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Tag: Detective

  • Gunmen shoot detective probing judges, others

    Gunmen shoot detective probing judges, others

    EFCC investigator receives treatment for gunshot wounds

    Gunmen have shot a top Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) investigator,  Mr. Austin Okwor.

    The victim was said to be handling some “sensitive” cases, including those of some judicial officers.

    But the EFCC said Okwor, who escaped death by the whiskers, was responding to treatment. He had been receiving threat messages before the incident.

    A statement by the Head of Media and Publicity of the anti-graft agency, Mr. Wilson Uwujaren, said the incident had been reported to the police for investigation.

    The statement said:  “A top investigator with the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, EFCC, on June 24, 2017 escaped death by the whiskers when gunmen opened fire on him  in Port Harcourt, Rivers State.

    “Mr. Austin  Okwor, an operative in the Property Fraud Section of the EFCC Zonal office in Port Harcourt, had closed late for the day and as he left office, he was suddenly accosted by a gang of daredevil hoodlums who opened fire on him.

    “Luckily for him, he was able to shake off his assailants but not without sustaining some bullet wounds as they kept firing at him. He was rushed to a private hospital in Port Harcourt where he is  receiving treatment.

    “According to Ishaq Salihu, Head of the Zonal office, the incident has already been reported to the Police in Port Harcourt.

    “Okwor is one of the operatives investigating some sensitive cases, including that pertaining to corrupt judicial officials.

    “Before the incident, the officer had been receiving threat messages. One of such messages, which he received sometime in May 2017, was reported to the Police.

    “This incident underlines the hazards which operatives of the Commission are daily exposed to in the discharge of their duties.

    “In 2010, precisely September 14, the head of the Commission’s Forensic Unit, Abdullahi Muazu, was shot and killed by unknown gunmen in Kaduna.

    “Six months earlier, a team of prosecutors returning to Enugu after a court appearance in Owerri, Imo State was attacked by gunmen who opened fire on them. Sergeant Eze Edoga, the police escort, was cut down while a senior counsel with the Commission, Joseph Uzor, was critically wounded but survived.”

  • Madeline Berah, the African DETECTIVE in ’Tis Every Bit Like Murder (4)

    Just then, we heard a sound from the direction of the room. We all looked at each. Could the dead woman have risen again?

    The inspector continued. ‘She had come to see the Inspector-General about a contract she was pursuing. When I first saw her, I was moved with pity because she had been waiting for about five hours. I took her to my office and showed her a little kindness. Later, I was able to help her see the IG. That was it for me.’

    ‘You mean you did not start out being ‘friends’? put in Aunt Deline.

    ‘No,’ shrieked the AIG. ‘She was a very beautiful woman, but she was too fat for me; you know, what we call a really thicke madam.

    ‘Even when she started calling me after I had left headquarters, I was not really interested in her. I thought she was a married woman and I did not even think about that kind of thing.’

    ‘Then what changed?’

    ‘One year, I had to serve in Koroko State and I had to go to their Ministry of Information for something that I cannot now remember. It was then I met her again because she was now their commissioner in that ministry. After we greeted and I had concluded my business, she insisted that I had to taste of her hospitality. She took me home … and things sort of spiralled out of control from that time, especially as I found that she had no husband and my wife was not with me.’

    ‘Two lonely souls and that sort of thing, eh?’ half-asked my aunt.

    ‘You could say that, until I got transferred out of the state and got sent here to Keriba. I thought that would be the end of it but somehow, she opened a branch for her business here in Keriba and came here frequently to do business.’

    ‘Because of you sir?’ asked Inspector Gogo.

    ‘I am suspecting not entirely. I think her son may also have had something to do with that move. I understand he attends the university here. Anyway, we became very close when she moved here…’

    ‘You did not meet the son?’

    ‘No; I only came here to the house whenever he was out of town.’

    ‘Are you aware sir if she had any other ‘friend’?’ asked the inspector.

    ‘I don’t know. I think the son would be in a better position to tell us that.’

    ‘Well, if he did not see you, he probably did not see any other too if there were. When last did you see her sir?’

    ‘Yesterday; I was with her until about 8 in the evening.’

    ‘Don’t you mean this morning?’ put in Aunt Deline.

    The AIG bristled up. ‘I don’t like your tone, woman. If I say yesterday evening, then yesterday evening it is. Ah, ah, who is in a better position to know my movements?’

    ‘Not if you have something to hide.’

    ‘What am I still hiding? Have I not laid myself bare for you?’ Then he put his face in his hands and bent down, moaning. ‘Oh, Tamire, see your life! See where life has brought you now. See how one useless woman is playing you around like a ball…’

    Aunt Deline shot up. ‘Who are you calling useless woman? Did I ask you to have dealings with a dead woman? Look at the person I was even pitying before…’

    Inspector Gogo stepped in. ‘I think we can examine the body now, sir.’ We all got up to leave the room at once. Inspector Gogo stretched out a restraining arm to the AIG.

    ‘Not you sir; I think you know the rules sir. Just point the direction out for us’. The AIG sat back.

    Just then, we heard a sound from the direction of the room. We all looked at each. Could the dead woman have risen again? All three of us gingerly moved towards the sound, with me holding closely to my aunt’s arm and she, well, she moving quite close to the inspector.

    The main bedroom was situated directly at the end of the fairly long and narrow corridor. The rooms must have been fairly sized for the corridor to be so long, I thought. The inspector gently turned the knob of the door we had been directed to. All was still. He flicked on the light forgetting that electricity had still not been restored. He switched on the lamp he was holding and directed it to the bed. On it lay a very big woman, as still as a corpse. Silly me, I forgot she was a corpse.

    She was dressed in a big embroidered Kaftan of a shocking pink. Obviously, she had been in the pink of fashion because everything on the Kaftan was in good taste  the embroidery, designs, materials, and so on. Her jewelleries were profuse but well worn  about five different slim gold bangles on each wrist and gold rings adorned at least three fingers in each hand that tapered off into long fingernails painted, the kind of nails I always wanted but never seemed to be able to get to.

    Her permed hair was well combed, showing some silvery greys. Altogether, she presented a picture of a woman who maintained herself well. Talk of a well-manicured beauty in death. The only sign of death around her was the gun she was holding in her right hand. Otherwise, she looked like a large version of sleeping beauty.

    There was no other person in the room, yet I could swear we all had heard something. The inspector moved forward softly towards the window. Clearly, no one could have gone through the louvre blades unless he or she was made of air. So, whoever had made that noise must still be in the room. I stayed put at the door for two reasons.

    The first was that I had never in my life been near a dead body. This was my first experience. The second was that I did not think I had enough guts to face an intruder, whether armed or not. From the door, I felt sure I could run in any which direction at a moment’s notice.

    After inspecting the darkness outside through the window slats protected by the fluttering white net curtains supported by thick brocade hangings on both sides, the inspector slowly turned back into the room. Very slowly, he began to pull apart the wardrobe doors. But as he touched the doors, they slid apart on their own on their rollers. My aunt and I nearly jumped into each other’s arms. I think we expected someone looking like an ex-convict to barge out of it or something. Instead, we saw clothes after clothes of various colours hanging on pegs, while some were folded in piles that reached the ceiling. There was no space for any grown man or woman to hide in them.

    The inspector motioned us to remain silent and still where we were. Moving very slowly again like a cat, he bent to look under the bed. I had to admit a certain admiration for the way the man worked; very methodical and unhurried.

    As he bent to look down, there was a sudden movement from right under the bed. A figure suddenly slithered out and made for the door but the inspector appeared to be ready for him. The whole thing happened in a flash, within one single second. The figure must have thought if he surprised us, he could get out of the building. But, as he slithered out like one good-sized snake, the inspector was on him like a falling brick and brought him to the floor pronto. We gasped; the figure fought, but finally was overcome by the inspector’s brute strength as he was soon brought to a still, sitting position. I guess it is true what they say: short, stocky people do have the advantage of packed strength.

  • Madeline berah, the African DETECTIVE in ’Tis Every Bit Like Murder (2)

    Remember to take your badge. It may very well keep us out of jail this night.’ I could hear him mumbling as I left them to carry out her instruction. ‘I know something better that can keep us out of jail this night: sleeping in our beds.’

    They were not supposed to laugh. I didn’t understand why people always seemed to find my words funny, but no matter, at least hostilities appeared to have been dropped.

    When they sobered, wiping their eyes, the inspector wagged one stew-stained finger at his opponent. ‘Next time you try that, you might sleep in jail; lady or no lady.’

    Aunt Deline continued her devouring. ‘That was a warning strike. Next time you call me puny, you will go to jail, policeman or not.’

    He turned to me. ‘Why can’t she fight normally? She could have called me short-man-devil, I wouldn’t care. People call me that all the time.’

    ‘That’s you; I take exception to the word ‘puny’. It rankles.’

    ‘You’re just sensitive, that’s all. Perhaps, we should engage you to punch out our criminals for us.’

    ‘Bring them on. That’s what brought me here in the first place before you distracted me with your silly plate of stockfish.’

    The plate was obviously empty by now. The inspector took it into the kitchen himself, mumbling something about not wanting to see it punched in annoyance.

    I was glad to see the end of that hostility, as we moved to the sitting room. I threw myself into an arm chair. Aunt Deline was getting to be a full-time job.

    Her stomach filled with the purloined stockfish, Aunt Deline now had time for what brought her in the first place.

    ‘Yes Gogo, I was asking you about these kidnappings and what you people are doing about them.’

    ‘What kidnappings?’

    ‘This.’ She began to read. ‘Yesterday, it was reported that another businessman had been kidnapped from his home. According to witnesses, Chief Mofela Tuloju was just coming in from the day’s business when…’

    ‘I had not heard about that one.’

    ‘A fine country this is when a policeman does not know what is going on in his jurisdiction.’

    ‘Listen now, ah, ah! My mind is on a bigger problem. Yesterday, it was missing government papers. Today, a dead body was found on a well-made bed in a private residence and it is looking every bit like murder but it could also have been suicide.’

    ‘Who first discovered the body? What clues did you get from the scene?’

    ‘I have not visited it. I only got the report half an hour before I left the office; so I haven’t even got all the details.’

    ‘O kori koko o!’ I heard Aunt Deline scream. ‘Not visited the scene of crime?!!! Is that how you people work?’

    ‘Wait, wait, don’t castigate me. Can you see electricity anywhere in this town right now?’

    ‘What has that got to do with it?’

    Inspector Gogo took his time to aim his reply like it was his last bullet. ‘Listen, it is very important not to miss any clues when you first visit a crime scene. Without electricity, I cannot do my work efficiently at night. I have ordered the place securely locked. No one can get there before tomorrow morning.’

    Aunt Deline was having none of that. She shook her head.

    ‘My, my! Oh ye of simple faith! Your faith is so flimsy a pin can go through it. Listen, it is very important that the detective be the first to arrive at a crime scene. Let’s go.’ She got up.

    ‘Go where?’

    ‘To the scene of crime.”We don’t know if a crime has been committed. Besides, what is going to supply the light for us to see our way: the stars?’

    ‘We will use the stars and the moon if we have to. Eni, go get our rechargeable lamps and meet us down stairs. Man, get the keys to your car and let us move. Time waits for no one o’.

    ‘But… but… look at the time. It’s almost ten p.m. I need my rest.’

    ‘Stop crying; you’re nearly fifty years old, not five. What has time got to do with anything in this life? Tell me, who was the first to see the dead body? Remember to take your badge. It may very well keep us out of jail this night.’

    I could hear him mumbling as I left them to carry out her instruction.

    ‘I know something better that can keep us out of jail this night: sleeping in our beds.’

    Within the five minutes that Aunt Deline shot out the instructions, we were driving through the town.

    By this time, it was about ten p.m. As he drove, the inspector kept mumbling. ‘I’m going to lose my job this night for letting a civilian meddle in police business. I just know it. What is happening to you, Gogo? Are you now under the spiritual influence of a woman … He’s going to lose his job.’ Obviously, when agitated, Inspector Gogo speaks of himself in the third person.

    ‘In between your monologues, can you give us a summary of what happened?’

    He sighed, moaned a few more times, beat himself in the chest and hit the steering wheel, then shouted out.

    ‘How on earth did I let you talk me into this? Was I sleeping? The AIG is going to kill me.’

    ‘No one is going to kill you.’ I think that Aunt Deline’s curiosity was greater now than any consideration for the man’s job. ‘Just keep your head. Who first discovered the body?’

    The man sighed again before saying anything.

    ‘The body was discovered by the son. He is a student at the local university studying chemistry I think they say. I understand he stays on campus but that he normally goes home for the weekend. Anyway, according to the report, he claimed to have gone home as usual only to find her on the bed, dead.’

    ‘And what did he do then?’

    ‘He said he came to the police station to report.’

    ‘Did you interview him?’

    ‘No, I was not in the office then.’

    ‘Yes, of course, God forbid that the state’s chief detective Grade 1 should be found in his office at a most important time,’ said Aunt Deline. Her sarcasm was dripping.

    The inspector could be heard literally holding his temper with his teeth. ‘Woman, if they sent you to me this night, go and tell them you did not find me at home. Do you think I went to play my time away when I was supposed to be at work? Does it not occur to you that I might have gone out on official business?’

    ‘The result of which is that you missed the first hand report of the whole business. Who knows, if you had been there, your brain might have seen its way clear of its muddle to ask one or two leading questions. But no, we were away on official business when it mattered most.’

    Aunt Deline talked on, without looking at him. He was forced to listen to her, without looking at her. I looked at them both. It appeared to me that as he drove on, eyes looking straight, the inspector was becoming more and more swollen at each word uttered by Aunt Deline. I knew it was a matter of time before the dam burst.

    Suddenly, as her voice droned on, the inspector drew up by the side of the road and turned off the engine. Then he turned to Aunt Deline and aimed at her throat, his hands cuffed. Then he seemed to have thought the better of it and turned the engine on again before joining the road again. Aunt Deline was not one to let the matter rest. She had to have the last word.

    ‘I would just like to see you try,’ she said. He said nothing but drove on.

  • Madeline Berah, the African DETECTIVE in ’Tis every bit like murder (1)

    At once, he scraped back his chair and made for her, fist ready. In an instant, she was also up, chair thrown back, both fists balled in readiness. I quickly stepped in.

    ‘This is preposterous, absolutely preposterous’, burst out Aunt Deline, the well known African detective, one Tuesday evening from behind the previous day’s newspaper. She had this habit of never letting go a newspaper until she had digested every bit of its content. It was as if she needed to bore holes in the papers.

    We had just dined on the dish of vegetable and eba that I had concocted together with very few ingredients  pepper, salt, maggi cubes and vegetable mixed in red oil. Even I felt it could be better but my aunt declared it was perfect.

    ‘It needed a generous dash of fresh or dried shrimps, to be sure, but who can hold that against you?’

    That was her, always attentive to people’s feelings.

    Suddenly, Aunt Deline sprang up from her chair as if she had been stung her. She had a habit of doing that when something irked her or stung her sense of justice.

    ‘Where are you going at this time, Aunt?’ I asked her, a little warily. It was a little past seven o’clock in the evening. The last time she got up like that, she had ended up fighting with a passing pedestrian, physically, even throwing punches. It’s a long story, one I’ll tell you sometime. For now, I poked around for my shoes.

    ‘To see this… this… so-called inspector and ask him what the police are doing about these kidnappings.’ I quickly got up and searched for the keys to the little flat that we shared. I exaggerate when I say we shared; it was her flat and I was her guest. The trouble was that I enjoyed staying with her so much I always seemed to be there, particularly when she was on a ‘case’.

    ‘What if he’s already asleep?’

    ‘He’ll wake up’, she said peremptorily. I found the keys.

    Sometimes I wondered what she would do without me because she just never remembered things like keys. I suppose I secretly believed I was indispensable to her. The truth is…

    Gbam! Gbam! Gbam! She was banging on the door of our neighbour. I was alarmed.

    ‘Auntie, this is not the inspector’s flat,’ I whispered in consternation.

    ‘Nonsense. Does he not live on this side of the building?’ she asked, looking at me like I was an idiot. Spatially, I was beginning to think my aunt was an idiot.

    ‘Yes, but one floor above us. And he has since changed flats, remember, to the one directly above us?’

    The occupant of the flat she was banging on was a tall, aristocratic looking, elderly, cavalier bachelor called Mr. Ponle, who had slightly loose ways and hated being disturbed by his neighbours. I suspect he didn’t want anyone prying into his randy affairs with young girls. He had made one or two passes at me before but I guess my put downs had sufficiently put him down where I was concerned. Aunt Deline was anathema to him  no-go area. Today, I really hoped he was too deeply asleep, or too deeply dead, to hear the commotion.

    Too late. The door opened and he framed the doorway.

    ‘Yes?’, looking down at my diminutive aunt like she was a centipede that fetched up at his doorstep.

    ‘Yes what?’, asked the unrepentant knocker.

    ‘What do you want?’

    ‘Nothing. I wanted…’ She got no farther.

    ‘You knocked on my door to ask for nothing?’, he exploded, about to burst. I quickly stepped in.

    ‘I’m so sorry, but we knocked on your door in error. We really were going to another flat…’

    He narrowed his eyes and gave the shot from the hip.

    ‘And you had no eyes on your head to read the name on my door before pounding it with your puny fist?’

    Now, the fat was in the fire. There was no word my aunt hated more than that word puny. Perhaps, she hated it because it adequately described her, I don’t know. What I know is that if she gave me an allowance or food or bed or anything and I made the mistake of describing it as puny, I never heard the last of it. She would let me know in a thousand ways that the word altogether irritated her entire head by making sure it also irritated my entire head. In short she found ways of knocking my head with the word.

    So, no one, absolutely no one, called her puny unless they were ready with their fisticuffs. Obviously, Mr. Ponle knew nothing of this. He was propelled only by his own irritation.

    ‘You… You… You dare call me puny?’I swear I could see her physically extending her height as she stood on the tip of her toes, arms balanced on her waist. In that posture, she was ready to take on the world.

    Seeing her explode, the man retreated, nonplussed. I was disappointed. He was obviously better at starting fights than at sustaining them.

    ‘No, Miss Deline,’ he spat out, ‘you’re a giant’ before shutting the door most rudely in our faces.

    My aunt looked long and hard at the door, honoured it with a most hearty hiss before turning to go up the only staircase that serviced the building. Still infuriated, she marched irreverently on everything that got in her way  ants, cockroaches, flies, people… I trotted after her, apologising to them all.

    At the door of Inspector Gogo’s flat, Aunt Deline knocked more softly this time. The door was opened at once by the inspector’s nephew who was staying with the family over the holidays. His wife was nowhere to be seen.

    Aunt Deline charged in. ‘What in the name of all that is decent is going on in this country that everyone is being kidnapped left, right and centre and you and your ilk are just looking on?’ She delivered that last bit with a sweep of her newspaper-holding arm that took him in, along with his colleagues shown in a photograph displayed on the side-board behind where he sat at table. He was at his meal.

    ‘Oh,’ exclaimed Aunt Deline, ‘stock fish! I am partial to stockfish’. With that she drew out a chair, planted herself directly opposite him and drew the plate loaded with succulent, steaming cuts of stockfish in red pepper sauce towards her. The inspector sighed in great exasperation.

    ‘Eni,’ he intoned to me in his deep voice, ‘you’re a nice girl. But I can never understand why you allow yourself to be seen with puny, fake academics like this who…’ He got no further with his supposed joke.

    I had seen Aunt Deline’s hand suspended in the air as she tried to take another bite of stockfish and look at him straight in the eyes. No, she wouldn’t. Yes, she did. Quietly, she laid down the stockfish cut in her right hand … and I don’t know what happened next. I only saw that her hand flashed out and the inspector was holding his lip and moaning.

    ‘That’s it; no more stockfish for you,’ and she changed her seat far from the moaner, taking the plate with her. I was too shocked.

    ‘Auntie!!! Sir, are you hurt?’ One tends to ask irrelevant questions when in shock.

    ‘She punched me!’ he managed to get out. Aunt Deline munched on in silent relish.

    At once, he scraped back his chair and made for her, fist ready. In an instant, she was also up, chair thrown back, both fists balled in readiness. I quickly stepped in.

    ‘Inspector no, remember you are a policeman! Auntie no, remember you’re a lady!’

    Both of them stopped in their tracks, looked at me and burst out laughing real hard, holding their sides. I didn’t understand.

  • Madeline Berah, the African Detective in the missing government papers (9)

    Unfortunately, my sister blamed me. She said I used juju to take her son’s star and distribute it among my children; that’s why they are now doing fine and her son is languishing.

    ‘After trying everything I could, I finally got him a job in another ministry hoping he would build a career and rise on the job. But he got involved with a bad group and started misbehaving, stealing and all that, and he got sacked. I decided to bring him here right under my nose so I could keep an eye on him. So, I came to you sir and you gave him a job, and now a fine job I seem to have done. What am I going to do? If he goes to prison, what am I going to tell the mother?’ She started to cry again.

    Aunt Deline was grieved. She hated to see a woman cry.

    ‘Don’t worry, the permanent secretary will be magnanimous. He will not press charges.’

    The permanent secretary sighed and agreed that he would not; he wanted to keep the matter quiet anyway. But the young man must recount how he got hold of the papers because he, the permanent secretary, thought he guarded it jealously enough.

    After a lot of coaxing, the cleaner opened his mouth and explained.

    ‘I had been present when the paper was brought to the office by the boy sent to deliver it. The secretary, my aunt, had not seen the contents of the envelope before she went to the restroom. While she was away, I quickly looked in the envelope and decided that the papers were very important so I just bid my time.

    ‘Whenever I cleaned the office, I noticed that Oga would make sure his briefcase was near his feet just behind his desk. So, I just watched for the times he went to the toilet and how long he spent there. One day, I saw him go to the toilet because the door was slightly open and my aunt was not around, and since I knew the shape, size and colour of the envelope, it was not difficult for me to get it within half a minute. Before he came out, I had done what I wanted to do and was already back on my seat pretending to sleep when he came to see if anyone was waiting for him here.’

    ‘But why did you take it?’ his aunt asked in exasperation.

    ‘I saw the gambling receipts. They were more important than the other papers. I was going to sell them back to the owner.’

    The inspector spoke. ‘Do you know that blackmail is a criminal offence?’

    ‘And supposing the man killed you instead of paying you? What then?’ his aunt asked again.

    Aunt Deline stood up. It was our cue. ‘I think our job here is done. We should allow the good permanent secretary to get on with his job.’

    The permanent secretary stood up too. ‘I know that if I asked you how you knew that the envelope was on the young man, you would not tell me. But at least let me pay you.’

    ‘Oh, I don’t mind telling you’, replied Aunt Deline. ‘I was not expecting anyone to be ‘wearing’ the papers; I was expecting to have to lift up every carpet in the place or go through the toilets, but I was prepared to be surprised anyhow so I paid attention to everything.

    ‘When the cleaner came in, I noticed that the left side of the front of his jacket was infinitesimally more swollen than the other side.

    ‘And I was prepared to find it with someone else, not him. It was when you mentioned the cleaner that it hit me, fool that I was. I don’t mind confessing that I very nearly missed that. Thanks. It just shows that we all live and learn.

    ‘As for payment, I must tell you that while I do not accept money as a rule, I am not above accepting favours, which I will mention when my niece and the good inspector and your secretary leave us alone. By the way, (turning to the secretary) what your nephew requires is the service of a good psychoanalyst. I will give you a recommendation to a good friend of mine.’

    With that, the inspector and I left the office. I cannot report what favour Aunt Deline asked the permanent secretary but I certainly hoped it would concern her job. The next week, however, a large crate containing an inverter with a two and a half KvH capacity was delivered to our flat. This meant not only did we have a power source for me to do my reading, the fridge and the fans in the flat could be powered without the accompanying stress or noise that generators give.

    More importantly, Aunt Deline received a personal call that day from the manager of the electricity company apologising for the ‘crazy bill his boys’ had forwarded to her flat, and that she should discountenance them. I think she did not need a second invitation.

    When I asked Aunt Deline just how she had arm-twisted the poor permanent secretary, she only said that the man was very lucky, he could have lost his job. In that case, someone needed to be providentially placed to receive his gratitude. Who better than us?, she asked.

    When I also asked her why she had not asked him to connect her for a job at the proposed university, however, she brushed me off. ‘Let us live one day at a time, right?’ I marvelled at her. Once again, she had put my need to study ahead of her even more important need for a job!

    In the evening, when the inspector came to visit, he informed us that the permanent secretary never did find out the person that sent the papers to him; maybe a disgruntled fellow gambler, who knows? Most importantly, the permanent secretary had been able to tell the governor that the press reports were not true, and nothing was missing from his office. Also, the senior director concerned in the story had been dismissed from service on the basis of the incriminating evidence.

    ‘Now,’ said Aunt Deline, ‘he can become a full-time gambler. People who do not know the worth of their job do not deserve to keep it.’

    ‘Yes,’ agreed the inspector, ‘work is sacred. The work you do is a huge responsibility that you owe the country, your fellowmen and your maker. Through your effective work, you send a message to nature that the human society should continue. This is why nature hates the disruptions that come through ineffective work. Talking of effectiveness, how were you able to deduce so that the envelope was in the vicinity?

    ‘I paid attention. I told you that you must think cyclically. Let me tell you, in cases of this sort, it’s often the little things that count the most. While everyone was looking up at the most important things about the case  where the permanent secretary had been that day, what he did or did not do, the strength of the briefcase, etc., — I was more interested in the little things and one visit to this place assured me of all I wanted to know.’

    ‘And what was that?’

    ‘The psychological state of the secretary. If I had found her inscrutable, it would have deepened my suspicion of her further. But I found her rude, but sad and in pain. So, I knew that one, she probably did not take the papers, and two, she had her suspicion of who did. When I found her at her filing cabinet, I believed she thought the thief had hidden it there and she was hoping to surprise him. Poor lady; how was she to know the extent to which her nephew had degenerated?

    ‘So, if she did not take it, then who did?, I asked myself. I did notice an extra desk in her office on which there was no computer or anything. The table was small, dark brown, glossy from being so dirty and used, and wobbly. There were other chairs around it but the accompanying chair was even more wobbly and its leather well worn in the seat. Also, the carpentry seemed to have weakened so that the chair sagged down and the packing under it gaped. I believe that gaping hole made a perfect initial hiding place for the thief. This meant that whoever took it shared the office with the secretary.

    ‘I did not have time to find out who that person was, that first time. I thought however that if the envelope had not been moved, I would likely find it under that chair when we would come back based on one principle.’

    ‘What principle is that?’

    ‘The principle that says the best place to hide anything is in plain sight. How was I to know that providence had an even better illustration of that dogma for us? Child, is that bottle of wine in the fridge cold yet? Please bring it and let us all ‘wash’ this new source of electricity that the country is forcing me to live with.’

    On the veranda, under the watchful eyes of the stars, we three sat and drank the California wine. When I say drank, I exaggerate. Aunt Deline poured me a generous amount that could not even satiate an ant while the two adults proceeded to get to the bottom of why the electricity situation of the country was so bad. This discourse also led them to the bottom of the bottle; but I was content to listen, as always.

  • Madeline Berah, the African Detective in the missing government papers (8)

    To everyone’s surprise, when she reached him, she put her arms around him, as if giving him a tight hug. The man was more surprised that we were but that was for a few seconds. Suddenly, however, she began to pull at something in his clothing. When he seemed to realise what she was about, he began to try to pull himself out of her embrace.

    Have I told you that once Aunt Deline gets hold of something, she is worse than a hungry tiger holding on to its prey to make sure its lunch does not escape? No? Well, you must know now that Aunt Deline would as soon wrestle with a lion over his prey if she felt he had no right to it as she would punch a man in the nose for insulting her.

    When she gets like that, I usually look for the nearest exit because her punches have had previous habits of falling irreverently on anyone who gets between her and her target. I have been an unwary recipient before. Before our very eyes today, however, her embrace transmuted to a struggle to hold on; but the more she struggled, the more the cleaner tried to pull out.

    Nearing exhaustion, Aunt Deline cried out, ‘Don’t just sit there all of you, help me hold this man down. He has the papers!’

    Hearing that, the two men rushed upon them just as the secretary came in and within minutes the man was on the carpet. While the men had the man pinned down, Aunt Deline was stripping him of his French suit. She started with the trousers. I tried to look away because I thought she was going to be taking off his briefs next. When I looked again though, she had removed his short-sleeved jacket and was feeling all over it. There, from right inside the front lining, she pulled out a long brown envelope. Everyone gasped as they left off holding the struggling man.

    The permanent secretary held out his hands for the envelope. Trembling all over, he brought out the contents and checked them one after the other. The look he gave us was both exultant and triumphant.

    ‘Everything is intact,’ he said in wonderment. Then he sat down heavily on his chair again and looked at Aunt Deline with reverence. ‘Madam, you have saved me and my career today!’

    By now, the cleaner, who had been full of valiant struggles a minute before, was sitting hunched up on the carpet, face down and refusing to look at anyone. The secretary, who had come in while the struggle was on, took a seat near him and draped his shoulders with his jacket.

    When all was calm again, the permanent secretary had a look of awe on his face but he spoke quietly.

    ‘How did you know?’

    Aunt Deline answered. ‘I didn’t. I was sure that the papers were in the office, but I at first thought that the secretary had them. However, when I spoke with her, I did not see a woman hardened by crime but I saw a face in pain. When I surprised her in the office the first time I was here, I thought she was either deeply unfriendly or deeply troubled. Even now, I am not sure what the source of her pain is as it cannot be just the papers.’

    The secretary sighed. ‘Ma, it is the papers. I was also worried about them.’

    ‘Then you should be happy like the rest of us’, shouted the permanent secretary.

    ‘Yes sir’, the woman replied wearily, ‘but I am not happy about the place where we found them.’ Then she burst into tears.

    We all sat in perplexity.

    Pulling herself together and wiping her eyes, she explained.

    ‘Fifteen years ago, my sister who lives in Zunguru asked me to take her young boy to live with me since I was in the city and could give him a better chance in life. I took the boy and tried my best for him. I sent him to the same school as my children. I fed him the same meals as I did my children. In fact they did everything together, including studying. For some reason, however, my children came out of school with good grades, went on to university, graduated and took good jobs and are now living fine, independent lives.

    ‘Somehow though, my nephew just could not do well in the same academics despite being exposed to the same conditions. I did all I could to help him, including taking private teachers for him, but nothing helped.

    ‘Unfortunately, my sister blamed me. She said I used juju to take her son’s star and distribute it among my children; that’s why they are now doing fine now and her son is languishing.

    ‘After trying everything I could, I finally got him a job in another ministry hoping he would build a career and rise on the job. But he got involved with a bad group and started misbehaving, stealing and all that, and he got sacked. I decided to bring him here right under me so I could keep an eye on him. So, I came to you sir and you gave him a job, and now a fine job I seem to have done. What am I going to do? If he goes to prison, what am I going to tell the mother?’ She started to cry again.

    Aunt Deline was grieved. She hated to see a woman cry.

    ‘Don’t worry, the permanent secretary will be magnanimous. He will not press charges.’

    The permanent secretary sighed and agreed that he would not, but the young man should just tell us how he got hold of the papers because he thought he guarded it jealously enough.

    After a lot of coaxing, the cleaner opened his mouth and explained.

    ‘I had been present when the paper was brought to the office by the boy sent to deliver it. The secretary my aunt had not seen the contents of the envelope before she went to the restroom. While she was away, I quickly looked in the envelope and decided that the papers were very important so I just bid my time.

    ‘Whenever I cleaned the office, I noticed that Oga would make sure his briefcase was near his feet just behind his desk. So, I just watched for the times he went to the toilet and how long he spent there. One day, I saw him go to the toilet because the door was slightly open and my aunt was not around, and since I knew the shape, size and colour of the envelope, it was not difficult for me to get it within half a minute. Before he came out, I had done what I wanted to do and was already back on my seat pretending to sleep when he came to see if anyone was waiting for him here.’

    ‘But why did you take it?’ his aunt asked in exasperation.

    ‘I saw the gambling receipts. They were more important than the other papers. I was going to sell them back to the owner.’

    The inspector spoke. ‘Do you know that blackmail is a criminal offence?’

    ‘And supposing the man killed you instead of paying you? What then?’ his aunt asked again.

    Aunt Deline stood up. It was our cue. ‘I think our job here is done. We should allow the good permanent secretary to get on with his job.’

    The permanent secretary stood up too. ‘I know that if I asked you how you knew that the envelope was on the young man, you would not tell me. But at least let me pay you.’

    ‘Oh, I don’t mind telling you. I was not expecting anyone to be ‘wearing’ the papers; I was expecting to have to lift up every carpet in the place or go through the toilets, but I was prepared to be surprised anyhow so I paid attention to everything.