“It will have to wait,” saidMean Face. “Until the DPO comes.”
“Well, then, I guess I have no choice but to wait,” I said,stalling. Could I escape their notice by going through one of thewindows? But there were others hanging around outside and such amove might be misconstrued, resulting in graveconsequences.
But Ialso knew that when the DPO came, the wrong person would probablybe arrested. And the murderer would go scot-free.
“You can send out a letter. Wewill drop it for you,” said Mean Face. “Someone just gave us thisenvelope to take somewhere for him.” And he waved a brown addressedenvelope in my face. The handwriting on the envelope caught myattention.
“Can I see that?” I asked,stretching out my hand. Mean Face hesitated, before handing me theenvelope.
“I’m not going to eat or openit.” I told him, as he watched me suspiciously.
Thehandwriting in the letters was the exact match of that on theenvelope.
“Who gave you this?” I askedcasually, although my pulse was racing. Mean Face told me and thecase cracked wide open. Everything fell into place.
“Thanks,” Isaid. The pieces of the puzzle were now in theirrightfulplace,andthings were a bitclearer than before. Yet, in some ways, they were even moreconfusing.
CHAPTERTWELVE
THE WRONG ARREST
It seemed he had descended on the Lodgewith the entire Nigerian Police Force. I looked through the door ofthe lounge to see fully armed and combat-ready policemen spillingout of several police vans with blaring sirens. They also came withsome Armoured Personnel Carriers, while a couple of helicoptershovered above. They surrounded the Lodge and took vantage positions.They swarmed all over the place, like bees in black bodyarmour.
“Has the Third World Warstarted?” I asked the DPO, as he led the charge into thelounge.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” he laughed withdeep satisfaction.“Very funny, Mr. Simpson, very funny! But Ibelieve that it was a human being who once said that anything worthdoing is worth doing well?” And he laughed again, showing me histobacco and kolanut-stained teeth.
Then, heturned to his men, his laughter ending abruptly. “You, you and you!Go to Room 11 upstairs and escort the occupant down here. If heescapes, believe me, your careers in the Nigerian Police Force areover!”
Three ofthe policemen who had come in with him, detached themselves fromthe others and marched upstairs with their guns cocked. I feltsorry for Nagoth.
“I hope none of them wentout?”the DPO asked Mean Face.
“None,” confirmed MeanFace.
“Good. The lab test results arehere with me and I have discovered the murderer. It was so simple.He has a very rare blood type and it matched that found underneaththe fingernails of the deceased.”
“There is no chance of amistake?” I asked.
“Mistake? No chance at all!”thundered the DPO angrily. “I don’t make mistakes!” He turned tothe bar where Amina still stood, just as the three policemen he hadsent upstairs, returned with Nagoth.
“Ring the bell; I want everyoneto gather here, right now!”
Amina rang the bell used forcalling guests whenever it was mealtime.
“Sit down, sitdown,” said the DPO, grinning in self-satisfaction as the other guests begantrooping into the lounge. He waved a folded piece of paper in front of ourfaces. “This is the result we have been waiting for. I told you Iwas going to unravel this case and I have done it! The lab test hasrevealed that the murderer is Nagoth Ali, the renowned artist. Hehad been an intimate friend of the deceased and for reasons bestknown to him for now, which of course, he will reveal to me underinterrogation, he killed her.”
Nobodysaid anything; the guests were too busy staring at Nagoth in shock.He looked indifferent.
“I’m nowplacing him under arrest!” announced the DPO.
“I’ve a right to make a phonecall,” said Nagoth.
“You don’thave any right, Mr. Ali, except I say so. Fortunately, I’m feelingvery generous today, so you can make your call,” the smilingDPO said.
Nagothwent over to the phone placed on the bar top. He dialled a numberand spoke for some minutes. I presumed he was calling a lawyer. Heneeded a good one.
“Is there anything else youwant, Mr. Ali?” asked the DPO, who seemed to be enjoying himself.“Perhaps, a Cuban cigar? Or a chilled bottle of beer? Some exoticvintage wine? Ah, a beautiful woman with an hour-glassfigure?”
And helaughed heartily. At a signal from him, handcuffs were placed onNagoth, who turned to look at me. He hardly spared a glance for theother guests, whose eyes already bore silentcondemnation.
“Please, Mr. Simpson,” he saidas he was led away.
“I’ll do mybest,” I replied. I turned to look at the person who I nowsuspected to be the murderer. He was looking at Nagoth, a small smileplayingat the corners ofhis mouth. He suddenly turned his head and looked at me … like heknew I had been watching him.
“That’s a surprise,” he said. “Inever suspected that Nagoth was capable of killing a fellow humanbeing.”
“We are allcapable of it,” said John. “Given the motive and opportunity. Youmay later call it murder, manslaughter or self-defence, but we areall potential killers … if gravely provoked or prompted by survivalinstinct.”
Surprisingly, Mrs. Marshall did not say anything. She was thefirst to get up and go to her room. She never said a word toanybody, even as everyone else discussed Nagoth’sarrest.
The Lodge was now free of armedpolicemen. Only three of them still hung around. But they were notdisturbing anyone or restricting movement any longer. Philip haddecided to go ahead and get tested.
I decided to travel outof CrossRiver State,to pay aquick visit to achurch in a nearby State. Armed with Fati Madu’s photograph, I went to the Holy Love Chapel. I hadactually not been heeding the biblical injunction not to forsakethe gathering of the saints lately, but I needed to visit thechurch now to aid my own investigation.
It was a Saturday, soIwas surprised tosee that the place was a beehive of activities. The church was anarchitectural masterpiece. It was a beautiful imposing structure,painted with yellow. In the front of the building were life-size pictures ofscenes oftheCrucifixion, and the Last Supper. Beautiful patterns were made with someexotic flowers at the entrance, where some flashy cars
