“Your discoveries amount tonothing. You can’t prove I killed anyone because of a love letter.I want my diary. Where is it now?” he asked.
“With the DPO,” I replied,nonchalantly. “He seemed interested, you know how he is, so I lethim have it.”
“You fool!” he yelled. “I’llkill you for this!” And he ran towards me.
But thecoffee table was between us and as he made to go around it, thecloset opened and the DPO and two of his men came out. Mean Facewas one of them.
“Hold your trousers now, Mr.William Akuma Japheth a.k.a. Willie a.k.a. Candy Lover a.k.a. A.J,”advised the DPO. “Don’t do anything rash. “You’re already in enoughtroubles, as it is. Old habits die hard, they say. You couldn’tresist killing again, could you?”
“Father Lord!” exclaimed Williein shock and he turned to run through the door. Mean Face put outone leg. Willie tripped over it and fell heavily.
“Handcuff him!” ordered the DPOand the policemen held Willie to the ground and cuffedhim.
“Alright, let’s move it!” saidthe DPO and they marched out with him.
“You have nothing against methat can stand up in a competent court of law. You can’t prove Ikilled anyone. You’re just arresting one wrong person afteranother. Blunder after blunder. You can suspect me all you like,but you can’t prove a thing!” shouted Willie.
“I’ve enough grounds to placeyou under arrest and we have ways of making stubborn people talk!”said the DPO.
As if byforeknowledge, the other guests were waiting in thelounge.
“I thought I knew it all,” saidthe DPO shaking his head “And I almost had the wrong manfried.”
“What’s happening?” asked John,as they looked on in amazement. “Pastor William, why have theyhandcuffed you?”
Willie,who had kept his head down, now looked up with defiance in hiseyes.
“Brother John,” he said,solemnly. “Pray for me. These men are accusing me of some veryheinous crimes. But the truth will prevail.”
I believed Willie was onlytrying to be difficult with his denial that he hadn’t killed Bintaand Maria Marshall. But his guilt was plain to see. He obviouslyhad motive. By the time he had cooled his heels at the police stationfor abit, hewould be singing a different tune. It would be easier and things would gofaster if wehad some evidence to conclusively tie him to the murders.
Gettinghim into Maria’s room and confronting him with the facts had notgone exactly as planned. We had hoped that he would open up to mewith a confession, thinking that we were alone. We thought he mightaccept that he did it and ask me to go ahead and prove it. Instead,he had rushed at me, threatening to kill me; that, we hadn'tforeseen.
Ihurried to Mrs. Marshall’s room to inform her of the turn ofevents. Just as I raised my hand to knock on her door, I heard amuffled scream from inside the room. Perhaps it was my imaginationrunning wild, but it sounded to me like someone was trying tostrangle her!
I was scared for her safety,considering the recent happenings at the Lodge and her incapacitated state. Calling outher name like a battle cry, I aimed a good kick at the door andwith much gallantry, running into the room to save her fromwhatever evil or villain that had attacked her.
I wasshocked and transfixed to the spot when I saw Mrs. Marshallstanding unaided, by the window. Her crutches lay on the floor byher feet. She turned around sharply to see who had broken into herroom.
She waspeeling an orange and it seemed that she had accidentally nickedher finger with the knife. That was why she screamed.
“Mrs. Marshall, you can walk!” Ishouted in surprise. She stared at me with a look of anger, thendismay and finally made a wry face.
“Are you out of your mind, Mr.Simpson? What’s the meaning of this absurd conduct ofyours?”
“I heard you scream,” I said,feeling quite foolish. “I wanted to be sure you were fine,considering the recent happenings in the Lodge.”
“Howgallantof you,” shesaid. I did not miss the sarcasm in her voice. “It wasalsoungentlemanly ofyou to just burst into my room! What if I was in a state ofundress? And to answer your question, yes, I can walk. I’ve beenable to walk for quite some time, but it suited my needs to looklike a helpless woman on crutches.”
“But why?” I asked.
“It is personal,” she saidtersely.
Athought came to me and I involuntarily took a step back from her.The woman was becoming an enigma. She seemed to read mymind.
“Don’t besilly. That I acted like I couldn’t walk doesn't mean I'ma murderer. Mydaughter was a disgrace, Mr. Simpson. She was a flirt and seemed tobe going out with almost every man in sight. But I loved her andcould never have hurt her. You should have seen her as a baby. Shewas always laughing. Never gave me even a moment's sadness. I heardthe commotion with the DPO and Willie, some minutes ago. He wasarrested?”
‘Yes, from myinvestigations, I believe he killed Maria and the other ladythat wethought committedsuicide some time ago.”
“But you really have no evidenceto back up your claims?”
“No, I don’t. But we’ll get abreak before long, I guess.”
“I’ve all the evidence youneed,” said Mrs. Marshall as she attended to her bleeding finger.She dabbed at it with a ball of cotton wool from her First Aidbox.
“How? Where is theevidence?”
“You’re not the only private eyein the house, Mr. Simpson. I’ve also done my share of detectivework. A picture, they say, is worth a thousand words. Check out therecordings on this video camera recorder.” She picked up acamcorder from her bedside table and set it to play. Then shehanded it to me. It was a recording done on the night of themurder.
Someone standing at the head ofthe staircase captured the first scene. I saw Maria running awayfrom Nagoth, who stood staring at his scratched hands that werebleeding. The time was 10:15pm.
From theangle of the rest of the recording, it must have been done bysomeone hiding in Amina’s big cupboard, at the end of thecorridor.
The next shot showed Williepacing in front of Maria’s
