PATRON OF TERROR Page 10

In a sitting room.

  “Welcome to the Governor’s Lodge lieutenant,” he said. He was very nice but he pronounced lieutenant in lower case. “I believe this is your first visit here. Would you like something do drink?”

  “Uh, a little tea would be nice, sir.” I hoped no one would walk in with my sandwich. This did not appear to be an eating situation. Damn. Maybe later. Where was Akpan?

  “I asked you here, lieutenant, for a little discussion about the Puene investigation. His death, and his wife’s were horrible.”

  His spouse, sitting next to him, murmured her agreement.

  “Of course I want whoever was behind his murders arrested if Dr. Vincent and his wife were murdered.”

  “Yes, it certainly looks that way, sir.”

  “I want to leave a legacy of hope after eight years in office. Dr. Vincent’s death badly shook me. I’d known him many years. I’ve known Lewis too all my life and don’t think he might have a hand in this, but I expect that Police takes this serious and leave no stone unturned in getting to the root of this matter.”

  “I understand. We have some leads.” I hesitated.

  “I have discussed everything with the Commissioner, and have read the file. Do you think that the Pepples are involved somehow?”

  So I was here to be pumped for information?

  “Senator Pepple’s kid brother, Sodienyie, warned Puene of an impending danger, and a week later, he and his wife were killed. So naturally, we suspect he either has a hand in the killing or knows who behind it. We have him under surveillance.” He would want to know about that. By now, I was feeling more relaxed.

  “And that journalist? He was on the radio last night. He started all this. Revealing they were murdered, did that help? Have you spoken with him?”

  “Yes, but he only knew the obvious. The tires had been shot out. That was enough.”

  “What about that source he spoke of?”

  “He would not reveal the source. But I’ll see him again. I imagine you’ve heard nothing, sir.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, sir, the deaths are probably political. You’ve been a political leader for a long time. You know what’s going on.”

  He nodded at the flattery.

  “Perhaps you could help, if I may? Put out some feelers?”

  He nodded. “Of course. What will you be doing next, lieutenant? When can I expect to see justice served for Dr. Vincent and his wife?”

  “And his driver, also. He died yesterday.”

  “Yes, I heard. Paul also. So what will you be doing next?”

  “Well, sir, the riot took all my time today, but I’m back on the case. I have a lead on the man on the motorcycle. The one who shot out the tires.” I lied.

  “Excellent,” he finally said. “Truly. I’m sorry, I know I should not get into details. Forgive me, I won’t interfere. In fact I have been doing my best to find out what happened, of course. I never thought about it, but I will tell my people to contact you directly about what they’ve learned.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m sure that will help.”

  More pause.

  Then he actually looked relieved. Really relieved. He stood, held out his hand, and we shook again. This time it was a lot warmer.

  “Then I should not keep you a moment longer! If you need any additional resources, please tell Chief Akpan I personally approve. Anything you need, detective. You don’t know how glad I am to hear this. With the situation earlier today, especially. We need some good news. I want my last months to see justice for Dr. Vincent and his wife.”

  “And his driver.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  His wife stood and we were all standing and in that awkward moment, his wonderful wife suggested I should stay for dinner.

  “Oh no dear, he has work to do. I need results fast on the Puene investigation,” Fangbe reminded her, excited now. “He hasn’t time even for our kitchen to prepare something for him to eat on his way. He must be off!”

  Great. There was no meeting, and because of the no meeting, there was a no dinner.

  It was a long walk back to the car.

  Fortunately it perked up fabulously when a servant came running out and handed me the sandwich I’d asked for earlier. Security had come through. It was delicious. I’m not sure what it actually was, it was dark and I was hungry and I’m not sure I tasted it much as it went down, but it went down smooth and before I reached my car.

  Almost as smooth as Fangbe.

  As I sat in my car, and drank some water, the cell rang. The display said Akpan.

  “I figured you’re out now. Have you eaten?”

  “A sandwich.”

  “Come over to my house. My wife has made something.”

  This was turning out better and better, at least as far as my stomach was concerned.

  He had a nice house in a nice area and it’s not far. The area was still nice, but around it was a lot of damage.

  Akpan greeted me at the door and led me in. He led me straight to the dining room, where his wife smiled, dinner waiting. They had already eaten, it was all laid out for me.

  I was beginning to love Akpan.

  I had some delicious Afang soup. Mrs. turned out to be quite a cook.

  As I ate we chatted about his family, work and more about what happened earlier that day, and about the investigation.

  He let me finish the bowl.

  “You noticed I was not there. After I called you, the Governor himself phoned and said he wanted to meet the detective incharge of the investigation privately, you.”

  “I figured,” I said, “He pumped me for information. He was relieved, not worried, when I told him there was progress. Promised me any resources I wanted, and that he’d tie his people into me.”

  Akpan shrugged. “I’d expect that, he would want to know if his chosen candidate is involved in the murder or not. And he would distant himself from it all. Politics. If you told the Governor you are making progress in the case, then I truly hope you’re making progress in the case, for your good.”

  “There isn’t any progress. Only leads. But Fangbe didn’t know that. Mention of it got him excited.”

  Akpan thought for a while. “Good work, detective.”

  I held out my bowl for more soup.

  25

  I woke alone the next morning, strangely felt good about it.

  To say I had handled it well with Freda last night was an overstatement. But the deed was done.

  I strolled out of bed and straight to the refrigerator. Yawning, I was pouring a glass of juice when my cell rang.

  Anyone calling me at six-thirty in the morning was no one I would want to speak with at six-thirty in the morning.

  But what if it was Freda?

  The cell display left me relieved. It was Akpan.

  “Tammy?” There was a child crying in the background.

  “Good morning?”

  “No. I just got a call about a shooting on Transamadi Road. I don’t know who yet, but my gut says it might be related. Get on it. Oh. Yes. Good morning.” Click.

  I speed dialed the duty desk. The staff sergeant on duty was Eze. Did the man ever sleep? He had already sent a patrol car and ambulance to the scene. No, he didn’t know who it was yet. The owner of the restaurant the man was gunned down in front called Police. She was hysterical he said and couldn’t say who got shot for the few minutes she was on the phone.

  I got the address of the restaurant and told him I’d meet him there. I didn’t phone Ade. Someone deserved a couple more hours of peace?

  I quickly took a fast shower, shaved, threw on some fresh clothes, checked my police special and slipped it into its holster more easily than I can finish this sentence, and off I went.

  It took about twenty minutes to get to the scene. The roads had been cleared over night. Tanks were here and there, and where they weren’t were armed soldiers. The smell of burning hopes had yet to fade.

  At the murder scene,
in front of the Mama Nikki restaurant, there was the usual crowd. Eze was already there, issuing orders, having constables keep the crowd back and setting up barricades to cordoned off the shooting scene.

  “This isn’t good,” Eze said as I walked up.

  “Why?”

  “Check out the dead man.” He nodded to the scene, about twenty feet in front of the restaurant, in the middle of the road.

  I did not like his tone. I knew him too well. This was bad. I quickly went to the scene. The victim was lying on his stomach. As I walked around to see his face. His suit looked familiar. This neighborhood. Two nights ago I was five blocks away.

  By the time I saw his face I was not surprised. Henry Akpodigha.

  His suit was no longer flashy. The fabric on his back was covered with blood. From the bullet holes. Where he had leaked outside himself. He was one dead man, whoever plugged him took no chances.

  He had been shot three times, in the back, a tight professional pattern. While walking in the road. Probably never even heard the shots.

  He had been a bachelor, so it made sense he was a regular in the restaurant for breakfast. A lot of men don’t enjoy home cooking. Actually, a lot of women don’t, either.

  I went inside the restaurant and saw the owner sitting at a table. She was oversized, to put it mildly. She obviously did not limit herself to cooking and serving food. Right now she wiped tears from her red eyes. Terrified eyes. Staff Sergeant Eze said she saw the whole thing.

  I showed her my badge and introduced myself. That was all I needed. It all spilled out.

  “Henry was one of my favorites. Maybe the most favorite, because he was so famous, and so nice.”

  “I’m sorry. What happened?”

  “He enjoyed his usual breakfast. He left her the usual tip. I watched him walk outside. It was slow this morning, after yesterday. I’m lucky to be open.”

  “I’m sure he was glad. What happened?”

  “A moment after he walked out, a man on motorcycle sped up from the right. He shot him. He had this gun. And then he was gone. It was over in a second. Oh, it was horrible!”

  “What did he look like? The man on the motorcycle.”

  “He had a helmet. He wore dark clothes. He was lean.”

  Sounded like the man and bike I had seen a few days ago, on the road to killing Puene.

  But why Henry? He was fine with the Pepples, they wouldn’t have anything to do with this. Or would they? Did the Pepples find out that Henry talked to me? I still think that Sodienyie Pepples was the biker. I was almost sure, but I have not mentioned it to anyone. Weren’t some officers detailed to shadow him? How could they let him out of their sight?

  I flipped open my cell and speed dialed Akpan. He was not happy when I told him who had been killed. I wasn’t either. The dead journalist was going to get me a meeting the leader of the breakaway militant group.

  “It’s time to pick Sodienyie up. I thought it’s time we put some pressure on the kid to tell us what he knew.”

  “Agreed,” Akpan replied.

  “And the Governor promised me support, so let’s call him on it. I know the Senator will throw up a lot of dust about this.”

  “I’ll sure call him for his support to take on the Pepples.”

  “I need more manpower to look for the motorcycle and its rider. Can I have Eze?” I did ask.

  “For a few days.”

  I phoned Ade afterwards who was on his way to work. I told him what was up, that I was not sure when I would be in, but to carry on and keep me informed. I walked back to the crime scene, called Eze over.

  Eze went to his car first but came back. There was another homicide call, from Igboukwu Street. “But get this, Lieutenant. It’s a live scene. The shooter is still there. He’s holding a hostage. And there’s something about the shooter riding a motorcycle.”

  My alarm meter went up a notch. I was thinking the trapped shooter could be our guy the motorcycle man as I sped down to Igbokwu. Taking him alive was paramount to solving the whole case, so I made some calls from my car while I infuriated some drivers and a couple of traffic wardens.

  26

  Igboukwu was not far. I was there in twenty minutes of leaving Transamadi, my dangerous driving making it shorter. When I got there I found a secured perimeter around a small shop. There were quite a few officers, along with an ambulance. I asked them who called it in.

  A tall constable stepped forward, a tall man who looked like he did not enjoy being busy. “We were right here. We stopped so I could go inside and pick us up something to drink. Before I got out of the car I saw a big motorcycle parked outside. You can see it over there.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It looks like the one I’m after.”

  “Exactly. I told my partner to radio it in. As he called it, I got out of my car. There was a gunshot, from inside the store. Then a second. My partner called for backup.

  “I know the store. There is a back door. My partner went around the back and blocked it with some crates while I covered the front. Two people ran out, customers. They’re over in that car. They yelled a biker had killed someone.

  “Then I saw a tall thin man in bike leathers start to come out of the store. I raised my gun and he backed away inside before I could do anything. I figured he was the shooter.”

  “Great work. He has a hostage?”

  He nodded. “The shop keeper. He grabbed him after he saw me. He tried to get out the back, but my partner had already blocked the door. “He’s still inside, with the shop keeper, and whoever he shot.”

  “Any idea what weapon he has?”

  He shook his head. “Never saw it. From the shots I heard, he has at least one Glock.”

  “Any word from inside?’

  ”No.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Since we first pulled up? Under an hour. We had the backup in ten minutes. We held off until you got here.”

  I looked at the large Suzuki parked in front of the store. It looked like the one. There was a helmet on the gas tank. Same one—maybe, I’d only had a glance.

  I talked it over with the officers and they all agreed I should be the one to walk into the shop and attempt to negotiate. After all, I was the ranking officer and in charge of the investigation. I felt blessed!

  They took their positions around the front of the store, one covering the back in case the shooter managed to get the door open, and then I unbuttoned my sports coat and walked towards the shop. I held out my hands, knowing the shooter was watching. “Police. I’m coming in. To talk.”

  “I want out!” I heard a man’s voice cry out from inside.

  “First, I’m coming in.”

  I slowly walked up to the front door. It was closed, on a spring, to help keep the air-conditioning in. I looked through the glass. I could see two men, one holding the other. One was a frightened shop keeper. The other was a tall lean man wearing biker’s leathers. He was the one with the gun. He was no youngster, he looked about thirty. Not Sodienyie Pepples or anyone else I’d seen before. He looked scared. He had an uzi. The same gun used on the Puenes. It was pointed at me.

  He held his hostage tightly. The shop keeper was a clerk, maybe twenty, and he was scared stiff. He had every right. I didn’t see anyone else, including the shooter’s victim.

  I slowly opened the front door and stepped inside. The door snapped shut angrily behind me. My hands were still held out. My sports jacket parted. So he could see my holster was empty. That was because my pistol was tucked into my belt at the small of my back, safety off.

  It was cool inside the store. The air-conditioning was terrific. I saw no one else standing but the three of us.

  “I need your phone.”

  “Maybe. You shot someone. Where is he?”

  “Give me the phone or I smoke this pig head.”

  “You don’t have to ‘smoke’ anyone.”

  He shoved his gun harder into the neck of the shop kid.

  The kid found h
is voice. “Please, give him the phone.”

  I took a few more steps inside, and saw the victim, lying on the floor. It was Sodienyie Pepples. I was more confused than surprised. Sodienyie the victim? Second time I was wrong about the people behind the Puene killing.

  I could see he was still alive. Though not by much. His eyes were open and moving. His legs twitched. His left arm lay flat on the floor, trembling. His right hand was under him. Blood oozed from two holes in his back.

  I turned back to the shooter. He was frantic. I stepped towards Sodienyie. There had to be a way to staunch the blood flow. But I did not look at him, I held onto the shooter’s eyes.

  “I can give you my phone, but who are you going to call? The store is surrounded. You know we can’t let you out of here.”

  He was sweating. Maybe he was not as professional as he seemed.

  I heard movement from the floor, just a rustle of clothes and a then a gasp.

  “Let the kid go.”

  The shooter grinned. He actually let the kid go “Sure. Now you’re my hostage. Come over here.” He took a step towards me, then I heard a loud bang.

  The gunshot was very loud.

  The biker looked down at the floor, stumbling back. I followed his eyes to where Sodienyie was lying on the floor.

  Sodienyie had a pistol in his right hand, still smoking. He’d shot a big hole in the biker’s foot.

  I pulled out my police special as the biker tried to aim towards the man on the floor. Before he could pull his trigger I pulled mine.

  The shot caught him square in the chest and threw him backwards. He was dead before he hit the floor, his body already folding like a pack of cards when the game is over.

  The shop kid did not move, stunned.

  I heard shouts and movement behind me, my colleagues.

  On the floor Sodienyie lay gasping. I kicked the gun from his bloody right hand and knelt by him. I pressed my hand against the two oozing holes in his back and looked up at the kid.

  “Get me a towel or something,” I shouted at the shop keeper.

  That snapped something in the kid, and he came to and ran straight out of the store instead.