The Moment of Truth

Chapter 6

The following morning found the Commissioner of Police of the Second District Police Station Molyko – Mr. Njonji Reuben: a heavyset Bakossi man from KupeManenguba Division in the South West Region of Cameroon – seated behind his desk in his upstairs office drumming his desk with the end of his pen as he regarded the three Inspectors of police seated before him, all clad in their well-pressed uniforms of sky blue jackets over navy blue trousers, with black police caps on their heads.
     (This was before the police station was moved from the old building at Malingo Junction to a new one directly across the road from the Cameroon General Certificate of Education Board building.)
     Seated to the Commissioner’s left hand side was InspectorNkumbe Fabrice Enongene. It was he who had been dispatched with two Police Constables to the Presbyterian Church after the Associate Pastor there made the phone call to inform the police of the murder. He was the same person dispatched to the Full Gospel Mission Church the previous Sunday after the police received the panic phone call. Like the Commissioner, he, too, was a Bakossi man from KupeManenguba Division in the South West Region of Cameroon; he was in his mid-thirties and of average height, with a brown complexion and muscular body.
     Next to him satInspectorEnow Gladys Oben: a tall, fat Banyangi woman with a dark complexion. She hailed from Manyu Division in the South West Region of Cameroon. She was in her early thirties and had a childish face.
     To her right sat Inspector Tata Timothy Tata: a tall, dark, slim man in his mid-thirties. He was aNkambe man from Donga-Moutung Division in the North West Region of Cameroon.
      ‘I believe you are all aware of the press release issued by the Governor this morning,’ the Commissioner said, ‘charging us to investigate the murders of the Pentecostal Church Pastors. I hereby assign you three to deal with this case, and I expect you to put all hands on deck and get to the root of the matter.’
     Fabrice said, ‘We are working on it, sir. We have got the photos which were taken of the late Presbyterian Church pastor in bed with the unknown lady, and spoken with his wife. We intend to do likewise for the other pastor. From there we shall see what next to do.’
     Gladys added, ‘Also, the bodies have been taken to the lab of the Buea District Hospital for further tests.’
     ‘That’s good,’ the Commissioner said. ‘But you really have to work harder because the public is getting agitated, and the Pentecostal churches feel insecure.’
     ‘We will, sir,’ Timothy said.
     ‘I hope so,’ the Commissioner said. ‘You may go now.’
     The Inspectors rose, saluted the Commissioner and left the office. They descended the wooden staircase, passed the lobby and got to their own office which had five workstations for the five Inspectors of that station. All five workstations were set against the far side of the office such that they all faced the door leading in. As they got in, they found the two other Inspectors working at their desks to the far left.
     Fabrice said to Timothy, ‘Why don’t you take some Constables with you and go talk with the family of the late pastor Ayuk Peter. Gladys and I will stay back and see what we can come up with using the data we have got so far.’
     ‘Good idea,’ Timothy said. He went to his desk to get his jotter and pen before leaving the office.
     Minutes later, Timothy was seated at the back of the police vehicle, furiously scribbling into his jotter the questions he planned to ask the late pastor’s wife while one of the two Police Constables with him was driving with the other one occupying the front passenger seat. None of them spoke throughout the long drive from the police station to the late pastor’s house.
***
At the pastor’s house, the atmosphere was heavy with grief and sadness. The late pastor’s wife was clad in a black gown and seated on a wooden bench set against the wall on the wide verandah in front of the house. Her bloodshot eyes were sore from crying. She kept crying nonstop, screaming, ‘I want my husband… Bring me my husband... Peter, what have they done to you? Who has done this to you…?’ She thrashed about, shaking her head viciously like a mad woman, and hit it hard against the wall behind her.
     On either side of her sat two older women consoling her. They too were clad in black gowns. They struggled to keep her from hurting herself, holding her in firm grips; yet occasionally their grips would weaken and the widow would hit her head even harder against the wall. So the women got her to her feet and moved the bench farther from the wall. But that did not keep her from thrashing about like a caged animal struggling to be free.
     Seated on three plastic chairs to the right of the bench were two women and a man. The two women carried the widow’s two young daughters on their laps. One of the girls – Belinda – was nine, while her kid sister, Rachel was five. They were crying profusely as they saw their mother crying, but the women cuddled them, urging them not to cry.
     To the left of the bench were two other plastic chairs occupied byBekindaka Samuel Ekoko and Ayuk Caleb, the late pastor’s son. Caleb looked even more distraught than his kid sisters. His eyes were as red as blood and he cried out loud as though, if he cried any louder, his late father would come back from the dead.
     Samuel was consoling him while being reminded of how he himself felt when his father had died. He recalled that he was a little younger than Caleb when he lost his father. It was like his entire world had crumbled. It took him a very long time to heal from the agonizing pain of the loss, and he felt so sorry for Caleb who he knew must now go through all that.
Neighbours who passed by did not continue on their way without going to sympathize with the widow and her offspring with sullen, sympathetic faces. Passers-by along the road stopped for a few moments and eyed the mourners, understanding that someone had just died. Then they went their way, abruptly changing their topics of discussion to funerals and dead people.
     When the police vehicle entered the compound and pulled over next to the deceased’s RAV4, everyone looked at it, wondering why the police had come. However, the widow did not seem to care about this, as she kept crying and writhing uncontrollably.
     The Inspector and Constables alighted from the car, made it through the small metal gate enclosing the verandah and stood before the mourners in a momentary respectful silence.
     From the Bible held by the man seated next to the women carrying the little girls, Inspector Timothy guessed they were a delegation from the church come to sympathize with the widow.
     He cleared his throat and said, ‘Good day. I am Inspector Tata Timothy from the Second District Police Station Molyko. We are here to ask the widow a few questions, if that is fine with her. We are here with respect to the ongoing investigation into the murder of the late pastor.’
    The widow was a little calm by then and regarded the policemen like aliens as she willed herself to listen to the Inspector.  By then, her daughters had cried themselves to sleep and the women carrying them excused themselves from the others and went inside the house to keep the girls in bed.
     Instinctively, Samuel got the unoccupied plastic chairs alongside his own and set them across from the widow for the policemen to occupy. However, only the Inspector sat down and fished out his pen ad jotter, flanked by the Constables like bodyguards. He cast the widow a questioning glance.
     ‘Ok,’ she finally said.
     ‘Accept my condolences, madam,’ Timothy said in the gentlest tone he could muster. ‘I promise, this will not take long.’ Flipping a page on his jotter, he said, ‘I believe you are aware that your late husband was involved… with another woman, and someone used that as leverage to manipulate him. Can you remember if he ever saw any other woman?’
     After a brief silence, the widow said, ‘No.’
     ‘No suspicious encounter with women? Were there any late-night arrivals?’ he stressed his point.
     The woman seemed to be losing her patience with the Inspector who, to her, was struggling to get some dirt on her late husband. ‘My husband… saw no other woman. Yes, he usually stayed out late, but that was when he was in church for various programs or went to visit sick Christians.’
      ‘So you find his recent mix up with this strange woman in the photos surprising?’ he tried one last attempt to wring something – anything – helpful out of the widow.
     ‘Very surprising,’ she said, her voice failing as she burst into fresh tears, feeling hurt now more from the fact that her late husband had cheated on her.
     The two women who had gone inside were now watching from the living room through the window. When Timothy’s gaze met theirs, they quickly averted them.
     After a momentary silence, he asked, ‘Do you know of any potential enemy he might have had? Someone he disagreed with, maybe?’
     She dabbed her eyes with a white hankie she held all along in her hands and said, ‘He often disagreed with the elders and deacons in the church, but they were over minor issues.
     ‘There was nothing out of the ordinary, Inspector: he neither smoked nor drank irresponsibly. He was such a sweet man…’ Her voice tailed off as she was lost in the thought of the love he had showered on her, and the pain of his sudden demise weighed even more now in her heart.
     Timothy went on. ‘The pastor had received an envelope containing the damning photos. Do you have any idea how he came about it?’
     ‘I’m not sure. If it was delivered here at home, I was not aware of it.’ She seemed to reflect on something. ‘Now I know what had got him very disturbed last week. He had been acting strangely, even to me. But if he had got the enveloped, would he not have told me about it?’
     ‘He probably could not bring himself to do so,’ he suggested. ‘Can I have the envelope, please? We would need it for further investigation.’
     The widow struggled to her feet which seemed incapable of carrying her; so one of the women next to her helped her and they both disappeared into the house. Moments later, they returned, the widow holding a brown envelope in her right hand, which she handed to Timothy before taking her seat.
     Without opening the envelope, he passed it to the Constable to his right.
     ‘When will my husband’s body be released, Inspector, so we can give him a befitting burial?’
     ‘It will be released as soon as the medical tests have been concluded.’
     ‘He was murdered by the same person who murdered the Rev. Maliba John Bosco, wasn’t he?’ the widow asked him with bitterness etched on face as she clenched the drenched hankie in her right hand.
     Timothy nodded. ‘So far, we can safely say so.’
     Regarding him with a burning rage in her eyes, she said, ‘The Catholics killed my husband, Inspector. Bring them to justice!’
     ‘We will apprehend whoever is behind all this,’ he said calmly. He got to his feet, fished out his complementary card from his breast pocket and handed it to the widow saying, ‘Thank you for your time, madam. That is my card. Please call me as soon as you remember anything.’
     She just nodded and they watched the policemen get to the vehicle before its engine sprang to life and it sped away.
***
Timothy entered the Inspectors’ office with the brown envelope in his hands, saying, ‘Please don’t send me to interview another bereaved family.’ He was addressing Fabrice who had now moved his chair to Gladys’ desk where they were both examining the photos of the late Presbyterian Church pastor sprawled across the desk. The other two Inspectors were not at their desks.
     Timothy, they all knew, was not a fan of funerals. He hated them and made everyone around him know that whenever they talked about such things.
     ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Fabrice said as Timothy approached them.
     Timothy regarded the photos on Gladys’ desk awhile before handing Fabrice the envelope, saying, ‘Dirty photos, these. Christ, I can’t even imagine such a respected man of God fornicating with another woman. By the way, you needed to see the woman I am just from speaking with. She was so broken.’
     ‘Are you telling me?’ Fabrice said as Timothy went to get his own seat. ‘I felt so bad when I went to question the late Presbyterian pastor’s wife. It seemed like she was just going to drop dead.’
     ‘Who could do such a hideous thing to these men of God?’ Gladys asked, obviously feeling sick of the whole situation.
     ‘It’s our job to find out,’ Fabrice said as he got from Timothy the envelope containing the photos of the late Rev. Ayuk Peter making love with an unknown woman, and set them out on the cramped desk, aside from the other set of photos. They looked at the two sets of photos in silence for a while.
     ‘There are different women with each pastor in the photos,’ Gladys commented.
     ‘As well as different beds,’ Timothy added. ‘Take a good look at the beds: they don’t look like hotel room beds. Do you see the things on the bedside tables at the edges of the photos?’
     Fabrice and Gladys squinted at the photos, and saw that the beds indeed did not look like hotel room beds: the headboards were old and worn out; at the edges of the photos of the second dead pastor was a faint outline of a comb and a bottle of body lotion.
‘You are right,’ Fabrice concurred; ‘these are not hotel room beds: therefore…’
     ‘…The pastors lay with these women either in their own bedrooms or the women’s,’ Timothy finished off what Fabrice could not bring himself to say.
     ‘This is creepy,’ Gladys said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she felt goose bumps on her skin. ‘If the pastors lay with these women in their own houses, surely their wives would have known; therefore, it had to be at the women’s houses.’
     ‘But who would get a pastor to come to her place and make love with her in her bed in the first place?’ Fabrice said. ‘They even took these photos without the pastors knowing… or objecting. I mean, in these photos the pastors are deeply consumed in the act and show no sign of awareness that the photos were being taken. Otherwise, they would have destroyed them instantly.’
     ‘We will have to dig deeper,’ Timothy said; ‘ask more questions.'