OSCAR
Two hours in the helicopter made my body soar. We reached the T-junction, and the police cars rolled in on a straight line, stopping in front of a luxurious building. Stepping out of the van with my team, we surrounded the building. The building was a market of activities at 4:36pm; two police vans along with three police cars occupied the front of the house and an ambulance. Yellow police tape trailed around the house limiting the number of entries to avoid tampering of evidence and the body.
I walked around the room, my eye skimming over the turned on TV, the scene was too clean for her to have slit her throat.
I approached a uniformed officer in the corridor, "What happened in here?" I asked.
"The afternoon cleaner found the deceased on the chair just like this; eyes on the television. She said she called her several times but no response not even a moment then found blood on the dead's tracksuit." He immediately filled me in.
I waved my hand at Osita with his camera who immediately showed up beside me. We halted at the scene of murder which had yellow tape marked. Osita lifted the tape for us to cross over. I blocked my nose after sniffing the stench of fresh blood.
"God," Osita exclaimed. The light from his torch presented a clearer view of the slit throat.
The victim was sitting up straight, her eyes shot, blood dried on her lips and chin, her overall was bloody and her face was pale. The outfit she wore gave me the instinct that she was an athlete.
I went around the house, walking slowly and hoping to find something. Closer to her bedroom, I heard a phone ding. Carefully I peeked around the room pulling out my gun and a flashlight, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The beam shone over the well laid bed then I sprinted for the phone. It had the deceased's picture as the wallpaper.
Red and blue lights glowed from inside the house behind the curtains. I paused at the doorway and stared at the maid who found the dead body and had called. Her eyes were bloodshot, and had dark circles. Her structure was weak, and her hands shaking from the trauma.
Osita stared. His camera dangled hanging around his neck as he took it in his gloved hands placing the camera to his right eye. He captured another shot of the body. Cases like this mesmerized Osita, one of the reasons he joined DMS.
"Osita, what do you think about the scene?"
"Firstly, from my sound knowledge and wide experience, looking closely, the room is very neat. Everything is arranged, no blood stains is found anyway apart from the body of the dead. Additionally, nothing is missing as if the killer didn't want anything but murdered her with intentions or as a warning."
There was no change in Osita's expression as he kept on examining. I picked up a picture from the TV stand and placed it back at its position. "Secondly, there were no signs of break in or struggle between the victim and her killer. It's like the killer was clearly allowed in."
I was curious and also perplexed. Osita had given a half-accurate analysis so I couldn't fully agree. Maybe her smartphone might have answers.
Unexpected though, as if Mmenim, our tech gee, read my mind, he spoke up. "I agree with Osita. However, the phone should have more information. Probably her last caller and the person she texted last may lead us somewhere."
I snapped back to reality as I handed the phone to Mmenim who stuck out his gloved-hand. He lowered his head to look at it for a while before the slightest grin crept out of from the left corner of his mouth.
Mmenim said, "According to her phonebook, by 12:59pm today, she withdrew cash with her card but…"
"But no cash is seen on her." Osita completed.
"Exactly. So the killer did take money from her but from where and how should be the question."
This person was careful with his movement to avoid getting caught.
Mmenin's eyes widened as he scrolled through the deceased girl's last call log. Kiki's phone revealed that her final conversation was with a number saved as "Temitope Ida" with a heart attached. The heart icon denoted a special connection. Mmenim, without delay dove into the girl's facebook account linked to the SIM. He narrowed his gaze as he found a match, the profile picture sporting a charming smile and a caption that read, "Love is all we need."
Upon tapping the messenger app, my heart skipped a beat. Kiki's last message to Temitope, timestamped just less than an hour before her untimely demise, sent chills down my spine: "I need your help. I'm scared. Someone is following me." and Temitope's reply rung an alarm, "I'm with you."
TEMI
I had lost track of time because of the fleeting challenge with Kiki and the long stay at my room. Checking my wrist watch, it was five minutes after six in the evening. There were few cars in the parking space at MRE, I opened my car and hopped in. My heart almost jumped out of my mouth.
I hadn't cleaned the blood that soaked my overall, but I was still scared, scared of dying at twenty-four. In my dysphoria, I wanted to be happy, live life to the fullest, and continue to help the poor. And just like that, tears were rolling down my cheeks.
I held my breath as I checked my car for my bag containing my gray skirt and yellow blouse. After looking around to make sure no one saw me, I took off my bloodstained overall staring at it for a moment before stuffing it in the bag and kept it at the backseat. I hit reverse, turned onto the road leading out to the main road.
~~~~
A sudden wave of shuffling hit the front of my house as a small group of men in black SWAT vest, black trousers and helmets begathered my car, I couldn't see their faces.
"Police?" I said to myself as I hastily opened the door of my car open and stepped out. "How can I help you please?"
One of them walked forward, probably the Head—I couldn't lie but they were so so tall and well armed. He made his way over to me pulling off his helmet melting a little of my fear and worry.
"Temitope Ida we need you to follow us to the station." The head responded looking me up and down and scoffed.
Unsure of what to say or how to react, I reached into my pocket and took out my phone with a grunt. "Excuse me, why should I?" I asked.
"Um…regarding the murder of Kiki Tunde. A Yoruba woman." He explained though not detailed. "Search her car."
Most people would have cried after hearing that, I didn't, guess I'm not most people. "Do you have a warrant?"
He showed me the ink-stained paper. Oh
I basically entered a tactical armored vehicle and my visit to the station… it should better be their bad for carrying an innocent person.
I frowned skeptically when I realized I could not see the faces beneath the helmets, I lifted my arm to wave at the rock-seated person before me. This was so cool.
"I'm not the one that killed Kiki— she was also bike racer." I explained even though I was asked to sit quietly. "It's uh… a mistake."
The Head scoffed. "Quiet," He dismissed.
I frowned, annoyed. "I can't, when I'm sitting in a van with… with men."
No one answered me and I wasn't just planning to stay quiet when I wasn't given attention. "I know I'm not the first person to enter this," I continued talking. Jail was the last place I wanted to be.
My disturbance seemed to not have an effect on them. I could somehow feel all helmets on me. The leader leaned closer to me.
"The only thing I want from you is the truth of your whereabouts. Will you stop thinking about going to jail yet?"
"Yet?" He read my mind.
"Aye, if you're found guilty of the murder."
"Slitting throat," One of covered faces said, pointing to his neck. "Then arranging the body back in front of the TV."
I shook my head, a look of amuse on my face. "I couldn't have done that. Ahem. I'm just returning from MRE." I said confidently.
With a heavy sigh, the leader shook his head. "All right, if you say so." His phone beeped, sooner the van came to a halt. "head out everyone."
One of them pushed the heavyweight door open and then, one by one they marched away on a straight line.
It wasn't just a station, but more of a military—structured—advanced academy. This place was my version of tech heaven. It wasn't because of the drones flying around, the shooting from one corner, the fighting or March past. It was that such a place existed in Nigeria.
"Stay close," Mr. Quiet said.
Everything about this place screamed awesome, from the entrance the automatic door scanned me. This was the last place I thought was established.
We fought our way to an empty office, led by him. For some reasons, I wanted to ask questions: were they robots, or were they Androids or AIs but Mr. Quiet would just raise an eyebrow and ignore me.
Sweat pickled my neck, soaking into the yellow blouse. My hair was rough. The light on the station corridor was bright, the air was filled with tension. My hands were stuffed in my pockets as we passed their labs in an empty room.