Oscar
It was Friday and it wasn't like I had grand plans for the weekend apart from questioning those at MRE. The moment the van pulled over, we all got out.
I made my way through the garage, each step deliberate and cacophony of pneumatic wrenches and revving engines. The air was with the scent of motor oil and hot rubber — a pungent reminder of the raw power these
machines possessed.
The garage was a labyrinth of metal beast and their keepers. Hoods were propped open like the gaping maws of predators, their insides a tangle of hoses and chrome hearts. Mechanics moved with surgical precision, their hands smeared
with grease as they wielded tools with an almost religious reverence.
I paused beside a sleep racer, it's bodywork gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Stickers boasting performance parts companies adorned it's flanks, and I could feel the residual heat radiating from its chassis. This was more than just a car; it was testament to speed and the relentless pursuit of victory.
Everywhere I looked, the evidence of human endeavour meshed with mechanical prowess. And yet, somewhere among this ordered chaos lay clues to a dark deed — the murder of one of their own.
Outside, the roar of engines was a constant backdrop. The whine of motorbikes executing tight turns on the track cut through the air, each lap another round in their high-octane ballet. They were blurs of colours
and sound, streaking past the open garage doors in a display of speed that ordered on recklessness.
I turned back to the garage, to the task at hand. I walked past the row of pristine racing helmets resting on the shelf, each one bearing personalized emblem of its owner.
Approaching the pit area, I eyed the various computer monitors displaying real-time data feeds from the bikes out on the track. The place reeked of adrenaline and testosterone.
"…Kiki and Temi weren't close from the very first day Temi started racing. Although, unlike Temi, she didn't hate Kiki; Kiki was just jealous of her and took the chance to hate her." One of the workers said softly
and sighed.
I squinted my eyebrows nodding to his explanation, "Jealousy? Why was Kiki jealous of Temi?" I asked out of curiosity about the two.
"Last year, everyone saw that Temi won the interstates race but the trophy was given to Kiki…"
"Why?" I cut in, I needed further explanation for that petty act.
"Temi might not parade her wealth, but one can know when a person is a millionaire or a billionaire from his or her humility. I mean,
that's how Temi is. She gives and doesn't expect back. Kiki took advantage of that kindness, bribed the judges to announce her winner that Temi had violated a rule. Everyone knows about it…" Another young man said looking up from the motorbike he was spraying, pushing his glasses up with an index finger.
With the amount of information I knew about them, one would think Kiki was bad, but that was far from the truth.
Well, perhaps not exactly far since I knew not only Temi had an unsettled score with Kiki. Mr. Ekong was the closest friend Temi had, even though we'd never crossed paths except handling his murder case.
From the looks of it, Temi looked like she could barely hurt anyone but unbeknownst to people looks do kill.
I, however, had a hunch that the answers we sought were hidden on the upper level, in the private quarters of the enigmatic Temi. She'd never been one to attract attention to herself, but then again, neither had the
infamous foxes in the fables.
Creeping up the stairs, the steps creaking under my weight, I inhaled the aroma of bleach, the sharp scent stinging my nostrils. Temi's room was exactly as I'd expected—meticulously clean and organized. Every item in its proper place, as if a team of OCD-ridden fairies had just left. Frowning, I
began my search, my eyes scanning each inch of the immaculate space.
The first few drawers I checked revealed nothing out of the ordinary—clothing folded with military precision and a few pieces of jewelry, each resting on its own velvet cushion. But the more I searched, the more I
began to feel like I was missing something, like a specter in plain sight.
Moving on to the bathroom, I turned the knob, bracing myself for the scent of florals or citrus that usually greeted me upon entering a woman's sanctum. Instead, my nostrils were met with a pungent cocktail of
bleach and some other harsh chemical. My senses on high alert, I flicked on the light switch and gasped.
The pristine porcelain sink was speckled with crimson droplets, just visible against the stark white background. My heart pounding in my ears, I knew that I'd found my first real clue. Kneeling down, I carefully
picked up a single drop with a cotton swab, sealing it in a plastic evidence bag.
As I straightened, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a chill ran down my spine. In that moment, I knew two things to be true: Firstly, I wasn't alone in this house of secrets. Secondly, the killer was closer than I'd ever imagined.
The narrow stairwell echoed with each step I took, the silence broken only by my quickening breath. The musty smell of age and neglect hung in the air, as if the building itself were a living, breathing beast, exhaling its secrets into the dimly lit space. I was alone, or so I thought. The stairwell
chased me, its concrete walls closing in with each step I took.
No CCTV cameras here, I told myself, a small consolation in the face of the growing unease that enveloped me. The elevator's confined space had felt suffocating, and the stairs had seemed like the safer choice. Now, I wasn't so sure.
Finally, the door to the security room loomed ahead, its dull sheen a beacon of sorts in the sea of shadows that had become my life. Fumbling with the doorknob, I let out a shaky sigh of relief as it swung open. The room was empty, but the monitors flickered to life as I stepped inside, bathing the
small space in a sickly green glow.
I scanned the screens, my heart pounding in my ears, until I found the one that showed the MRE's entrance. The footage was grainy, but there she was, Temi, striding purposefully out of the building at the exact time she'd claimed. But it wasn't her that made my blood run cold.
In the shadows of the alleyway across the street, a figure lurked. It was tall, imposing, and shrouded head to toe in a long trench coat. A hat obscured its face, but I knew. I just knew that whoever—or whatever—it
was, it had been watching her.
My skin crawled as I realized that perhaps we hadn't been the only ones tailing Temi.
"Hey, you weren't supposed to be here!" A voice startled me, and I spun around, fists clenched. The security guard, a rotund man by the name of Jenkins, eyed me warily. "I thought I recognized your shadow," he grumbled, relaxing only slightly. "You're here about the footage, right?"
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Jenkins sighed and sauntered over to the monitors, tapping a few keys on the keyboard. "Here," he said, jabbing a sausage-like finger at the screen. "See for yourself. She left the MRE alone, just like she said."
I exhaled, but the relief was short-lived. The figure in the alleyway lingered in my mind, its presence like a bad omen. I thanked Jenkins
and made my way back down the stairs, my footsteps echoing off the walls.
~~~~
Mmenim's fingers danced over the keyboard as he initiated the trace on Kiki and Ekongs's final call, his eyes flickering with an intensity that mirrored the urgency of our investigation. The computer screen cast a pallid glow upon his eyes, etched with determination. Temi had known Kiki in passing enough to od in the corridor, exchange brief smiles. But now, Kiki was just a name in case file and a voice in a haunting last conversation.
"Got it," Mmenim muttered, leaning closer to the screen. The call log sprawled before us, a digital footprint of Kiki's last days. One entry snagged my attention — a two year silence between Kiki and Temi, shattered only hours before the murder. My forehead creased as I studied the anomaly. Was it
really cybercrime or just …. Revenge killing?
"Look at this," Mmenim beckoned on us. "Two years of quiet, then a sudden call that lasted for twelve minutes. You thinking reconciliation or a cry for help?"
"Or a setup," James replied, my gut twisting at the thought. James eyes narrowed as he analyzer the call log. "Most perps call their victims before attacking, first, to know their location, second, to see if it matches
with how long they can kill, clean up the scene and hide the murder. The killer's
MO suggests a calculated approach. They likely called Kiki to confirm her location and estimate the time needed to commit the crime, clean up, and dispose of the weapon.
James studied the timedrive data. "The 15-minute window from MRE to Kiki's house is surprisingly convenient. It's almost as if the killer knew exactly how much time they had to work with."
I looked at Mmenim, his gaze turned introspective. "I wonder if our killer is trying to send a message. The precision and speed suggest a high level of planning and control."
Our contemplation was cut short as the forensic examiner, Dr. Fatima, entered with a folder thick with ominous promise. She cleared her throat, drawing our full attention.
"Kiki's autopsy results," She said, laying the document open on the desk.
I scanned the report, devouring the clinical details that painted a picture more harrowing than any crime scene photo. My eyes narrowed at the description of rigor mortis.
"Paralytic agent in her blood stream," Dr. Fatima pointed out, tapping the paper. Enough to immobilize but not to kill. She could feel everything…. Until she couldn't."
"Strangulation." I uttered, my voice hollow as I read the corresponding section.
"Exactly," confirmed Dr. Fatima. "But there's more— see the faint impression on her neck? Our killer wore gloves. No prints left behind."
"Except for the ones they wanted us to find," I interjected, my mind piercing together the gruesome tableau.
"Indeed." Dr. Fatima nodded gravely. "The throat was slit post mortem. It is a diversion, meant to confuse the time of death and contaminate evidence."
"Covering tracks by creating a false trail." I concluded, my eyes darkening with realization of the killer's meticulous nature.
After a long, grueling day of questioning yielded nothing but dead ends, I finally settled in with my team, exhausted and defeated. As the hours ticked by, our conversation dwindled.
Just as we were about to call it a night, a sudden, eerie stillness fell over the room, like a held breath. And then, without warning, a strange call came in, shattering the stillness and sending a chill down my
spine. I hesitated for a moment before answering. As I lifted the receiver, against
unfamiliar voice whispered on the other end, sending my heart racing and my instincts
screaming to beware.