Silhouette

XLV

Dave sits in his car for a few minutes. The morning sun lights up everything with a warm amber. The parking lot is slowly being filled, officers maneuver their vehicles around.

There is a buzz behind his eyes that's from utter lack of sleep. Bifouma's words run circles in his head. We are the same.

He thinks of the events of the previous weeks, he replays them in his head, examines every detail.

He thinks of the gun pointed at Bifouma, the absolute satisfaction he'd felt.

He thinks of Ola, thinks of his hands around her throat. He remembers the horrible realization that had dawned on him.

He takes his phone from the dashboard and dials Ola's number. It doesn't go through. He tries it again, the dialing tone fills up the car.

She picks up the call, but she doesn't speak. Dave hears her breathing. He squeezes his eyes shut, grips the steering until the leather squeaks. "Ola," he says.

"I don't want to speak with you," she says. "Not now."

" I... I can't explain what came over me."

"You need help, Dave."

"I will see my therapist."

Ola laughs, short and mirthless. The sound shocks Dave more than anything ever has. "We both know how much good that has done."

Dave bites his lips, a fly buzzes on the glass outside. "I'm sorry, Ola."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't... Don't do that." Ola's voice turns heavy, like she's on the verge of tears. She says, "Don't call me, Dave. Please." The line goes dead.

Dave thinks he can still hear her voice but it is just the startling silence in the car. He takes out his gun, it feels comfortable in his grip, as if it was made for his hands.

He imagines raising it up to his head, pointing it at his temple. He sees the flash and the bang, he sees the blood on the glass, his head lolling back.

A bullet to the head leaves no time for reaction. It'll slide past hair, skin and muscle before smashing into the cranial bones and diving into the cerebrospinal fluid. Gone in a fraction of seconds.

Dave shivers.

He sits in the car. He sits for a long time. He doesn't know how long. His mind is blank with guilt and self-loathing.

There is a sharp knock on his side of the door, it is Jonjo. Dave slides his gun into the holster. Jonjo is holding a steaming cup of something. He sniffs. "Boss, have you found a diamond in the barrel?" he asks. "The way you were staring at your piece."

Dave gets down from the car and closes the door behind him. He dry washes his face, tries to get some life into it. He starts for the building. "Don't call me boss."

The detectives aren't in their sits when Dave enters with Jonjo behind him. They're all huddled around Madueke. Rose holds a bundle of papers in her hands. She raises her head when he darkens the doorway and she turns away just as fast.

Dave has the feeling she's hiding something. She has seemed evasive for a while now. "What's going on?" he asks Jonjo.

Jonjo points at a man standing up above them, hands on rails. It is the senator. Jojo says, "Everyone is on field duty."

The detectives begin to disperse, they all hold copies of the artist's sketch. Madueke snaps a finger at Dave. "I need something, Dave," he says. "I need something." He turns around and heads up the stairs.