Treachery in the Yard tp-1

by Adimchinma Ibe

  “Coffee?” she asked. I nodded, and she went into the kitchen and poured two cups from an already prepared pot and returned to hand me a cup. It was good.

  “I feel safer with you,” she answered, sipping from her cup.

  I shook my head, drank more coffee. “Freda, it’s dangerous around me. How about if I take you to your aunts’ for a few days?”

  She nodded her acceptance.

  My cell phone began to ring. I pulled it from my pants pocket.

  “Ignore it,” she said. It was not a request.

  I looked at the caller ID. “It’s Captain Akpan,” I said. “He’d never call this late unless it was important.” I turned away from her and flipped open the cell. “Yes, captain?”

  “Kola Badmus, the newspaper guy. We’ve found him. Dead. In his car, in the trunk. On the East-West Road.” He gave me a cross street.

  “When was he found?”

  “About half an hour ago.”

  “Someone will have to call his wife.”

  “I’m looking after that.”

  “Thank you, captain.” I flipped the phone closed.

  “The reporter?” she asked.

  “Yes. They found him. Probably I got him killed, just talking to me,” I said to her. “I have to do something. I owe him.”

  She knew she could not stop me so she let me go. Outside, I looked up at a dark sky of shimmering stars millions of miles from Earth. “God,” I muttered, “what is the point?” I got no answer-not today, anyway.

  I drove toward East-West Road. It was way out of my district. When I got there, the site was crawling with blue uniforms setting up floodlights. It looked like a battlefield, with Captain Akpan as the general issuing orders. Except the fighting was already over.

  I saw Ade, my new partner, before he saw me. “Fill me in,” I asked him.

  “Officers Ubani and Dan found the car. They were smart enough to check the car’s engine-it was still hot. They found Kola in the trunk, shot several times. Looks like handguns. He was tied up. They radioed it in. An alert was put out for any suspicious-looking persons in the area. Maybe we’ll get very lucky.”

  I shook my head. “I doubt it. They planned this well. They probably left no dangling loose ends.”

  “Captain thinks that whoever dropped off the car might still be in the area, so we’re searching it. Captain does not think they thought we would find the car so soon.”

  “He’s certainly right about them maybe being in the area, given the engine was still hot. There are no tire tracks, but I see some footprints. Looks like perhaps two people drove him here, then left him. Okporo Road is walking distance from here. They could lose themselves in the area quickly, and could vanish more easily on foot than in a car. But perhaps they had an escape car waiting for them on that paved road over there, where no tracks would be left. Let’s hope Forensics can tell us something.”

  Ade tried to keep his eyes from growing wider as I rambled on about the different possibilities. I let him be. He was inexperienced-by definition all my former partners had also been inexperienced when they first started. So had I, or any other police officer.

  I walked over to view the body. The trunk lid was open. Ade was behind me. I hoped he had the stomach for this. Kola’s face was bruised, bloodied at his nose and mouth. They had been hard on him before shooting him. It looked as if he had been shot and then dumped in the trunk.

  Ade said, quietly, “He was shot three times in the head. The pathologist said the first bullet probably killed him instantly.” I could see that. Ade was talking to ease his tension. He was breathing hard, almost panting. He wanted to look away from the corpse but did not want to lose face with his new partner. Maybe it was better to lose face than to lose dinner.

  Nnadozie was trying to lift fingerprints from the car. One of his boys found a pistol in the dirt a few feet away.

  Captain Akpan walked over. “You just got here?”

  “Just a few minutes ago,” I said.

  One of Nnadozie’s crew came over. The pistol they’d found, which was likely the murder weapon, was a.22. Four shells were missing from the clip. It had been fired recently. Probably used elsewhere, then dumped here. Tape around the handle-I’d seen this before-to prevent the lifting of fingerprints. Professionals.

  Dr. Onwuchekwa cleared Kola’s corpse for the trip to the morgue, and there was nothing more to do except wait for lab results. I couldn’t see going back to Freda’s, to wake her up to hear about more horrors. I decided to go home and get some rest. I told Ade to do the same, and to prepare a report first thing tomorrow. When I told Akpan I was heading home, he just looked at me and nodded. “The autopsy’s tomorrow morning at 8:30. Be there.”

  I nodded. “Of course, captain. Good night.”

  “Good night,” he repeated.

  When I returned to my apartment, I removed my clothes and slipped on a pair of boxer shorts and an undershirt. I turned my cell off, then turned off the ringer on the home phone so nothing would wake me up. For the moment, everything could wait. I set the alarm for 7:00 A.M., made sure all the doors and windows were locked, slipped a wooden chair under the kitchen doorknob so no one could open it without making a lot of noise. Then I did the same for the front door. I laid my piece down beside me, closed my eyes, and it all went dark.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A buzzing woke me up. I groaned, shut off the alarm, went back to sleep. But after maybe half an hour I woke again, this time for good. Rubbing my face helped wake me up-it hurt. I put the phones back on. When I checked my cell, there were two messages. The first was Freda. She wanted to see how I was doing, and was not happy I had switched off my cell. The second message was also from her, but this time she wanted me to call her. I was not sure I wanted to talk to anyone just yet-but I dialed anyway.

  “Why did you switch off your phone?” she asked immediately, anxiety in her voice.

  “I needed to have some sleep, that’s all.”

  “You could have called when you got back to your place.”

  I knew she was frightened and needed some reassurance. “It was late by the time I was done. It was a murder scene. If I’d called, I would have woken you up. I was going to call you this morning. Where are you? In your office?”

  “I’m at home,” she said curtly.

  “You didn’t go to work today?”

  “I called in sick. I’m frightened. I can’t reach you, you turn off your phones-what did you expect me to do? I barely feel safe hiding in my apartment.”

  “I’ll come over as soon as I can, okay?”

  “That’s better.”

  I knocked on her door exactly twenty-three minutes later. “Good morning, honey,” I said.

  “Thank God you’re here!” She had already packed a bag.

  She locked the door behind her.

  As we drove to her aunts’ house, we talked about how hot it was. When we got there, she took her suitcase, kissed me, and went inside. I could see her through the windows saying hello to her aunts. She did not come back out. I drove off and headed toward the city morgue, wondering how this day would go, wondering whether I would live through it, wondering whether I would ever see Freda again.

  Port Harcourt was very active at this time of day. Workers on their way to their jobs had jammed the traffic by the time I got to Eastern Bypass.

  My route took me straight to the General Hospital-Port Harcourt’s morgue. Captain Akpan and Sergeant Okoro were already there, along with the pathologist and his assistant. The autopsy was just beginning. It did not take very long-this pathologist was quick. Captain Akpan informed me that the.22 found at the scene was the weapon used to kill Kola.

  “The victim was tortured,” he said, showing me cigarette burns on the corpse’s chest. “Whoever did this has watched too many mafia films. It probably went on two, maybe three, hours before he was shot and killed.”

  I told Captain Akpan that Thompson was the likely killer of Kola. I was almost certain ballistic
s would prove the same gun shot Wike, after all.

  Once the autopsy was done, I drove back to my apartment-it checked out okay. For a while, I sat around, just thinking. I did not want to call Freda or anyone else. But I could not stay alone in my apartment.

  I left abruptly and, on a whim, drove down to the Protea Hotel. I needed to get away to think. The Protea Hotel was cool and exclusive, a perfect place to think. And I was hungry. At the very least, I’d get an excellent meal.

  I took a seat and immediately a waiter came over. I decided on fried rice with salad and chicken, and some choice red wine.

  As I sipped the wine, I looked up to see Okpara walk into the lobby with a younger man. I had seen the younger man somewhere but could not immediately place him. Nice suit, nice hands. The hands seemed familiar. Calluses. And then I remembered. The younger man was the fellow I had seen on Tuesday in Chief’s office.

  Well, how about that?

  I watched them walk to the elevators and go into one. From where I sat, I could see that the elevator stopped on the sixth floor.

  Minutes later, Chief walked into the lobby. No uniform today. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a fez cap. The outfit was odd for him, and he looked awkward. If you did not know who he was, you would not think he was a senior officer. But it was Chief, all right.

  I watched him walk directly to the elevators, and take one to the sixth floor.

  Well, how about that?

  I sat there for a short while, letting it sink in. That floor was getting crowded. But what I saw next was a slap in the face.

  A moment later, Barigha Duncan, supposed boss of the Duncan gang, walked into the lobby. What timing. He also took an elevator. It stopped on the sixth floor.

  Well, how about that, indeed?

  My mentor was involved with Okpara. And Barigha. Police, politicians, and criminals-meeting privately in a hotel room.

  I drank the rest of the wine.

  When I walked into the lobby, I looked for and saw what I had hoped: surveillance cameras. Which would provide proof. Proof at least that they were all in the same hotel at the same time. The cameras also seemed to cover the elevators-proof they all went to the same floor.

  I approached the hotel manager, showed him my badge, and asked him about the security system, in particular the cameras. There were cameras throughout the hotel. We went into the security office. Soon enough I had confiscated the lobby videotape along with the tapes recorded just now on the sixth floor.

  A friend of mine, Phil, runs Global Video at Rumuola. He would be helpful. As I drove to his place, I regularly checked my rearview mirror.

  I called Phil on my cell.

  “Good afternoon,” his thick voice answered.

  “Phil, it’s Tammy.”

  “Tammy? Long while, buddy.”

  “It’s dark-clouds time. I need you.”

  “Name it.”

  “I have some security tapes. I need to watch them, transfer them to digital, and make a few copies.”

  “Is this police work?”

  “Yes. But it’s even worse than that. You don’t want to know.”

  “Well, come on by then, I’ll be here. You piqued my interest.”

  “I’m already on my way. See you in ten.”

  It did not take that long to reach his shop. I parked my car behind the building and went in through the back door. If I was being followed, there was no point making it easy for them to find me.

  Phil was a thin man whose face barely seemed to have room for his wide grin.

  “Okay,” he said. “Hand them over.”

  “Can I do this myself? Without involving you?”

  “No.”

  “It would be healthier for you, my friend.”

  He looked at me steadily, his grin gone. “You would not know where to begin.”

  I sighed. “Okay. But I was never here.”

  The grin did not return.

  We sat at a console and he loaded the lobby tape. It was not hard to find the shots of Chief and his “friends” entering the lobby and then going into elevators. The security cameras on the sixth floor were particularly significant-we saw each of them enter the same hotel room. Watching my mentor go into that hotel room made me sick. I wanted to close my eyes, to shut the damn machine off, to wipe the memory of the tapes clean. But you cannot stop watching a rushing train become a wreck.

  I watched Phil push some buttons and make a digital version of the important sections of the two tapes, then burn some CDs. With his equipment and expertise, it did not take long. When he was finished, he handed me several CDs and a Zip drive, each containing the digital versions of the tapes.

  As I left, I saw him checking for the pistol he kept under the counter.

  I planned my next move. It was not enough to have Chief on tape, meeting with Barigha and Okpara. I must have proof of his relationship with those two, plus the identity and role of Mr. Calluses. I drove to my bank, got access to my safety deposit box, and put one of the CDs into it. That was my safety net. Then, back in my car, I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Chief’s direct cell line. I had no idea what I would say specifically, but I knew the generalities.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Tammy, Chief.”

  “Tammy. What do you want?”

  “I have a tape showing you, Okpara, and the young man I ran into leaving your office a few days ago. All meeting together. Made me sick to watch you and your pals, Chief.”

  “What pals? What are you talking about?” His “surprise” was not convincing.

  “You, Okpara, the friend of yours I saw in your office days ago-and Barigha Duncan. You all met at the Protea Hotel today. The room number was 666. Appropriate, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do, Chief. I was there. I saw you. And I saw you again on the hotel security tapes.”

  Silence.

  I visualized him thinking, quickly sorting through his options. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he finally said. “Bring the recordings to me. We will work something out.”

  “Chief, you know better.”

  “Wise up. You don’t know what you are up against. Bring the evidence to me. I will make it all go away, just as if nothing happened.”

  “There are a lot of people dead, including a police officer. I’m coming to see you to settle it all.” I hung up before I could say anything else. Things kept getting worse, but they could not get that much worse. We were near the end. My hope was Chief would pull a terrific rabbit from his hat.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was not long, on my way to headquarters, before the white Toyota truck appeared in my rearview mirror. I sped up; so did it. I saw Thompson in the passenger seat, Mr. Gorilla driving. Eastern Bypass is always deserted. The first shot shattered the passenger window behind me. They were not about to leave me alive this time. I floored the gas but the Toyota swerved into me, forcing me off the road. My car found a tree. My head and the steering wheel made friends.

  The Toyota drove off the road toward me. Thompson and Mr. Gorilla emerged, each carrying an equally nasty-looking pistol. I shook my head, getting my brains back together as Thompson walked to the driver’s side window while Mr. Gorilla stood pointing his gun at me.

  Some blood trickled down my face, but not into my eyes.

  Thompson yanked the door open, grabbed me by the collar, and roughly dragged me out of my car. I punched him in the gut and he doubled over in pain. Mr. Gorilla stopped me by shoving his pistol between my eyes. “Don’t do that again,” he snarled. Then he pushed me against the car and took my pistol from its holster. He looked inside my car. The glove compartment had popped open and the surveillance CDs had spilled out. He opened the door and grabbed them. Now they had them all-except for the one in my safety deposit box.

  Thompson was gasping for breath, holding his stomach. He slowly stood, cursed me, and punched me in the stomach, to return the favor.

  A
cell phone rang, with a Star Wars theme. It was Thompson’s. He flipped it open. “Yes, sir. We have him and the recordings.” He gave the caller our location. Then we all waited. Me and the two guys who wanted to kill me.

  I think the wait was harder on them.

  After maybe twenty minutes, a black Ford Expedition rolled up. The same one Howell Osamu had stepped into. The driver stepped out. He held an Uzi. Getting out of the backseat was Barigha Duncan. He looked at me as I stood holding my stomach, leaning against the car, waiting. His two thugs stood on either side of me.

  He must have seen the look on my face when I saw him step out of the SUV.

  “You never reckoned to have to deal with me. You see, you were interfering with my plans. I set Okpara up to run for the statehouse. And you see, he must win.”

  It felt like another blow to my stomach hearing Barigha speak. So Okpara was part of the Duncan gang. Barigha had even more sinister plans. If and when he succeeded, he would become untouchable. It certainly explained the killings.

  “I suppose Olatunji called you?”

  Barigha lit a cigar instead. The smoke he blew in my face was expensive. I acted as if I was still dazed. They all bought it.

  “The CDs,” he demanded, still staring into my face but asking one of his men. Thompson handed him the disks. “Where are the original tapes?” Barigha demanded. He looked at me. “Never mind. We will find them eventually.” He looked around. It was quiet. No witnesses.

  A cell phone rang, but no Star Wars theme this time. Barigha pulled a cell from his pocket. “Okpara. Hello.” He listened. “Yes, I am on my way. Something came up, but nothing I can’t handle. Don’t get yourself worked up. No. Okay. Bye.”

  I looked at Barigha. “So Dr. Puene was telling the truth all along, and Okpara was lying. Thompson here was never working for Dr. Puene. He’s working for you. And Okpara. What will happen now?” I asked him.

  “Unlike some, I have no problem with your being dead. In fact, by now I am rather looking forward to it. You will be found dead in your car, I think. A tragic accident.” He sounded like a judge reading my sentence. “You should have driven more carefully,” he said, and then laughed to himself.