Today was definitely not Bolatito’s day. She knew she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed when she woke up to eight missed calls from Mama. Bolatito or Tito as she was referred to already had an inkling of what her seventy-two year old grandmother wanted to say and was in no mood to hear it. Hearing a lecture about women being like flowers; bound to wilt at some point in time was no way to start a day that was already looking as hopeful as the situation of things in the country.
Being the clumsiest person she knew, she had stubbed her left little toe against the table as she made her way out of her apartment at the barracks. She also stumbled as she alighted from the keke napep that she boarded from the barracks to the station. Mama was superstitious and would have taken both incidents as bad omen but Tito knew better than believing in voodoo.
She became more miserable as the day progressed, sitting in the poorly-furnished office she was assigned as a Detective Sergeant; listening to occasional radio messages and doing useless paperwork. She was sick and tired of sitting around doing nothing. She strolled out of the office to the reception just as a unit of patrolmen drove away in a van. It was the fact that she saw one of them pull off his uniform before donning the trademark black Tee shirt that the special SARS squad wore that made her suspicious.
The unit that had just driven away from the headquarters was a regular police unit that had no ties with the SARS. Tito wondered how they had gotten hold of the shirts and where they were headed. She had been tempted to follow them discreetly on a bike when a call came in on one of the emergency lines.
She paused and listened, her pulse quickening as she put two and two together. Someone had been murdered. She fought to stay still as she watched the officer who had taken the call scribble down something before ending the call. She was about to ask the officer for more details when the D.P.O. came in.
They all stiffened to attention and his snake-like eyes raked over their forms before he dismissed them with a wave of his hand. His huge gut strained against the buttons that held the front of his light-blue shirt together. His eyes were bloodshot and Tito could smell the liquor on his breath as he questioned the officer who had taken the call. His skin had a particular reddish hue that was a result of years of skin bleaching. He had a strong aversion for Tito because he believed young women should not be detectives. He was one of those men who believed that a woman’s place was in the kitchen and the bedroom.
“Wetin happen?” he queried, his speech a bit slurred.
“Na murder Sah.” the officer who had responded to the call replied.
“For where?”
“Inside Lekki Sir.”
“Those ones no go pay. Na dem go still win case. Na dem be the law.” The D.P.O. pronounced as he sauntered towards his office.
“But….”
“You deaf?! You nor dey hear word?!” he thundered at the officer who drew back, cautiously wiping off the D.P.O.’s spittle that had sprayed across his face.
“If they report us nko? If they put am for internet say dem call us and we no gree answer, na serious gbege o.” the officer explained.
The D.P.O. nodded sagely, the veil of alcohol covering his mind lifting a little to allow him some cognitive function. If he could solve the case, it would bring him fame. He might even get a promotion if he leveraged on media support. Tito watched as the D.P.O. thought about the officer’s words.
“Na true you talk o.” he agreed, his eyes wandering round the room before lighting on Tito.
“Na you go do this work, since you talk say you be detective.” he said to her, his thick lips sneering. “This na chance for you to prove your worth.”
Tito could scarcely believe her ears. Though her features were schooled into a mask of indifference, her mind was in turmoil. How could this man who regarded her with open dislike toss her the first homicide case he was getting in a long time? She could tell that he wanted, or rather expected her to fail at it and that made her more determined than ever to crack the case. She listened to everything he had to say while gears turned in her head.
After saluting him, she got the address and set out with a police photographer and a constable who drove the rickety car the D.P.O. had assigned to them. He made sure it was an old model, which was just a piece of junk compared to the new ones that were recently donated to the force.
Tito could barely contain her excitement as she conversed with the photographer on the techniques he should use in taking the photographs. He was not a trained forensic photographer and his only job prior to this case had been taking pictures of suspects. Tito could tell from his lackluster attitude that she had to be firm with him to get results. She clutched her leather-bound notebook tightly in her hand as she alighted from the car in front of All Seasons Spa.
Beespice scribbles✏. 