I searched through the firsttwo drawers with care, but without any luck. It was in the thirdone that I found what I was looking for. A diary bound with a redhard cover for the year 2012. I locked the drawers and returned thekey to where I had found it. With one hand on the doorknob, I looked back at theroom and satisfied myself that I had not left any sign of myvisit.
I opened the door a crack and peepedinto the corridor. I saw no-one. I had just stepped into thecorridor and was turning the lock, when Tonye turned the corner ofthe staircase.
“Hello,” he said coming down thecorridor towards me. I began whistling in a carefreemanner.
“Is he in?” he asked.
“Do you want to see him?” Iasked walking away towards my own door.
“Not really,” he replied,staring at the diary in my hands.
“How long are you stillstaying?” I asked him.
“A couple of days,” he replied.“And you?”
“Acouple more days, too,” I said, as I opened my door.
“It's reallyunfortunate what happened,” he said. He had followed me and was now standing before my door.
“Indeed!” I said.
“I was surprised that Nagothcould do such a thing,” he said.
“Yeah! Me, too,” I said and I shut the door in hisface.
“What’s that book you areholding?” he asked from the other side of the door.
Ipretended not to hear him; I turned on my radio and raised thevolume.
I sat down and thumbed throughthe pages of the diary. There was no personal entry in the diary.Willie had only compiled quotes and inspirational lines. The onlyconsolation for my efforts was a lengthy love note from Binta tohim dated January 10, 2012 and sandwiched between the pages. She had written enoughto show that they were lovers, and that they had come to Obudu together. She thanked him for thebeautiful time they had spent together. But I was disappointed. Istill had no proof of the murder even if the circumstantialevidence was sufficient to convince me that Willie was the killer.
Willieand Binta had been lovers and he murdered her, when she refused toterminate a pregnancy. Maria attended the same church and haddiscovered their secret affair, when she found the items in herchest of drawers. He had killed her to shut her up. But had Mariaalso been his lover? She had mentioned in her hypothetical storythat she was unwilling to pass on information about the individualto the police because she was in ‘in love’ with the person andwould not want him to feel betrayed.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
THE END
It was an hour later, when I climbed up thestairs and made for Willie’s room. Ayuba had told me he was inside.I knocked several times, before the door opened.
“What is it?” asked Willie. Hewas clearly agitated. He looked several years older and had worrylines etched in his face. He had large sweat stains under his armsand small beads of sweat had collected on his forehead.
“I wanted to have a word withyou,” I said, looking over his shoulder into the room. It lookedlike a tornado had hit the place. His things were scattered about.It seemed he had been searching for something. The room lookedquite disorderly.
“Not now, I’m quite busy,” hesaid, trying to shut the door.
“It is about Maria’s death,” Isaid, placing my foot against the door so that he could not shutit. His eyes widened in what seemed to be fear.
“What about her death?” heasked.
“I’ve madesome enquiries on my own and I have come up with sometheories that somehow involve you,” I said
“Me?” he askedwith a croaking sound, which he tried to disguise as laughter.
“I’m serious, Willie. I wouldappreciate it, if you would follow me down to her old roomnow.”
Helooked steadily at me for some minutes. He seemed to be weighing alot of things in his mind.
“Okay,”he finallysaid.
I ledthe way downstairs, as he shut his door. I did not say another wordto him until we got to Maria’s room.
“Please hurry up with yourtheories, Mr. Simpson,” he said, as we stepped into the room “I’vesome urgent things I need to do.”
“I won’t take much of your time,Willie.” I made to sit down on the armchair with the brokenleg.
“Be careful of that chair!”warned Willie.
But Ipaid him no attention and as I sat down, the chair fell to oneside.
“That’s funny,” I said gettingup and dusting myself. “How did you know that the chair was bad?” Iasked, innocently. “Have you sat on it before?”
He saw the trap that he hadwalked into. “Ihave eyes, Mr. Simpson,” he snapped. “And from where I stand, I cansee that one of the legs is shorter than the others.”
“Oh, I see.” I sat on the otherchair.
“My theory isa very short one, really,” I began. “I’ve being doing some runningaround, lately. Everyone knows that you are the Assistant Pastor ofHoly Love Chapel. I went there today and discovered that Binta, thegirl who died here in February, was also a member of that church.Then, I discovered that Maria Marshall worships there, as well. Toomany coincidences, wouldn’t you say? I’ve been able to establishfrom a letter she wrote to you, that you had an affair with her andthat you did not meet here by chance. You actually planned the trip together. I also suspectthat you killed Maria Marshall, because she became a threat to youwhen she discovered your letters and the affair with Binta. How doyou like my theory so far, William Akuma Japheth? Or is itA.J?”
He wasstaring at me with anger, hate and fear mixed together.
“You fool!” he said, throughclenched teeth and shaking with emotion. “You’ve been meddling inaffairs that do not concern you. So, you are the one who took mydiary? Where is it?”
“I hope youhave not been looking for it?” I asked, innocently. “The diary is intact. Thatshould be the least of your worries, right now. You should be moreconcerned about the implications of my discoveries. I
