Free Treachery in the Yard by Adimchinma Ibe Page A

with calling Okpara but in the end had a better idea: to leak the story to my friend, Kola Badmus, at
The Nigerian Chronicle.
I flipped open my cell. He was on my speed dial. “Hello, Kola. Working hard chasing news?”
    â€œYou can bet on it. How are you?”
    â€œAs lousy as ever. And you?”
    â€œCan’t be worse. My boss says I’m losing my touch, not coming up with enough new stories. He even suggested I take a vacation. Can you imagine?”
    â€œThen you’re in luck.”
    â€œMeaning . . .?”
    â€œI’m going to do you a favor. I have a hot story, about the murder of Mrs. Karibi. It’s an exclusive.”
    His voice perked up. Exclusives always got journalists interested. “What do you know?”
    When I filled him in, he liked it. Liked it a lot.
    Maybe a newspaper article would light a fire under someone.

CHAPTER TEN
    The following morning, around ten o’clock, I walked into my office, a cup of coffee in hand. The instant I set foot in my office I sighed over how little had changed over the past ten years. For me, for Femi, for Nigeria. And for my lousy little office.
    It was just as hot as it was yesterday, as hot as it would be tomorrow. I sipped some coffee, wondering whether I should just turn around and go back to my apartment. At least it had more windows than my office.
    â€œGood morning, lieutenant,” Femi said as I walked in.
    â€œTop of the morning to you as well, Femi.”
    â€œNnadozie from Forensics dropped off a package for you. It’s on your desk. Photos, I think,” Femi said.
    Sweating already, I removed my suit jacket, hung it on the back of the chair, and sat at my desk. The brown manila envelope was sealed. I did not want to think about anything right now exceptfinishing my coffee, but I cut open the envelope, and pictures slid out. Pictures I had taken of Osamu. Or at least I thought it was Howell, as I had not done very well getting his face in focus and in frame.
    â€œNnadozie was going out,” Femi added, correctly reading the expression on my face. “He said it would be better if he dropped off the envelope because he did not know when he would be back.”
    â€œDid he say anything else?”
    â€œHe did say he was glad he wouldn’t be here when you saw what a lousy photographer you were.”
    Okay, Osamu
was
headless in some photos—but really, is it bad to cut off a lawyer’s head?
    â€œHow did it go with Osamu?”
    I showed him the pictures.
    â€œApparently I beheaded him.”
    â€œAre you giving me a heads up, ha ha?”
    â€œI think we’re onto something with Dr. Puene and Osamu.”
    â€œWe know next to nothing.”
    â€œI still think Thompson, our murderer, is working for Dr. Puene.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I haven’t had enough coffee.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œOsamu also has Dr. Puene as a client.”
    â€œPuene and Osamu have the power, not you. Are you ready to roll the dice? What if you’re wrong?”
    â€œIf anyone doesn’t like my style, he can go upriver.”
    â€œThere’s an intelligent response.” Femi cleared his throat. He was smiling, but not very happily. “Is Chief included? What if he doesn’t like your style?”
    â€œChief? What do you mean?”
    â€œI mean the part where you send him upriver.” He burst out laughing.
    The phone rang and I answered it. Chief Olatunji wanted to see me. Immediately. I hung up and put my suit jacket back on.
    â€œGoing upstairs?” Femi asked.
    â€œChief requests your presence, you go.”
    â€œA minute ago, you did not give a damn.”
    â€œI don’t, but that doesn’t mean much, does it?”
    â€œTake my advice. Don’t give the old man trouble.”
    â€œYes, tell me what I don’t know. But what kind of career do I have to begin with? Have you looked at our office lately? What career can I