The following morning, Samuel was in school making his way down the long passageway that stretched from the staff canteen all the way to the Faculty of Arts building on his way to the library, and just as he was getting to the Faculty of Arts building he heard a familiar voice.
The sound of the voice came from a restaurant to his left, in the vicinity of the UB market. He paused to listen further and was certain it was Elvis’ voice. Elvis – one of the trio that landed him into trouble twice the previous year. Elvis – the smiley young man with a toothpick dangling from one side of his mouth all the time. All these thoughts flooded his memory as he remembered that he had not seen them for a long while.
He dared not turn around and risk being made out.
He could hear Elvis saying, ‘…Come on, Nelson. Don’t tell me you are still brooding over the fact that Sylvia dumped you. For Christ’s sake, it’s been almost a year…!’
Samuel froze where he was when he heard this. He could not believe what he had just overheard. He poked both his ears with his index fingers to be sure his hearing was not impaired. Were his ears deceiving him, or did Elvis just say Nelson had once been Sylvia’s boyfriend?
It was preposterous! Sylvia had sternly denied any ties with the trio in such a manner that left Samuel now wondering what on earth was going on.
The trio was sat within the premise of a restaurant tagged ‘De Maker’ which was fenced all round with cardboard. Also, there was a black Guinness canopy just in front of the restaurant under which were more tables and chairs. There were a few students seated there.
The trio was sat at an angle completely covered by cardboard on both sides, such that even if Samuel had turned to look at them, he would not have seen them. There were a number of beer bottles on their table.
Nelson looked sullen and withdrawn; Elvis was lively as always with a toothpick in one corner of his mouth; and Karl looked like he was playing it cool.
Nelson took a long sip from his glass of Castel beer and slammed his glass on the table, saying, ‘I am not brooding over anything.’
‘You are a terrible liar, you know,’ Karl said just before taking a sip from his bottle of Mutzig.
Nelson was about to protest further when Elvis said with a broad smile, ‘Well, look who we have here.’ The others followed his gaze toward Samuel who was walking up to them, smiling like someone who had just met some old friends he had not seen for a long time.
When he met them, Samuel sat on the fourth seat at their table without invitation, took a sip from Elvis’ bottle of Isenbeck with only an imperceptible frown on his face as he gulped the beer, and then said, ‘What’s up, friends. It’s been a while.’
***
That same moment, Fabrice walked into the Inspectors’ office at the police station with a smile on his face as he regarded his four other colleagues who were already at their desks.
‘Morning,’ he said as he made his way to his desk.
‘Good morning,’ the others responded, except Gladys.
She walked up to his desk after he had seated himself and demanded outrageously, ‘Where on earth did you keep the Pentecostal Church Pastors’ case file? I have scattered and rearranged everything on your desk and in your desk drawers twice; yet, I could not find it!’
‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,’ Timothy said in a half whisper as he pretended to be looking for something on his desk.
Gladys rotated on her heels toward him and barked, ‘Just don’t let me start with you this morning!’
He raised his hands in mock surrender, saying, ‘Hey, I’m just saying.’
‘I took the file home,’ Fabrice said and Gladys span back to him, looking stupefied.
She flopped down on the seat across from his desk and tried to seem calm. Fabrice may have been extremely obsessed with some cases, but as far as Gladys knew, he had never taken any case file home, however grave the case was. He was a man who always knew when to draw the line between his work and his personal life.
Given that he was already working on overdrive on this case, his admittance that he took the case file home only proved to Gladys that the man was going nuts.
‘Are you serious?’ she tried to look as shocked as she could.
‘You heard me right,’ he said as he retrieved the case file from his briefcase and dropped it on his desk before Gladys.
Ignoring the file, she looked him straight in the eye and said, ‘Have you completely lost it, Fabrice? Why are you so obsessed with this case? Can’t you see what it is doing to you? Since when did you start letting work encroach on your personal life?’
‘I don’t have much left of a personal life, if that is what you mean,’ he said dryly as though he had been through this with her a hundred times. ‘Besides, it’s my job to catch the killer.’
Gladys now sounded offended. ‘It’s our job to catch the killer!’ She dabbed the case file with her right index finger so hard that she thought her fingernail would break.
Timothy and the others just started at them smiling, obviously amusing themselves with the scene before them. They all knew when Fabrice made up his mind to do something, nothing stood on his way. They also knew, however, that Gladys just could not get past this stubbornness of his, and seemed to care for him to a fault. More often than not, they would end up quarreling with her telling him to do or not do something, and him protesting. And the funniest part about it all was that he always won.
‘Are you going to talk forever or listen to what I just found out on the case?’ Fabrice shouted when he realized he could take it no more.
Now that was not funny. Gladys just stared blankly at him, as though she did not understand what he had just said, as Timothy rose to his feet to join them.
‘Are you saying you made a breakthrough last night?’ Timothy asked expectantly as he pulled his seat toward Fabrice’s desk.
‘Yes,’ Fabrice said with a proud smile, obviously finding Timothy more fun to talk with.
Feeling jealous, Gladys just sighed and said, ‘Couldn’t you have made that breakthrough without taking the case file home?’
‘Let the man talk, honey.’ Timothy said as he occupied his seat. He was notorious for getting under Gladys’ skin, especially when she was quarrelling with Fabrice.
She just gave him a sidelong scowl as Fabrice opened the file before them, saying, ‘The funny thing about it is that what I just found out has been under our noses the whole time without us figuring it out. Can you believe that Amanda and Blandine were strippers?’
He leaned back on his seat with a self-gratifying smile as he watched his colleague’s faces grow gray with confusion and disbelief.
‘Ok, now I’m lost,’ Timothy broke the silence. ‘What made you say that?’
Turning the case file in their direction, Fabrice said, ‘Take a closer look at those pictures.’
‘I have staring at them for months,’ Timothy declared, feigning annoyance before he finally bent and looked at them for the umpteenth time, followed by Gladys.
While they looked, Fabrice said authoritatively, sounding like a teacher explaining a difficult diagram to his students, ‘Have you noticed the tattoos on the women’s bodies?’
From the furrows on their brows, he guessed they just noticed them. When they instantly looked up at him for an explanation, he leaned forward and said, ‘Now, I had led a rascally life back in the day, and I frequented a lot of nightclubs, especially Las Vegas snack bar. Believe me when I say that these tattoos you see here are the very same tattoos on the same body parts of the strippers who had performed there. That is how I know.’
When they just stared blankly at him, he added, ‘Come to think of it: the killer could not have got just about anyone for the job. Take a good look at the women in those pictures. They look like they are having the fun of their lives. If you told a lay man that those are pastors in bed with them, he would not believe.’
‘You are a genius, Fabrice,’ Timothy said plainly before he burst into a peal of laughter.
Fabrice smiled.
***
Back at the eatery on campus, the trio eyed Samuel in amazement, but it was Elvis who spoke first.
‘Wow, Sam. Indeed, it has been a long time. How are you doing?’
‘Well,’ Samuel shrugged, ‘as always; the life of a student. There have been ups and downs, but I am still alive. How have you all been?’
‘Not bad,’ Karl said.
‘Must be hard,’ Elvis said to Samuel, ‘what with Sylvia turning you down like that.’
Samuel felt like he had just been slapped across the face. He felt his throat go dry as he heard Elvis utter the words as though they were a profanity.
How did Elvis know I had asked Sylvia out? He wondered. They had been at a snack bar many kilometers away from campus. Besides, he had neither told anyone he was going to propose to her that night nor tell anyone how it had ended, except for Beltus and Vivian.
He managed to conceal his astonishment as Elvis added, ‘Heard you started with quite a scene at her place – flowers and all.’
Now Samuel was completely taken aback! Elvis had mentioned something known to him and Sylvia alone. If there was any way he had come to know about that night so vividly, he would either have been following them that night – which was ridiculous – or Sylvia would have told him herself. The thought of Sylvia disclosing such privileged information to someone she ardently claimed was not her friend was appalling!
That was the second mind-blowing piece of information Samuel had got from Elvis in the space of an hour. He could not help but suspect that there was something fishy going on between Sylvia and the three young men seated before him. Again he concealed his shock.
‘What can I say?’ Samuel replied, feigning resignation as he reached again for the bottle of Mutzig - seeing from the corner of his eye that Nelson had grown paler now. ‘A man has got to try his luck.’ He took a sip and set the bottle on the table.
‘A beautiful damsel she is, Sylvia,’ Karl remarked.
‘Aye,’ Samuel confirmed as he belched. ‘What’s up with Nelson? He doesn’t look good.’
‘He’s depressed,’ Elvis said with a smile. Then, seeing the quizzical look on Samuel’s face, he added, ‘Well, he’s been down the same road as you; only he went a little farther down.’
‘How do you mean?’ Samuel said, feigning confusion.
It was Karl who answered. ‘Nelson here was Sylvia’s boyfriend for a short while before she dumped him.’
Nelson took a long sip from his bottle. Probably to drown his emotional pain, Samuel thought.
‘You left out the juicy bits, Karl,’ Elvis said with a broad smile. ‘Sylvia broke up with Nelson just after he took her out for the first time.’
Now Samuel’s curiosity was palpable. He shifted in his seat, feeling like he was in the right place. There was a way Elvis narrated stories that made you want to keep hearing it till you lose track of time. You just had to make him know you are captivated. ‘Huh?’ Samuel looked inquisitive.
‘Yep,’ Elvis said, playing with his bottle on the table. ‘He took her to Las Vegas to have a nice time. When was it? March last year?’
‘April,’ Nelson spoke for the first time since Samuel joined them. He sounded like he was under compulsion to sit through the conversation.
‘He thinks it was an unforgivable mistake taking her there,’ Karl said. ‘He thinks she must have found it disgusting, considering she is a devout Catholic. He has since not forgiven himself.’
‘I thought she would have fun,’ Nelson spoke in self-defense, perhaps to convince himself that the mistake was not entirely his fault. ‘I bet she was having fun there.’
‘Bummer,’ Elvis whispered.
They remained silent for a while before Samuel said, ‘Say, how about I take your phone numbers so we could hang around again sometime? I have really missed you.’
‘Sure,’ Elvis said. ‘Good idea.’
Samuel then passed his phone round the table for them to register their contacts. First to Karl who was seated to his right, then Elvis who was seated across the table from him, and then Nelson who was seated to his left.
He then excused himself from their midst and continued on his way to the library, his nearly tipsy mind spinning with so many confusing thoughts.
***
Back at the police station, Gladys was beginning to get over her hurt feelings and making sense of Fabrice’s findings.
‘But none of the people we questioned about these women said they were strippers,’ she said, expressing the only obstacle obstructing her from fully buying the whole idea.
‘Of course not,’ Fabrice said. ‘Being a stripper is not a very good thing in the eyes of the law. How much more telling the police that your dead sister or girlfriend was one! These people did not want to get a bad reputation, because they know the murders would go public. Imagine the headline of every newspaper nationwide saying your dead sister was a stripper. I bet you won’t step out of your house for a month!’
Gladys gave a sigh of relief as she now wholeheartedly accepted the idea Fabrice was selling.
‘That is perfectly rational,’ Timothy said. ‘No doubt that friend of Amanda’s moved out when she feared we might come looking for her. I bet she has something to hide.’
‘That’s exactly my point,’ Fabrice said, hitting his desk with his right fist; ‘which is why we have to shake them up real hard this time - tell them we know what they are hiding and we want the truth, else… We could threaten arrest for accessories after the fact.’
(If a person is arrested for accessories after the fact, that person is only aware of a murder after it has happened, and helps cover it up.)
‘So how do we go about it?’ Gladys asked.
Fabrice said, ‘Timothy, I would like for you to go and talk with Juliet. Shake her up very well, and ask her to take you to where that Amanda’s friend now lives. I bet she knows. I will go check on Lizette and see if I can get to Eposi as well.’
As Timothy stood to leave with a gratifying smile, Gladys frowned at Fabrice. ‘What about me?’
‘I have this feeling that we might receive an emergency call at any time. So you stay here; if any emergency call comes in, you attend to it.’
As he stood to leave, Gladys said, ‘So technically, I’m going to be babysitting the emergency line while you two will be out there having fun? I thought gender inequality has been eradicated from this country!’
‘It has, honey,’ Timothy said on his way out. ‘That’s why you are an Inspector of police, and not a housewife in one of those villages in the suburbs.’
He dashed out of the office before Gladys could get back at him.
Timothy took the police Hilux with two Constables to go talk with Juliet at Ndongo, so Fabrice took two other Constables with him in his car to go shake up Lizette at Malingo Street.
He was driving by himself. He dared not risk anything happening to his car in the Constables’ hands. He had witnessed enough of their reckless driving to let any of them drive his car.
They planned to appear before the ladies unannounced so they would not have time to cook up any cock-and-bull story. What they needed most in the investigation was some modicum of truth.
When they got to the public tap along Malingo Street, Fabrice turned left onto the stony side street and drove right up to Infinity Hostel. He found a suitable parking space and killed the engine.
Before they stepped out, he turned to the Constables and said, ‘Remember, we are going to be very strict and thorough with these ladies, so I want you to act it really well. I will not entertain any mistakes. Are we clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’
They got out of the car and walked up to Lizette’s apartment, seeing that the door was ajar. At the door, they could hear feminine voices chatting amiably inside. Fabrice knocked as one of the Constables took out his pen and jotter, poised to write.
Moments later they were met at the door by Lizette who was obviously surprised to see them there without prior notice. She was barefoot and clad in a short floral gown. In her mid-twenties, she was of average height, fair and skinny.
‘Oh, Inspector,’ she said with a nervous smile. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘Something urgent just came up,’ Fabrice said without the trace of a smile as the first Constable started writing on the jotter. ‘I hope you have a few minutes to spare.’
‘Of course,’ she said, inviting them inside.
When they entered the room, Fabrice saw that it was a far cry from what it had been when they just discovered Blandine’s body there on the bed.
The blood had been thoroughly scrubbed from the floor and the study table, leaving just a few stubborn stains which could hardly be made out as bloodstains, and the broken mirror had been replaced by a new one.
The study table was now very tidy, covered with an indigo tablecloth with the books and other things well-arranged on it. The couch and coffee table were now at their proper places; and the bed was well-made with a clean set of orange sheets under a white duvet with white pillowcases. Lizette definitely had a good taste forcolours, Fabrice noticed without physically showing it.
Rather, his countenance, alongside those of the Constables, gave her the impression that they were going to arrest her if she made the slightest mistake.
The policemen saw that there was another young lady in the room, lying on her belly in the bed while swinging her feet back and forth into the air as she rested her forearms and chin on a pillow before her. She wore a white blouse over a red miniskirt. In her late twenties, she was tall, dark and slightly fat.
When she saw the policemen enter the room, she was seized by raw panic; she dashed from the bed and stood erect. Confused whether to say ‘Good morning, sir’ or ‘Good day, sir,’ she just stood there and waved at them with her right hand like some animated toy on display at a shop window.
She was probably most scared of the handcuffs dangling from the belt of the Constable who was not writing, fearing the policemen were there to arrest them.
Fabrice gave her a once over and with a slight nod of his chin, he acknowledged her greeting. He recognizing her as Eposi, the friend who lived at Bokwaongo. On the inside, he was glad he had both ladies where he wanted them: both physically and psychologically.
God, did he loved surprises!
‘Please, sit,’ Lizette said, politely gesturing at the couch.
Fabrice sat on the couch with the Constable who was taking down notes while the other one stood behind them.
Lizette sat on the edge of the bed and touched Eposi lightly on the elbow, gesturing her to do same. After a momentary hesitation, she followed suit.
‘Like I said,’ Fabrice began, ‘something just came up during the investigation and we thought it wise to ask you a few more questions.’
Neither girl moved or spoke.
Good, he thought. They are really tense. Now is the time.
He cleared his throat authoritatively before saying, ‘We know Blandine was a stripper at Las Vegas snack bar.’
He could have sworn the girls almost fainted on the bed. He saw the colour drain from their faces as they shook with the gravity of his statement, and seemingly grew paler. Eposi’s mouth fell open spontaneously; she quickly closed it when she noticed it. Raw fright was palpable on Lizette’s face as she regarded Fabrice like a magistrate who was about to pass the death sentence on her.
‘What!’ Lizette managed to say, but her appearance betrayed her fear.
Fabrice continued, ‘We know someone at the club paid her to seduce that pastor, and we are aware that you know who that person is. I would advise you now to say the truth, failing which you would be arrested for murder accessories. You see, there are three murder accessories.
‘The first is an accessory before the fact. They are the worst ones – they know a murder is going to happen, and don’t do anything about it. Maybe they even help things along. I doubt you fall in this category, since you never knew beforehand that Blandine was going to be murdered.
‘Then there is an accessory during the fact. They are present when the murder happens, and still don’t lift a finger to stop it. I don’t think you can be charged for this either, since neither of you was present at the scene that night. Are you with me?’
The girls nodded, and Eposi swallowed her spittle down her parched throat. They obviously looked paler with dread as they heard him enlist the possible charges under which they could be arrested.
He went on. ‘Last, but not the least, is an accessory after the fact. That is where the victim is already dead and you help cover up, by withholding information that could be of great help during the investigation.’ He fixed a sterner gaze on them and said, ‘That is the category you fall in. So are you going to talk, or do you want to spend at least ten years in jail?’
The girls looked really frightened now, but Eposi seemed to know when to stay silent. If anyone was going to fess up, Fabrice bet it was going to be Lizette.
They quickly glanced at each other, as though conspiring wordlessly to hold their ground; but it was a fleeting look. Lizette’s eyes seemed to be pleading with Eposi to intervene, whereas Eposi’s countenance was expressionless, as though she dared not betray her fear.
Fabrice stayed silent, letting the implication of his last statement sink in. For the next few seconds, the room was still, the only sound being that of the Constable’s pen moving against his jotter.
‘Tell him,’ Lizette finally said in a shaky voice, nudging Eposi abruptly on her left arm. Eposi gave her a hard stare, but before she could say a word, Fabrice gestured for handcuffs Constable to step forward. As he took the first step, Eposi shook with fright and seemed like she was going to cry.
Fabrice motioned the Constable to step back, just before Eposi finally loosened her tongue.
‘She… she…,’ she began, stammering with tension as she wrung her hands spontaneously.
Fabrice let her simmer in it for a while. She twisted her left hand, in a pleading gesture, begging the Inspector to spare her the agony.
When Fabrice remained motionless, she finally said, ‘She told me… she… she said someone at Las Vegas asked… asked her to... to… to do it.’
‘He asked her to do what?’ Fabrice sounded impatient. Let her spell it out herself.
‘He asked her to… to sleep with the pastor. He said he would pay her well. But… but when… when he… I mean, when she heard he was dead she became frightened. I was… we were all surprised by her recent behaviour. I have never seen her smoke or drink like she did these past few months. So I asked… I kept asking her what was wrong until she finally told me…’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘She said… she said if he knew she had told anyone about it, he… he would… kill her.’ She swallowed her spittle and braced herself to continue, ‘So she said I must tell no one. She said his name was Pichichi, and he had paid her well, but she was not aware of the killing part. So it scared her.’
Fabrice felt his body grow numb when he heard the name Pichichi, partly because he recalled that Pichichi had been the last person to call Blandine before her death; and partly because for the first time they had at least got a name for the killer, though he doubted that was his real name. Still, it was a start. However, he did not go easy on Eposi. He still needed to know more.
‘Did you just say Pichichi?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that his name?’
‘That was what she told me.’
‘Did she describe him?’
‘No.’
‘Did she say how many strippers he hired?’
‘No.’
‘And did you tell anyone else about it?’
‘No; I only told Lizzie here when she returned from Ekona.’
‘Are you very sure?’
‘Yes… I would never tamper with my friend’s life.’
‘Did Blandine call you the night she was murdered?’
Eposi thought for a while. ‘No.’
At once, something occurred to Fabrice. If neither Blandine nor Eposi had disclosed the secret to anyone, then Pichichi – or whoever he was – had no reason at all to kill Blandine that night. But then did he even need a logical reason to keep them alive? He must have known they would one day confess, since they had not known he was going to kill the pastors.
But then Fabrice recalled that Blandine had been dressed to go out that night before she was murdered. Whom was planning to meet? He wondered. Certainly not Tony who had said he would only come the following day.
So he asked Eposi, ‘Did she tell you she had any plans to go out that night?’
‘No.’
Then another thought hit Fabrice hard.
Pichichi must have called Blandine that night because he wanted her to meet him somewhere - certainly to kill her, he thought. After all, had Amanda not gone clubbing before she was found dead right next to her house? Perhaps Pichichi had called Blandine to tell her to meet him somewhere so he could kill her.
Therefore, he thought, it was uncharacteristic of Pichichi to kill these ladies in their houses, probably minding the risk of being seen by someone.
As such, Blandine must have been on her way to see Pichichi that night when someone else intercepted her at home and killed her, he thought. That explains why Pichichi called her twice later, probably wondering why she had not shown up. She was already dead by then.
So who killed her?
The way he had seen the room when Tony took them there meant that Blandine had quarreled and fought with her killer before being strangled to death.
Fabrice pushed the thought from his mind in the meantime as he asked Eposi, ‘Did Blandine tell you anything else about Pichichi? Like where he lives?’
‘Nothing?’
‘When did she tell you all this?’
‘Um, about five days before she died.’
‘Did Tony suspect anything?’
‘He seemed worried, but I’m not sure he knew about it. I had to threaten to cease being friends with Blandine if she did not tell me. Besides. I am sure Tony would have skinned alive if he ever found out.’
‘Very well then,’ Fabrice said as he stood to leave; ‘you have done well by telling the truth. I assure you that you need not fear for your lives…’ He took a step forward and stooped a little before them, ‘unless you have something to hide.’
‘No. I swear I have said everything.’
‘If you dare lie to me, Eposi, Pichichi would not be so kind to you.’
‘I swear; I have said everything she told me!’
‘Ok,’ Fabrice said, stepping back.
Eposi isn’t a stripper, he thought as they made it to his car. At least she is not one of those hired by Pichichi.
‘Good job, boys,’ he said as he drove back to the station. ‘Do you see the advantage of the element of surprise?’ They nodded, yet he explained all the same. ‘If we had informed them that we were coming, Eposi would have warned Lizette not to say a thing, or told her what part of their cock-and-bull story she was supposed to say. Sometimes, you have to use the element of surprise. Remember: I said sometimes, not all the time.’
As the Constables nodded again, Fabrice hoped Timothy was just as successful as he.
When they got to the police station, Fabrice saw that the police Hilux was not parked outside, so he guessed Timothy was yet to return. So when he got into their office and found Gladys, Dauda and the other Inspector at their desks, he was not surprised.
Gladys walked up to him as he flopped down on his seat and said, ‘Well, for your information, no emergency call came in. I have been sitting here all day staring at it like I was waiting for Santa Claus to…’ She paused when she saw how haggard he looked. ‘What happened?’ She asked calmly as she occupied the seat across from his desk.
He told her everything Eposi had said, including his personal suspicions and unanswered questions - like who had really murdered Blandine.
‘Pichichi,’ she said after he had said everything. ‘That’s his name?’
‘That’s the name he wanted them to call him by. It’s definitely a pseudonym.’
After a brief silence, she said, ‘So you are saying Pichichi did not kill Blandine?’
‘I am convinced he did not. The missed calls…’
‘Killers can be unpredictable, Fabrice.’
‘I know, but…’
He stopped in midsentence when his phone rang. He picked it up from his desk, saying, ‘You won’t believe who is calling: just the man I want to talk with right now… Tony.’
He pressed the answer button as he leaned back on his seat, held the phone to his ear and said casually, ‘Hello, Tony. I was just…’
The voice he heard at the other end of the line was masculine, but it was not Tony’s voice. The caller sounded like he had just seen a ghost. ‘Hello? Is this the police?’
Fabrice sat upright, wondering why someone else was using Tony’s phone to call during an emergency. ‘Yes, this is the police. Where is…?’
‘We just found a body,’ the caller cut him in midsentence once more, ‘in the bush near the Buea Central Market. From the national identity card found in his wallet, we think his name is Anthony Naseri.’
‘What!’ Fabrice shot to his feet. Of all the murders he has been informed of, Tony’s was the most shocking. Probably because Fabrice never considered him as a target… ‘What happened?’ he found himself asking as Gladys looked up at him surprised, wondering what was going on.
‘I think… I think someone shot him in the forehead…’
That was all that Fabrice needed to know. He ended the call and told Gladys who was now on her feet, ‘Tony has just been found dead near the central market. Single gunshot wound in the forehead.’
Without a word, Fabrice got Blandine’s phone from his desk drawer and slipped it into his pocket. Gladys wanted to ask why he was taking it with him, but there was no time to talk.
Without any further waste of time, they rushed out of their office, called on two Constables who joined them in Fabrice’s navy blue TOYOTA CARINA before he sped off toward the central market.
Fabrice drove west toward the MolykoOmnisport Stadium, accelerating the car like a madman.
‘Slow down!’ Gladys cautioned from the front passenger seat.
Fabrice turned deaf ears to her. However, he slowed down when he was about to negotiate the bend to the right when they got to Checkpoint around where the MolykoOmnisport Stadium was built.
(The Molyko Omnisport Stadium was a gigantic 3,200-seated stadium where sporting events in Buea were held. It was most notably the starting point as well as the finish point of the Mount Cameroon Race of Hope which encompassed a 38-kilometer path up Mount Cameroon and back. This race was an annual, televised footrace at Mount Cameroon in the South West Region of Cameroon.)
For the rest of the journey to the market – about five hundred metres from the stadium – he drove at a lower speed since there were many potholes on that stretch of road.
As they approached the market, they saw that a huge crowd had gathered around the bushes to the right just next to the market.
Fabrice pulled over a short distance from the crowd and they practically ran out of the car as they rushed toward the crowd which instantly made way for them.
They made their way through the crowd and finally came to the front to behold Anthony Naseri lying face-up on the grass with his arms and legs spread out. He was fully dressed in an orange polo shirt over a brown pair of jean trousers and a black pair of shoes, with a wound drilled into his forehead from which blood had oozed out. His eyes were wide open and it seemed he could actually see the people looking down at him.
Fabrice felt his blood grow cold when he saw Tony lying down there, wondering what kind of trouble he had landed himself into.
As he stooped next to the body to examine it, Gladys turned to addressed the shocked crowd of men, women and children, ‘Who was it that called the police to report the murder?’
A tall, dark, skinny man whom Gladys guessed was in his late thirties with an overgrown beard – dressed in a dirty white polo shirt over an oversized black pair of trousers and a black pair of shoes that has not known polish for months – stepped forward and said, ‘I called the police.’
She gave him a once over before saying, ‘Thank you. Can I have his phone and wallet, please?’
The man reached into one of his trouser pockets and retrieved a cell phone and a brown leather wallet which he handed over to her. Just then, Fabrice rose from the body, giving the Constable with a camera sufficient space to take snapshots from various angles.
‘When did you find the body?’ Gladys asked the man standing before her as Fabrice stood next to her.
‘I was passing by a few hours ago when I felt the urge to urinate,’ the man said. ‘While I was doing so on this side of the road, I saw something lying on the grass. As I looked ahead to see what it was, I saw that it was a man. I then got closer to see why he was lying there, thinking it was a madman.
‘When I got close enough to see him well, it was then that I saw the wound on his forehead and realized that he was dead. So I started shouting and calling on the neighbours and passers-by.
‘A few minutes later, many people gathered and were asking who he was. So we decided to search him to see if he carried anything that could help us identify him. That was when we found his phone and wallet.
‘As I went through his phonebook, I saw a contact named ‘Police’ and I dialed the number.’
After Gladys had dismissed the man, Fabrice pulled her gently but seriously toward his car.
When they got in and shut the doors, he swiveled in the driver’s seat to look at her seated on the front passenger seat, and said in a low but determined tone, ‘I have called the ambulance; they will be here soon.’
‘What did you find out when you looked at the body?’
Instead of answering the question, he requested for Tony’s phone and wallet. He got the wallet first and went through it. Inside he found Tony’s national identity card, a few bank notes and three folded passenger tickets. He unfolded the passenger tickets and read their content, smiling to himself.
Next, he took the phone and glanced through the call logs. He took out Blandine’s phone from his breast pocket, flicked on the screen and started looking from one phone to another as though making a comparison. Gladys saw him occasionally nod in satisfaction, wondering what he was up to.
Afterwards, he turned to her and said, ‘When I looked at the body, I saw that Tony had scratch marks both on the left and right sides of his neck. They looked almost fresh, like he had recently got them. Then I recalled that Blandine had scratched at her assailant while being strangled…’
Gladys’s eyes grew wide with shock as she understood where Fabrice was headed. ‘Are you saying he killed her?’
‘It may seem circumstantial,’ he said, ‘but it makes a lot of sense. He told us he called her the morning of the day she was killed, saying he would be coming over the following day. I think she must have told him over the phone that she had been involved with the Full Gospel Mission pastor, which was probably why he decided to come over the following day.
‘But something must have caused him to come earlier than expected. Remember, she said it over the phone; so he must have badly needed to see her that same day to look her in the eye and hear her say it in his face. So he came to her place that night unannounced while she was on her way out to meet Pichichi.
‘He must have brought up the topic; they must have quarreled; and then fought, with him finally subduing her on the bed. It might not have been his intention to kill her but when he got hold of her neck, he probably could not bring himself to let go.’
Gladys chimed in, ‘And all the while she was scratching at him with her long nails until she was dead.’
‘Yes,’ Fabrice confirmed. ‘But then he had to show up the following morning as planned so as to ward off any suspicion just in case she told anyone that she was expecting him. So he dialed her number that morning to make it look like he just come from Limbe and was calling to let her know. He thengot to the house and pretended to find her there for the first time, just before calling us.
‘Look at these,’ he said, handing her the passenger tickets. ‘The first one is dated the day Blandine was murdered, and from the looks of it, the destination on the ticket is Buea. So you see, he came to Buea that same day.
‘The second ticket, dated the following day, shows that he travelled back to Limbe after leaving the station.
‘And the third ticket shows that he travelled from Limbe to Buea yesterday.’
Gladys nodded slowly as she comprehended the details bit by bit. She said, ‘We know Pichichi killed Tony. But how did he find him, or even know it was he who killed Blandine?’
‘Remember, Pichichi was expecting to meet Blandine that night. So when she did not show up, he probably went to her place to see what was wrong. Maybe he saw Tony leaving, or arrived after Tony already left.
‘So when he found Blandine dead on the bed and the room in a mess, he probably guessed she had had a fight with someone. I suppose he found her phone on the table and checked her call logs; and then found out that apart from himself, Tony was the last person to call her that day.
‘Blandine saved Tony’s contact in her phone as “Sweetheart,” so Pichichi probably put two and two together to know that it was her boyfriend who murdered her, probably after learning of her involvement in the deal. So he copied Tony’s number.
‘And that was how Tony became Pichichi’s target: he had confidential information which Pichichi could not risk letting out. So he had to track him down and kill him. Now check out Tony’s call logs.’ He handed her Tony’s phone.
As she looked at it, he said, ‘As you can see, Tony received several calls from an unknown number since the night he killed Blandine till last night. And from what we know, that strange number happens to be Pichichi’s number as saved in Blandine’s phone.’
‘O my God!’ Gladys gasped as everything sank in. She rolled down the window on the passenger side door as the interior of the car suddenly felt hotter. She had never expected the situation to be so complicated.
***
Fifty minutes later, Fabrice, Gladys, Dauda and the other Inspector were in their office when they saw Timothy enter with a broad smile on his face which Fabrice interpreted as a good omen.
As he recalled, the ME and her team had arrived at the scene in the ambulance and taken Tony’s body away before he himself, Gladys and the Constables had returned to the station.
Timothy flopped down on the seat across from Fabrice’s desk, still grinning. He said, ‘Man, I must say the surprise attack thing really worked out just fine. You should have seen the look on Juliet’s face when I told her we knew Amanda was a stripper. She then fessed up, saying Relindis, too, was a stripper and that she and Amanda were always together at the club; so she must know who got her killed.
‘She then told me Relindis is now staying at Bomaka. So, acting on my instructions, she called Relindis to ask whether she was at home, saying she would like to come over for a short visit. When Relindis said she was home, Juliet told her she was on her way before ending the call.
‘I then took her into the car and we drove to Bomaka. When we got to Relindis’ new place – which is really flashy, by the way – she was shocked to see that Juliet had come with us. So acting on the spur on the moment, we told her we knew that Amanda was a stripper and that she herself was a stripper and knew who had killed her. God, she looked like she was going to drop dead!
‘So I asked her to tell me everything she knew; else, she was going to be behind bars.
‘That was when she told us everything. She said a man at Las Vegas named Pichichi – the same man whose number we found in Blandine’s phone –got Amanda in on a lucrative deal. Relindis herself was not among them; it was Amanda who told her this when she became frightened after learning of the pastor’s death and the part she had played in all of it. She told Relindis that Pichichi had sternly warned her not disclose the deal to anyone else, otherwise she would end up dead.’
‘Did she say anything else about Pichichi?’
‘No. Not even a second name. So how was your trip?’
Fabrice then told him everything about Tony killing Blandine and Pichichi tracking him down and killing him.
‘Jesus! So it was Tony who had killed her all along.’
‘Yes.’
‘What a nasty young man! He got us spinning round in circles. I think he deserves what he got.’
‘Don’t be so hard on him, Tim. I mean, how would you feel when you realize your girlfriend had lain with a pastor who later wound up dead?’
Timothy was silent for a while. Then, as though he had just recalled something, he looked up at Fabrice and said, ‘I got something else, too. I figured Relindis was a dead end since we had nothing else on Pichichi other than an otherwise dysfunctional phone number to go with. So I got her to tell me when the next strippers’ night was coming up at Las Vegas. Guess what she said: this Sunday – the day after tomorrow! Since you say you have once led that kind of life, and you would do anything to get Pichichi, I figured you wouldn’t mind going there to check out if you can find him there.’
Fabrice felt like hugging Timothy and giving him a peck! Honestly, he had not known any alternative way to find Pichichi. If he was interested in strippers at Las Vegas, what are the chances that he would not be there that Sunday night?
He shook Timothy’s hand, laughing amiably over the desk and said, ‘I like the way you think, Tim. Thanks a lot. You just gave a new look to this investigation at the time when it seemed there was no way forward. I assure you, I am going to get Pichichi this Sunday night!’
‘I know, right.’
***
As Fabrice got dressed that Sunday night to head for Las Vegas, his mind was flooded with lots of memories of his high school days.
One notable thing about him back in the day was that he loved the strippers’ night because watching the strippers undress as they danced on stage really turned him on; and a strippers’ night had never ended without him either sleeping with a girl or masturbating.
That particular habit was his greatest challenge when he decided to leave the old life behind and start a new one at the police academy inMutengene. Consequently, he never stepped foot into Las Vegas ever since he resolved to make a change in his life – that was over eight years ago!
As he got himself ready now, he feared that watching the strippers’ performance that night might set him down the path to his emotional turmoil.
As he walked out of his bedroom, he decided that he would risk it all if that was what it took to nail down Pichichi.
He, of course, did not tell the Commissioner that he was going on an undercover operation that night. The Commissioner could either suspend him from service or withdraw his badge. So this was a clandestine undercover operation.
He had spent that morning doing his monthly cleaning of the apartment, cleaning everything worth cleaning. He put out of sight anything that suggested he was a policeman since he planned to return home with a stripper.
Fabrice was no church-goer. Severally, Gladys invited him to her church – Winners’ Chapel International – but he turned her down all the time. It often resulted in another one of their quarrels during which she called him a pagan. But if she thought guilt was a strong driving force to get him to start going to church, then she should know better.
He shut the front door and walked to his car, dressed in a Gucci T-shirt over a blue pair of jean trousers torn at the knees with a matching pair of blue trainers. He had been at the barber’s that morning to get himself the kind of haircut that would make him blend easily in the club with the others.
He equally used a perfume which he had just purchased the previous day – the kind of perfume he knew women could not resist. His plan was that if he could not find Pichichi at the club, he was sure to get lucky with a stripper or two who might know him.
It was half past nine when he brought the engine of his car to life and started down the road to Las Vegas snack bar and, likewise, down the path to his old life.
***
Las Vegas snack bar was located just across the street from Hotel Saint Clair, and was part of a huge, cream white, three-storey building whose ground floor was occupied by the Njeiforbi Bakery.
Fabrice pulled over in front of the building, alighted from the car and waltzed over to the entrance to Las Vegas snack bar which was to the extreme left. It was a black gate with two huge men – commonly referred to as robots since rumour had it that they had been castrated, and were acted strictly on orders – acting as gatekeepers.
At the gate, he fetched his wallet from his rear pocket, pulled out a five hundred francs (500 Frs) note from the wad of shiny notes and paid his entry fee.
The “robots” made way and he walked through the gate into a hallway padded with foam encased in leather as his mind brimmed with memories of the past: the booze and smoking; the women and the drunken orgies; the unabashed indulgence of the cravings of the flesh…
At the end of the hallway was a pool table with a few stools next to it. There were two young men seated there, chatting amiably.
Turning right got him into a small space with mirrors on either side. Now standing before soundproof, leather-padded double doors, he took a deep breath and mentally counted one to five before opening the doors and walking in.
The doors shut behind him as he took in the view of the place he had banished himself from for over eight years. Nothing seemed to have changed over the years, though the place looked a little different.
“Magical Healing” by the now defunct P-Square duo boomed from the D.J.’s section which was elevated just ahead of him. The D.J. himself was a tall, lanky young man with a headphone set across his dreadlocks. He wore a black singlet under an unbuttoned floral shirt. He was shaking his head to the rhythm of the music he was listening to as he manipulated the electronic instruments before him.
There was a rectangular array of blue lights emanating from the floor right below Fabrice. The array stretched from the double doors to the D.J.’s section. There were a variety of other lights from the ceiling.
He looked round the vast room,savouring the view. There were several comfy armchairs surrounding low tables. The room was crowded with lots of people seated at the tables in groups laughing and chatting, while others hung around talking in their own small groups. The ladies were dressed in skintight dresses that exposed a great deal of their bodies, and almost all the men Fabrice saw there wore earrings, something Fabrice knew was the latest fashion trend the men copied from the Americans they saw on TV and on social media. As Fabrice looked at them, he wondered if the men had the slightest idea that wearing earrings was a profanity God detested, as stated in Deuteronomy chapter 22, verse 5:
The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman’s garment (or earrings): for all that do so are abomination unto the LORD thy God.
Fabrice may not be a church-goer, but he often read his Bible whenever he felt led by the Spirit to do so. When he first stumbled on that part of Scripture during one of his Spirit-led Bible study sessions, he was astonished at the number of men he bypassed on the street and aw on social media wearing earrings.
He waltzed to the bar to the left and got a glass of wine from the lady behind the counter who had an all-business look on her face.
Strolling round the room while sipping from his glass, he listened to snatches of conversations, hoping to hear the mention of the name Pichichi. As it turned out, he got no such luck.
So he moved from table to table, greeting the folks amiably with a wide grin and asked nicely whether they knew anyone by name Pichichi. Again, no luck.
Vexed, he emptied his glass, left it at one of the tables and ascended the staircase to the second floor where the strippers were to perform.
This section of the club looked classier than the first. Here, there were snug white couches all facing the stage at the far end of the large hall from the staircase. In front of each couch was a flashy low table. The lights here were a little darker and the music was soft. The people seated here chatted in hushed tones as they patiently awaited the strippers’ show.
Fabrice flopped down on one of the couches at the front, his mind reeling with memories as he felt the comfort of the seat.
Instantly, a waiter walked up to him and bowed politely before taking his order. He then left and a while later returned with a bottle of rich wine worth twenty-five thousand francs (25,000 Frs) and a wine glass.
Fabrice paid for it with shiny bank notes from his wallet, and poured himself some wine. He took a short sip before looking up at the stage, comprised of a number of tables merged together and covered by a glittery red rug.
Two girls walked up to him and sat on either side of him on the couch. They called him endearing names and caressed his chest, arms and belly while asking him nicely to buy them drinks. He summoned a waiter and ordered two bottles of Castel beer for them.
When the drinks came, he asked the girls, ‘Does any of you know anyone named Pichichi? He comes here regularly.’
The blonde to his right said, ‘Sorry, honey; the only Pichichi I know travelled abroad about three months ago.’
When he turned to the redhead to his left, she gazed at the ceiling for while – lost in thought – before turning to him. ‘No, I don’t know any such person.’
He bowed his head in despair; when he looked up, he saw that the girls had vanished with their drinks like ghosts. Had he bowed his head for long? He wondered. He then realized that his only luck with finding Pichichi rested with the strippers.
He felt sweat form on his palms and forehead and a bout of adrenaline flowing through his bloodstream when he saw the stage being mounted by five ladies clad in open-back tops over skin-tight miniskirts and high-heeled sandals a couple of minutes later. The D.J. here instantly changed the song to “Skelewu” by Davido.
Fabrice could feel his blood flowing with a greater pressure as his mind became saturated by thoughts of his high school days.
He could hear the euphoric shouts uttered by the people in the now jam-packed hall.
Immediately, the strippers started dancing.
As the audience got madder – some of the men were now on their feet, clapping – Fabrice decided it would be better to leave with a stripper before they started doing away with their spare clothing and make him lose control of his emotions. Control was something he needed if he ever hoped to get hold of Pichichi tonight.
He rose from his seat and walked to the right side of the stage. At that extreme end was a tall brunette with a brown complexion. She was dripping with sweat as she danced with a seductive grin on her face. Her loose hair swiveled in circles over her head and across her shoulders.
Fabrice felt his self-control slipping as he nudged the brunette on the left wrist. She turned to face him and he motioned for her to demount the stage.
Down the stage by the corner, he wore that smile which he knew enticed women irresistibly, and said, ‘I could not keep my eyes off you. My God, you are one hell of a dancer!’
‘Thank you,’ she said, almost laughing.
He nodded and said, ‘I want you to follow me to my place right now.’
‘It will cost you,’ she said, sensing he was impatient to leave the place.
‘I’m well loaded,’ he said, patting his front trouser pocket swollen with his wallet.
‘Ok. Let me get my handbag.’
She went into a room behind the stage and returned with her handbag. In no time, they were both walking across the hall toward the stairs.
All eyes in the hall fell on Fabrice. He was the first person to approach a stripper that night. Most men preferred to do so after having a good time watching them on stage.
They descended the stairs, passed the first floor hall – which was now occupied by fewer people – and then the double doors before going down the hallway toward the gate where the “robots” were still keeping guard.
It was now very dark outside, but there were lights from the shops, hotels and nightclubs nearby, including the cars passing along the road. As they made it to his car, Fabrice checked his Timex and saw that it was almost one o’clock.
At the car, he held the front passenger door open for her.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered as she got in.
He then rounded the bonnet, got in and started the engine.
On the way, he tried to engage conversation.
‘I am Fabrice, but my friends call me Omega 1.’ She looked at him wide-eyed before bursting into a peal of laughter
‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘I have never heard of such a nickname before.’
He shrugged. ‘So what’s your name?’
‘Melanie.’
‘I suppose that’s just a stage name?’
‘No, it is my real name.’
‘I thought it was bad for business if your clients knew your real name?’
‘Let’s just say I am being honest with you.’
‘Wow.’ He stole a glimpse at her before returning his gaze to the windscreen. ‘I’m flattered.’
He saw her smile through the rearview mirror. ‘I don’t normally tell my clients my real name; but let’s just say I kind of like you.’
I still got the charm, he thought.
They talked more as he drove home.
***
Thirty minutes later, they entered his living room and he turn on the light.
‘Nice place you got here,’ Melanie said, looking round.
‘Thanks.’
When Melanie caught him by his T-shirt and gently pulled him toward his bedroom with a wicked smile on her face, he stood his ground.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, eyeing him with surprise. Then, with a knowing smile, she asked, ‘Feeling shy? Is this your first time with a woman?’
‘Certainly not,’ he said, his voice unsteady. She sensed he was trying hard to keep his feelings in check.
But why? She wondered.
She was stunned when he said, ‘I brought you here for another reason,’
‘Oh really?’ she asked, feigning disappointment as she sat on one end of the sofa, propping her sandaled feet under her. ‘So what are we going to be doing here all night, huh? Reading the Bible? Or are we going to engage in a night vigil? Tell me, are you a Catholic?’ She gave him a soft smile.
‘You will not have to be here all night,’ he said, ‘if you choose be very cooperative. I’ll pay you well for your time.’
‘Interesting,’ she mused with an innocent smile on her face – a trick on her part, he knew, to get him to change his mind and follow her to the bedroom. After all, that was what she had been expecting on her way there. ‘So what is it you want from me, Fabrice, if not…’
‘Just stop!’ he blurted out, not letting her finish her question. He had to stay focused on the task at hand, for he knew he was quickly losing control.
‘A noble martyr trying to keep his feelings in check,’ she said with a soft smile. ‘Stop playing innocent with me, Fabrice! What do you expect when you go to a strip joint and bring a girl home? If you are trying to lecture me…’
Sitting on the armchair, Fabrice said calmly, ‘Far from that. On the contrary, Melanie, I need your help with something.’
‘And what’s that?’ she asked, still recovering from her fit of anger.
‘I need to know if you know any guy who goes by the name Pichichi.’
‘Seriously, Fabrice? You brought me here to ask if I know of any Pichichi? Why would I?’
‘Because Pichichi frequents strip joints, and is interested in strippers.’
‘Ok. So why are you so interested in him?’
Fabrice cleared his throat. ‘Pichichi is an old friend of mind, and I have scores to settle with him, so I have been trying to track him down for some time now.’
‘You are charming, Fabrice, but you are also a terrible liar. I can see you are lying through your teeth. If you do not tell me the truth, I am not spilling my guts to you. I can see you want this information badly.’ When Fabrice stayed silent, clearly at a loss for words, she said, ‘We can stay here all night if you want, and that will mean going to the bedr…’
‘You want the truth, fine!’ he interrupted, getting to his feet. He walked up to the coffee table, sorted through the neatly stacked magazines, books and other documents on it and retrieve a brown envelope which he handed to her, saying, ‘Take a look inside.’
‘That was easy.’ She smiled as she opened the envelope. Her smile abruptly gave way to a frown and raw shock as she beheld the four photos she had just retrieved from inside the envelope. Fabrice could see her face blanch as she stared up at him, clearly lost.
‘What’s this supposed to mean, Fabrice?’
Fabrice went and sat next to her. He then said plainly, ‘In the first photo is a stripper, Itop Amanda taking snapshots of her lovemaking with a renowned Presbyterian Church pastor, and in the second photo is said Amanda founded dead in a narrow stream with a gunshot wound in her chest. In the third photo is Mubah Blandine taking pictures with another pastor in bed, and in the fourth picture is Blandine strangled to death after a terrible fight for her involvement with said pastor.’
‘Why are you showing me all this?’ she asked, clearly looking sick.
‘Because, Melanie, Pichichi contracted Amanda and Blandine to take these photos with these pastors and used the photos as leverage to get the pastors to make shocking statements in their respective churches, as you must have noticed from the media, before killing them there and there in church. When these poor girls found out the pastors have been murdered, they naturally freaked out and Pichichi decided to eliminate them before they can confess to the police. Melanie, as a stripper, Pichichi could probably have got to you too and asked you to do the same thing you see these girls doing. If he has, I need you to tell me everything about him. You have seen for yourself what happens to anyone who makes a deal with him.’
Taking a deep breath, Melanie forced a nervous smile onto her face. ‘Well, Pichichi has not got to me. Thanks for the warning, by the way; I’ll keep that in mind. Now I think it’s high time I left. Your bill so far is twenty thousand francs.’ She shot to her feet, clearly ready to leave.
Fabrice sensed there was a distress on her face when he told her of the two dead strippers; and while he believed Pichichi had not got to her, his instincts told him she knew something about Pichichi which she was not telling him. Fabrice was painfully aware that his instincts were almost always right.
He stood before her and said strongly, ‘I know you know something about Pichichi which you are not telling me.’
Clearly taken aback with his boldness, she shot back defensively. ‘The Pichichi I know may not be the one you just talked about here, so I am not going to blow my friend’s cover by telling you…’ She closed her mouth instantly, clearly realizing she had said too much.
‘A friend?’ Fabrice could hardly believe his ears. ‘You mean you are covering up for a friend who knows Pichichi?’
‘A friend who knows a certain Pichichi! And by the term covering, Fabrice, you sound like I am supposed to tell you about this friend of mine, and I am holding back. For your information, I owe you nothing! You hear me? Nothing!’
‘I know I have been very pushy tonight, and for that I am sorry. Plus, I am going to pay you whatever amount you charge; but please, I need to know just this one thing… Did this your friend sound secretive about her relationship with Pichichi? Is she by any chance a stripper?’
‘Ha, Fabrice! I have had it here with you!’ She stabbed brutally at her neck. ‘All night you have used the term stripper as if we are the scum of the earth, then you exhibit this holier-than-thou attitude by claiming you have no desire in indulging in the very same thing you brought me here for. And now you expect me to just tell you about my friend and Pichichi. Does the word privacy ever exist in your dictionary? Huh, does it? Because, quite frankly, I doubt it does. You think you can get whatever you want at the right price. Well guess what, there are some things that money can never buy, like breaking a friend’s trust in keeping something a secret!’
‘So she is secretive about Pichichi,’ Fabrice said, clearly unabashed by the accusations leveled against him. ‘And I bet she’s a stripper too. Tell me, did she say Pichichi got her in on a lucrative deal and she cannot tell you what it is? I bet you tried to get connected to such a deal, and this friend of your shut you out, warning you not to utter a word about Pichichi to anyone.’
When he saw that she was clearly exasperated and felt grossly insulted, he took it as a good sign that he had the upper hand, and he intended to use it to get some results. There’s no way Pichichi’s evading me tonight, he thought.
‘Listen carefully, Melanie. I’m only trying to protect this friend of yours, and probably you too. My gut tells me the Pichichi your friend knows is the same person I just told you of. You have seen for yourself just how dangerous he can be. If you love this friend of yours dearly, you will break her confidence in hopes of saving her life. Will you walk out of here taking your chances that this friend of yours is safe? Can you live with that, knowing there’s an off chance that she could be in danger and you did nothing about it simply because you wanted to honour her privacy?’
With that, Melanie fell back on the sofa with her head in her hands, deep in thought, clearly weighing her options. From her position she heard Fabrice speak again.
‘I’m a police Inspector, Melanie, charged with bringing Pichichi to justice. And of recent, he has repeatedly slipped through our fingers. Please, for the sake of those two dead strippers… ladies, I mean, and any other lady who is going to foolishly let Pichichi get the better of her, I beg you to tell me about this friend of yours. I promise you this will stay between us.’
When Melanie whipped her head up to look at him upon hearing he was a policeman, Fabrice realized he had spoiled the show, knowing now that she would never trust him anymore, for fear of being implicated somehow. To his surprise, however, she gave him a soft smile.
Confused, he asked, ‘You don’t seem frightened to learn that I am a policeman. Why is that?’
‘And why should I be frightened when I know I have done nothing wrong?’ she countered calmly. ‘After all, you policemen nowadays aren’t as righteous as you claim to be. If you must know, most of my clients are policemen who pay handsomely for my services. Take yourself, for example. The ease with which you got me to come here can only mean this is not your first time to hook up with a stripper. So we all are the scum of the earth, Fabrice. Some of us just don’t advertise the fact as brazenly as others do.’
Fabrice was both impressed by her self-confidence and humbled by her statement. Judge no one, he could hear her saying.
He sat next to her again, but before he could utter a word, she said, ‘This friend of mine, her name is Jennifer. A couple of months ago, she told me a man named Pichichi got her in on a very lucrative deal. When I asked what kind of deal it was, she would not say. So when I asked her to get Pichichi to hook me up too, she said calmly that that was not going to happen, saying Pichichi only has need for her; but I could tell she was not being completely honest with me. I figured Pichichi must be quite a rich man, since I noticed, in the months that followed, that Jennifer was suddenly living large. So I kept pressing her to connect me to him, even if it is for any other deal he may come up with. But whenever I brought up the topic, Jennifer looked pale and quickly changed the topic, saying there was no way she is ever going to connect me to him.
Pichichi only had need for her? Fabrice wondered. ‘You mean she did not mention Pichichi recruiting any other strip… ladies for the deal?’
Melanie’s face contorted into a frown. ‘She never mentioned any other recruits. She barely told me anything about the deal. You really believe this Pichichi she knows is the same one you are after, don’t you?’
Fabrice rubbed his tired eyes and said. ‘With all the secrecy you just described, I’d bet my career on it. Listen, I need you to arrange for me to meet Jennifer. If she…?”
‘Excuse me? ‘Melanie looked appalled. ‘If Jennifer would not tell me, her best friend, about it, what makes you think she will spill her guts to you, a policeman? In fact, Jennifer is not even supposed to know I told you about Pichichi. Heaven knows what she will do to me for breaching her confidence.’
‘But we are only looking out for her!’ Fabrice countered.
‘Tell that to Jennifer! For all she knows, she will think I ratted her to the police out of jealousy. And if, indeed, this deal involves murdering men of God, then it will be my head on the stake by the end of the day. You hear me – my head, not yours!’
Fabrice thought hard about it. After a brief silence, he said, ‘She may not listen to me, but I bet she will listen t you as her best friend. Try and get her to open up. Tell her you have been reading the newspapers about dead pastors and strippers, and you are worried her life may be in danger. Just do your best, Melanie, please. Pichichi still out there, and until he is caught, he will continue to wreak havoc on innocent young women.’
The next thing Fabrice knew, Melanie reached over and kissed him hard on the lips before withdrawing slowly, saying, ‘I really like you, Fabrice. It’s such a shame we cannot go to the bedroom. You see, I love Jennifer so much; she and I have come a long way/. So as insane and suicidal as this your plan may seem. I will do my best to get her to fess up about Pichichi and get back to you. So how about we exchange phone numbers? Who knows, you could call me when you are not feeling so saintly, and I will make sure…’
‘Right.’ Fabrice interrupted quickly, still recovering from the kiss which, he must admit, was transmitting unwanted signals through his nerves which were already on edge. He quickly handed her his phone to enter her phone number, promising to call her on phone so she could have is own number.
Having exchanged phone numbers, they walked out to the gate.
‘I cannot thank you enough for doing me this huge favour, Melanie. Why don’t I drop you off at your place with my car? Where do you live?’
‘With a soft smile, she replied, ‘Never mind. Just pay me for my time and see me off at the gate. I will find my way home.’
Fabrice did just that. While at the gate, she stole a peck at his right cheek, catching him off guard. She then walked off laughing before he could react.
Fabrice returned to his apartment and fell into bed feeling an inexplicable joy within him. What had started as a disappointing night had finally ended in a far better way than he expected. In no time, he fell asleep; and for the first time in months, he did not wake up until morning.
***
That same night, Samuel lay awake in bed in the darkness of their room (they always switched off the light before going to bed, partly because it kept electricity bill low, and partly because Beltus could not sleep with the lights on), unable to sleep. He was recalling the events surrounding his rapport with Sylvia and the trio, trying to figure out what covert business she could possibly have with them.
He had joined them at their table on campus the other day just after learning that Sylvia broke up with Nelson, because he realized that the only way to decipher how that happened – given that Sylvia denied any ties with them – was to befriend the trio and tap into such confidential information.
His plan seemed to be working when they welcomed him with no delay. Then when Elvis stupefied him beyond measure by mentioning in detail the events of the night he had taken Sylvia out, his mind was set spinning even faster, giving him even more reason to stick with them and find out as much as he could.
That was why he took their contacts just before excusing himself from their table.
Earlier that Sunday evening, Karl called him on phone, inviting him over to join them at a small nightclub in town. There they drank beer, wine and whisky; and danced with several girls, a few of whom he recognized as students of the University of Buea. However, he made sure he drank responsibly and danced with as few girls as possible.
During the get-together, he learned nothing useful; they mostly talked about booze and women.
He had, of course, informed Beltus and his friends of his plan, so they would not worry themselves to death. Also, he managed to create time to study in preparation for the upcoming end of semester exam. It was not an easy task.
He felt dizzy in the head as something else occurred to him. He still did not know who it was that had stolen his schoolbag, and the thought of a mischievous enemy lurking in the shadows only added salt to injury.
He could felt his blood pressure accelerate as his breathing became laboured, and his throat seemed to have become constricted. He gripped the sheets hard as he thrashed about with his feet, struggling to catch his breath.
It was only about five minutes later that he calmed down. He was sweating profusely, and felt his body get so hot that he became alarmed, for he had never before felt that way. Also, he did not remember having choked.
He came to realized that it was his sustained contemplation of his aching worries over the last few weeks - coupled with the dizziness caused by the tons of beer he had been drinking throughout that same period - that had suddenly altered the mechanisms of his body. As he got hold of his breath which now felt more soothing than ever before, he feared that he may one day have a heart attack.
He rolled over in the bed and willed his mind to dwell on other things as the gentle hands of sleep got hold of him and snatched the worries from his mind before placing a very beautiful dream in their stead.
YOU ARE READING
The Moment of Truth
Tajemnica / ThrillerWhen the Presbyterian Church pastor dropped dead after making a mind-blowing confession, everyone thought he was crazy. But when other Pentecostal Pastors start dying under mysterious circumstances, the situation becomes alarming as the media emphas...
