happy, you son of a bitch.”

“You don't have to call me names. How about we meet in the Pledge in an hour?”

“A public place?”

“Why not? They know we've met, and I was about to go for lunch.”

“Fine.” The line went dead.

Remarkably, everything was working according to plan. That did not happen often. I called Femi and filled him in.

“Sure he's not jerking your chain?”

“No, but I am sure he is a jerk.”

“Ha ha.”

“Look, Femi, I think I know this type. He's scared, scared enough to try and play me. You should have seen his expression when he saw the photographs. A few minutes later, he calls to meet.”

“He's powerful.”

“In the end, he's just a lawyer.”

“Okay, so he's a weasel. But he's a powerful weasel.”

“A weasel running for cover.”

“Weasels can run fast. Do you really think he's been broken so easily? You might be walking into a trap.”

“I set it up for the Pledge. It's a public place.”

“I could watch from an unmarked car.”

“Thanks. But I don't think he's moved too fast to set something up that would put me in any danger. It wouldn't make sense to do anything to me, anyway. I'm just one more cop. I think he's wanted to do this for a long time. Maybe he's been disgusted with Puene but can't help himself.”

“Now you're back to his being a lawyer.”

I called Chief Olatunji next. He answered almost immediately, as if he'd been watching his phone. “Yes?” he asked quietly.

“Sir, I've just seen Osamu. He's on board. I'm meeting him at the Pledge in an hour.”

“Good work, detective. I'll have Okoro and his team in position before Osamu gets there. I'll be here if you need me. Make sure you call after you meet with him.”

“Thanks, Chief. I'll call as soon as I finish talking with him.”

“Fine. Get to work.”

I took a drink from one of the bottles of water in my car and started toward the restaurant, planning to get there first, before anyone else could set up a trap. Maybe I'd even get something to eat first, perhaps pounded yam and bitter leaf soup.

Pounded yam is prepared from yam tubers, a perennial root crop in Nigeria. You first peel and wash the yam, then cook it until it becomes soft, after which you pound it in a mortar carved from wood. You swallow it with soup made from bitter leaf vegetables, palm oil, smoked fish, and beef. It is a major meal around here, a delicacy enjoyed in Nigeria, especially southern Nigeria.

The restaurant was not busy yet. There were some free tables in the executive suite, the side of the restaurant with better airconditioning. It was more spacious, more exotic, more money. I took a table in the common area close to the bar, secluded but with a good view of the entrance and the other tables.

I ordered some food while I settled in. It was lunchtime. The restaurant was about half full, with mostly bank execs, businessmen, wealthy traders, one or two university boys. My order came: pounded yam and bitter leaf soup with smoked fish and beef. I still had almost half an hour before Osamu arrived. The waitress did not bring the liquid soap and paper napkins, so I asked for
some. When it came, I washed my hands and then ate, using my hands.

A few minutes later, and earlier than I expected, Osamu showed up. He had not used his car, arriving instead in a taxi. He stepped out of it and turned around to pay the driver when a white truck stopped ten yards away. I could not see them clearly through the restaurant window, and certainly did not see their guns—but the gunshots I heard loud and clear. Four shots, two quick ones each from two guns. Bang bang, bang bang. Not very loud. Then they were speeding away, already gone amid the street traffic and pedestrians, no one stopping them.

By then I was running out of the restaurant, my pistol ready, but the assassins were gone. Osamu sat slumped on the ground, briefcase on the sidewalk next to him, clutching his chest and spitting blood, looking surprised. Very surprised. Two rounds had missed him, but he had not been so lucky about the other two.

The taxi driver came out of his car, shouting hysterically. I told him to call an ambulance while I knelt by Osamu. I opened his case and used some of his legal papers to stop the bleeding, not very well, but then there was not much to do for him. He was already pretty dead.

“You've got me killed, detective.”

“Hang on. The ambulance will be here in a minute.”

“I won't make it. Tell my wife, tell her, oh the hell, don't tell her anything.”

“You're not going to die.”

He coughed up some blood.

The surveillance van screeched up and Akpan jumped out with two officers.

“Did you see the shooters?”

BOOK: Treachery in the Yard
11.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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