Four hours before the inferno engulfed the city, I sat in a dimly lit corner of A la Carte, my eyes fixed on the man across the table. The stranger had summoned me here, but now seemed to regret his decision. His eyes darted nervously around the room, refusing to meet my steady gaze.
"You called me here," I said, my voice low and controlled. "What's this about?"
The man's hands trembled as he reached for his water glass. He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut, fear etched across his features.
I leaned back, scanning the restaurant. Couples laughed over wine, friends shared appetizers, and families celebrated birthdays. Nothing seemed out of place, yet the man before me was terrified.
Touching my ear discreetly, Oscar murmured, "Team, secure the perimeter. Something's off."
The scared man suddenly thrust his hand forward, gesturing for paper. I obliged, sliding over a napkin and pen. With shaking fingers, the man scrawled a single word: "Tobi."
Before I could question him, the man bolted from his seat, knocking over his chair and startling nearby diners.
As soon as the frightened man bolted from the restaurant, I sprang into action. "All units, we have a runner," I barked into his concealed mic. "Male, mid-thirties, brown hair, blue jacket."
I burst out of the restaurant, MY eyes scanning the bustling sidewalk. A flash of blue caught my attention two blocks ahead. "There!" I shouted, breaking into a sprint.
My team converged from different directions, our synchronized movements a testament to years of training. We weaved through the evening crowd, keeping our target in sight.
The man darted down an alley, knocking over trash cans in his wake. I vaulted over the obstacles, my breath coming in controlled bursts. The alley opened onto a busy street, and for a moment, I thought we'd lost him.
"Sir!" came a voice in my earpiece. "Suspect spotted entering Line C."
I and my team descended into the underground labyrinth, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows. We split up, each taking a different platform. Minutes ticked by, filled with tense silence and searching glances.
After an hour of meticulous searching – checking every train, every maintenance corridor, questioning station staff – we came up empty-handed. The man had vanished like a ghost, leaving behind only questions and a single word: Tobi.
Frustrated and perplexed, I called off the search. "Back to base," I ordered, my mind already racing with theories and connections yet to be made.
Back at headquarters, I pinned the napkin to the evidence board. "Tobi," I mused, staring at the scrawled letters. It didn't fit with any of our current cases or known suspects.
Exhausted and frustrated, I showered and collapsed onto his bed. Sleep had just begun to claim me when my phone's shrill ring pierced the silence.
"Oscar," a frantic voice on the other end. "There's a fire. A big one. In the building close to Femi's place."
I sat bolt upright, adrenaline flooding my system. As I scrambled for his clothes, one thought echoed in his mind: Was this connected to the terrified man and the mysterious "Tobi"?
As I rounded the final corner, my breath caught in my throat. The inferno before me was a living, breathing monster, its fiery tendrils reaching hungrily towards the dark blue sky. The evening air shimmered with heat, distorting the world around me into a hellish dreamscape.
Acrid smoke assaulted my nostrils, carrying with it the unmistakable stench of burning plastic and... something else. Something I couldn't quite place, but that set my nerves on edge. My eyes watered as I stepped closer, the oppressive wall of heat pushing against me like an invisible force.
Through the dancing flames, shadowy figures moved with urgent purpose. Firefighters, their silhouettes distorted by the blaze, battled against the relentless inferno. Their hoses seemed pitiful against the towering flames, like children with water pistols facing down a dragon.
The cacophony was overwhelming – the roar of the fire, the shouts of emergency responders, the distant wail of approaching sirens. Yet beneath it all, my trained ear picked up something else. A sound so faint, so out of place, that for a moment I thought I'd imagined it. A muffled cry? Or merely the groan of weakening structures?
As I edged closer to the police cordon, a sudden gust of wind parted the curtain of smoke for just a moment. My eyes widened. There, in a third-floor window, Icaught a fleeting glimpse of... movement? A face? Before I could be sure, the smoke closed in again, leaving me questioning my own senses.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. This was no ordinary fire. The timing, the location, the nagging feeling in his gut – it all pointed to something far more sinister.
I rushed into the building without thinking twice. The heat hit me like a wall as I approached the burning building. Flames licked at the windows, casting an eerie, flickering glow across the faces of panicked onlookers. My eyes darted from one smoke-blackened window to another, searching for any sign of life.
Then I saw it. A shadow. A figure moving behind the curtain of smoke on the third floor.
"There's someone up there!" I shouted, my voice barely audible over the roar of the inferno.
A firefighter grabbed my arm, his face etched with concern behind his mask. "Sir, you can't go in there. It's not safe!"
I shrugged him off, my heart pounding in my ears. "I saw someone. We have to help them!"
"Sir, no!" Another firefighter tried to block my path, but I was already moving.
The world narrowed to a tunnel of smoke and heat as I burst through the entrance. The acrid smell of burning plastic and wood assaulted my nostrils. I pulled my shirt over my nose, knowing it was a pitiful defense against the toxic fumes.
Stairwell. Third floor. My legs burned as I took the steps two at a time, the heat intensifying with each floor. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes.
The third-floor hallway was a nightmare of flickering shadows and billowing smoke. I dropped to my knees, crawling towards the room. The door was hot to the touch, but not locked.
I shouldered it open, coughing as a fresh wave of smoke hit me. "Hello?" I called out, my voice hoarse. "Is anyone here?"
Through the haze, I saw a figure slumped in a chair by the window. My heart leapt. I wasn't too late.
I stumbled forward, reaching out. "I'm here to help. We need to-"
The words died in my throat as my hand touched the figure's shoulder. It crumbled beneath my fingers, ash and charred bone scattering to the floor.
Horror washed over me, followed quickly by the realization that I'd made a terrible mistake. There was no one to save. There hadn't been for hours.
A creaking sound above me snapped me back to reality. The ceiling was about to give way.
I turned and ran, my lungs screaming for clean air. Firefighters met me at the stairwell, their shouts of anger and relief muffled by the blood pounding in my ears.
The acrid smoke clawed at my lungs as I stumbled out of the burning building, my eyes stinging and watering. I'd been too late. The image of the charred body was seared into my mind, a gruesome reminder of my failure. The firefighters' words echoed in my ears: "He's dead."
My chest tightened, not just from the smoke, but from the weight of guilt and unanswered questions. Who was he? Was it the same man from the restaurant? The one who'd scrawled that cryptic message? Tobi.
I barely had time to catch my breath when a commotion erupted nearby. Through the haze of smoke and flashing lights, I saw her – Temi, struggling against two burly police officers. Her eyes, wide with panic and desperation, locked onto mine.
"Oscar!" she cried out, her voice raw and broken. The fear in her tone sent a chill down my spine, despite the oppressive heat around us. "Have you seen any man who lived in one of the apartments?"
I moved closer, confusion and dread battling for dominance in my mind. "Who? Which apartment?" The words felt thick in my mouth, coated with ash and apprehension.
"Apartment 104," Temi replied, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow cut through the chaos around us. "It was Toby who stayed there."
The name hit me like a physical blow. Toby. Tobi. The scrawled word on the napkin. My heart raced, the pieces of the puzzle crashing together in my mind with sickening clarity. Could it be the same person?
I opened my mouth to question her further, but the officers tightened their grip, dragging her away. Temi's eyes pleaded with me, filled with a terror that mirrored my own rising panic.
"Wait!" I called out, my voice lost in the roar of the fire and the shouts of emergency personnel. But it was too late. Temi disappeared into the crowd, taking with her the answers I desperately needed.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, as the world spun around me. The scared man at the restaurant, the mysterious 'Tobi', and now a fire with a missing – no, dead – resident named Toby. My gut twisted with the certainty that this was no coincidence.
The forensic team moved in, their somber precision a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind. As I watched them sift through the smoldering ruins, a cold fear gripped me. This was just the beginning. Whatever dark plot had started in that restaurant hours ago had culminated in this inferno, and I was caught in the middle of it.
The body on the stretcher wasn't just another victim. Not this time. I watched as Temi's legs gave way beneath her, her usually composed demeanor shattering like glass on concrete. My instincts told me to catch her, but I held back, letting the paramedics steady her instead. This was a crime scene, after all, and I needed to maintain professional distance.
"That ring..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh God, no. No, no, no!" Her scream pierced the morning air, sending birds scattering from nearby trees. "It's Tobi! That's Tobi's ring!"
I signaled to my team to continue processing the scene. "Keep looking for evidence," I called out, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way Temi's anguish was affecting me. "Check every inch of the perimeter."
The morning sun cast long shadows across the crime scene as I guided Temi to my unmarked police car. Her shoulders trembled beneath my touch, and I couldn't help but notice how small she seemed in that moment. Three victims in three weeks, and now this one had struck closer to home than any of us had anticipated.
I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket – a habit my mother had instilled in me years ago – and offered it to her. She took it with shaking fingers, but the tears wouldn't stop. They rolled down her cheeks in an endless stream, catching the morning light like diamonds. Precious, painful diamonds.
"How long did you know him?" I asked, pulling out my notepad and pen. Standard procedure, even though every fiber of my being wanted to give her time to process her grief. But time was a luxury we couldn't afford. Not with a killer still out there.
"Three years," she managed between sobs. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the handkerchief. "We met at MRE, my first race. He was... he was friends with Kiki."
The same timeline as our other victims – all connected to the MRE, all known to Temi. The pattern was becoming clearer, but the picture it painted made my stomach churn.
"Did Tobi have any family in Benin state?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer. Like the others, he was probably alone here, vulnerable.
She shook her head, confirming my suspicions. Another isolated victim, another person whose absence might not be immediately noticed by family. The killer was choosing carefully, methodically.
I closed my notebook, ready to return to the crime scene. We needed more evidence, something concrete to work with. But as I turned to leave, Temi's hand shot out, grabbing my arm with surprising strength. Before I could react, she pulled herself against me, wrapping her arms around my torso in a desperate embrace.
Her tears soaked through my shirt as she pressed her face against my chest. I stood frozen, aware of my team working nearby, aware of the professional boundaries I should maintain. But her next words, whispered against my ear as she pulled me closer, sent ice through my veins.
"I'm scared, Oscar," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I'm so scared."
Those four words melted something inside me that I'd worked years to freeze. My arms moved of their own accord, wrapping around her shaking frame. The scent of her jasmine perfume mingled with the metallic tang of fear-sweat, creating an intoxicating mixture that made my head spin.
But even as I held her, my detective's mind was racing. Was this genuine terror, or an elaborate performance? Could Temi be another victim in waiting, or was she playing a part in this deadly game? The other victims had all been connected to her, all part of her social circle. Was she the common denominator we'd been looking for, or was she being set up?
I found myself studying her even as I comforted her – the way her fingers clutched at my jacket, how her breathing hitched between sobs, the slight tremble in her legs that suggested genuine shock rather than calculated drama. In my six years on the force, I'd seen plenty of performances, plenty of crocodile tears. This felt real. Too real.
But then again, the best ones always did.
I pulled back slightly, my hands moving to her shoulders. "We'll figure this out," I said, trying to inject confidence into my voice. "I promise you that."
She looked up at me then, her dark eyes swimming with tears, and I saw something there that made my heart skip a beat. Fear, yes, but also trust. Complete and utter trust in me, in my ability to protect her. It was humbling and terrifying all at once.
"Don't leave," she whispered, her fingers still twisted in my jacket. "Please, Oscar. I can't... I can't be alone right now."
The rational part of my brain was screaming at me to maintain distance, to remember my training. Three victims, all connected to her. The coincidence was too great to ignore. But another part of me, a part I thought I'd buried years ago under case files and procedure manuals, wanted nothing more than to shield her from whatever darkness was closing in around us.
I glanced back at the crime scene, where my team was still methodically documenting every detail. The morning light had grown stronger, highlighting the cruel reality of our work. Tobi's body was already on its way to the morgue, where he would become another file, another case number. But here in my arms was someone warm, alive, and terrified.
"I'll assign an officer to stay with you," I said finally, trying to find a compromise between duty and the unexpected protectiveness I was feeling. "And I'll check on you personally once we're done here."
She nodded against my chest, but didn't let go immediately. When she finally did step back, her face was a mask of conflicting emotions – grief, fear, and something else I couldn't quite read. Or maybe didn't want to read.
As I watched her settle into the back of the patrol car that would take her home, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something crucial. The way she'd whispered her fear in my ear, the desperate grip of her fingers, the trust in her eyes – it all felt genuine. But in my line of work, genuine feelings often masked deeper, darker truths.
I pulled out my notebook again, staring at the facts I'd collected. Three victims in three days. All connected to MRE. All known to Temi. All found in different conditions. And now Tobi, who'd been more than just an acquaintance, judging by her reaction.
The question wasn't just whether Temi was a potential victim or a brilliant actress. The question was whether I could maintain my objectivity long enough to find out. That moment of connection, that desperate embrace, had shifted something fundamental in my approach to this case. And as I walked back to the crime scene, I couldn't decide if that shift would help me solve it or blind me to crucial evidence.
One thing was certain – I needed to figure out the truth before another body turned up. Because if my gut instinct about Temi's fear was wrong, if I let my growing feelings cloud my judgment, the next stretcher might be carrying her. And that was a possibility I wasn't prepared to face.