Choir practice was in progressinone section of thechurch, and the rehearsal of a play was taking place in another. Itseemed like the church was preparing for an event.
“Hello!” Icalled to a young man, as he dashed out through the main door.
“Hello,” hesaid,looking like he wasin one hell of a hurry.
“Slow down, man,” I said holdinghim by his shoulder. “I’m looking for somebody.”
“Who?” he asked, looking up intomy eyes. He was a sturdy fellow of about 19. He had a veryaggressive and an impatient manner. I showed him the picture ofFati Madu.
“You know her?” he asked melooking excited.
I thought I was supposed to bedoing the questioning.
“Yes, I know her,” I replied.“Do you know her?”
“Of course Iknow her,” he replied, as if he thought I was silly for asking such aquestion.
“Where is she now?” he askedme.
“A long way from here,” Ireplied. “Tell me about her.”
“Well, she came to the churchduring one revival meeting and gave her life to Christ, thatevening. She said she had no parents and close relations, and askedfor any form of assistance from the church. People helped her inways they could. About 10 months ago, she left for her hometown,saying that she would be back. But that was the last that anybodyhas saw or heard of her.”
“Nobody made any attempt to lookfor her?” I asked.
“But where will they start from?She didn’t give the name of her hometown.”
“Wasn’t she close to any memberof the church?” I asked.
“Oh,yes,”replied the young man. “She was close to Sister Rachel and BrotherAkuma, the Assistant Pastor. He felt her disappearance the most. Hehad taken Sister Danladi very close and did his best to help her.He was really pained, when he came back from his journey and heardthat she had vanished like that.”
“Who is SisterDanladi?” I asked in surprise.
“BintaDanladi, ofcourse,” he said, “I thought you said you knewher?”
“Oh, I knew her by anothername,” I said.
“And you say she has gone faraway?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well, you hadbetter tell the Head Pastor,” he suggested. “People still worry abouther.”
“Who is the Head Pastor?” Iasked.
“He is Rev. Dr. EvangelistProphet Godspower.”
“Okay, I’ll have to see him someother time, I have to run somewhere now. You can give the messageto him for me,” I said and thanked him.
“What’s your own name?” Iasked.
“Nweke,” he replied “I’m the sonof the Head Pastor.”
“I’m Simpson,”I said. “Tell your dad to keep the gospel, alive and kicking.”
With that, I made the return trip to Obudu.
Back in my room at theLodge, Ipaced the floor, pondering everything, with my hands deep in mytrouser pockets.
I now believed I knew thekiller's identity, as well as his motives for the murder. But Istill had to prove it with hard evidence. That the handwriting inthe letters belonged to the killer, did not actually proveanything. But I also suspected that he must have left some sign that I had to find. But where was it? Whatwas it?
I satdown and brought the killer into sharp focus, in my mind’s eye. Ithought about his personality and where he was likely to make amistake. His little oddities, his habits, his traces, signs. Then,I remembered something.
“One cannot always tell age bystature,” Mrs. Marshall had said.
“Some people are young instature but old in iniquity,” Tonye had responded and some of ushad laughed at his choice of words.
“I must putthat down in my diary,” Willie had said. “It soundsprofound.”
“I’m glad I look my age,” hadbeen Philip's comment. “You wouldn’t ask me to carry your bagswould you now, Mr. Simpson?” he had laughed. And I had agreed thatI would not.
It was in that morning'sconversation that I saw a glimmer of hope to pin the killer. I left my roomand went downstairs. There was no-one in the lounge, but Ayuba wasstanding behind the bar polishing the glasses without his usualvigour. He seemed to be miles away. I took one of thestools.
“How is Wahimda doing?” I askedhim.
“She’s doing much better fromwhat I heard. The hospital is still carrying out toxicologytests.”
“Where are the others?” I asked,nodding towards the empty lounge.
“Willie and Tonye went outseparately, some time ago. I think Philip went to the gym. Mrs.Marshall is sitting under the shade of those trees behind. John isthe only one, who is in his room,” replied Ayuba, without evenpausing his polishing. He raised one of the glasses and inspectedit. He seemed satisfied with the shine and put it back.
“Do you have any painkiller,Ayuba?” I asked, placing my palm on my forehead. “I’m having aterrible headache”.
“No problem, now,” said Ayuba.“I’ll get you some tablets.” And he left the bar through the backdoor.
Iimmediately vaulted over the bar top and landed on the other side.I went to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. Inside, I foundwhat I wanted. I hastily sorted through the spare keys and foundthe one fixed with the number tag I required. I shut the drawer andput the key in my pocket, then I jumped over the bar top again andsat on my stool.
When Ayuba came back with thetablets, hefound me with my head in my hands and my face contorted infalseagony. He handed mesome white tablets in a sachet.
“Thanks,” I said, getting offthe stool. “I’ll just go to my room and take it. Then, I’ll have arest.”
“That’s just what you need,”said Ayuba, looking at me with concern. I noticed that he hadremoved the plaster from his cheek. Some coincidence!
I went back upstairs,but Idid not go to myroom. Instead, I used the key I had obtained, to open the door tothe room of the suspect. I entered quietly.
Picture frames and posters withbrilliant colours, mostly of a religious nature, adorned the walls.I did not know how much time I had, so I quickly went to work. Ipulled at the drawers of his desk, but they refused to budge. Itried not to swear out loud. I went over to the wardrobe, which wasbuilt into the wall. I searched through his clothes for keys, butI foundnone. Yet, as I searched through the pockets, I heard keys jangling.
I shookthe clothes and the keys jangled again.
