Free The Eyes of Lira Kazan by Eva Joly

Nwankwo continued, “is to force the seller to raise his price.”
    â€œWhat?” said the students.
    â€œIt’s a deal: you sell it to me for fifty per cent more than the declared price, you keep ten per cent and the remaining forty per cent is paid into a Swiss commercial account. And so there you are, without anyone realizing it, you have opened an off-shore account.”
    As he spoke Nwankwo was drawing circles and arrows on the board with a black felt tip.
    â€œYou have to try and think like them. Do everything backwards. Start with a criminal act and build a legal structure around it. They are obsessed with one thing only – keeping the money hidden. That’s the game, everything must be disguised. It’s like a masked ball with us, poor fools, the only ones with our faces exposed. And we have to somehow find our way through it.

    Nwankwo no longer spoke in an even, professorial voice. His need to pour it all out was becoming apparent. The black ink on the board was like bile. The two students remained still, willing him to go on.
    â€œThere’s a Yoruba expression: ‘ Oyinbo su s’aga! ’, which means ‘Before he left, the white man shat on the throne’. Our throne is filthy.”
    â€œWhy did you leave?” one of the students ventured.
    Nwankwo put the pen down, and remained for a moment facing the board, as though he wanted to turn his back on the question. Then he turned round and told his story.
    â€œFinley had given the order to kill Uche. Uche was my right-hand man, but above all he was my friend. We had summoned Finley eight days earlier. He came into my office in a foaming rage. He took the chair we offered him but turned it round with his back to us, as if to say ‘Talk as much as you like, I’m more powerful than you.’ Uche got angry, and coldly asked the governor to turn around, to answer the questions about his bank deposits, but he wouldn’t move. Then Uche got up and pulled away the chair and the governor fell down. Uche had knocked down a man used to gazing down at others from high up, from a heavy chair at the end of a long carpet. The governor was on his knees. ‘Get up!’ Uche shouted, putting the chair straight. ‘And sit down!’”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    â€œI got up and signalled to Uche to calm down. I didn’t want to disown him, but we had to give a bit of dignity back to the governor. We had been much criticized for our methods, and by the opposition as well, and by lashing out like this all we would achieve would be to provide them with a pretext to close us down. I helped Finley up, and I apologized. I know Uche resented that, although he never said so. He didn’t have time – eight days later he was dead. They found him in the boot of his car, parked outside my house. I’ll never forget his face. He looked terrified and completely alone.
It was his loneliness that struck me as much as his actual death. He had told me to go home early to see Ezima and the children. If I hadn’t left him to close up the office on his own, perhaps he would still be alive today. It was all so predictable.”
    In the corridor, Lira closed her eyes, listening to the pain in Nwankwo’s voice. He then returned to his previous didactic tone: “Get hold of the American ruling. It’s very important, jurisprudence is in the process of changing,” he concluded. The two students left, visibly upset, without noticing Lira flattening herself against the wall.
    She tapped three times on the door. Nwankwo was just about to leave. She introduced herself.
    â€œI don’t speak to the press, sorry,” he said, stepping into the corridor.
    â€œThere are just a few things I need to understand—”
    â€œI don’t speak to the press. I’ve got an appointment now.”
    â€œI won’t quote you.”
    â€œPlease don’t insist.”
    â€œI’ve just