''May I please meet with Doctor Ife?''
Inspector Ade leaned over the reception desk, his voice steady but edged with the kind of urgency that came from too many experiences chasing hardened criminals. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with sharp glasses and a name tag reading "Grace," eyed him like he was about to ask for free samples. He sighed inwardly and fished his badge from his coat pocket, flipping it open with a flick. The gold shield gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby, cutting through her suspicion.
Her eyebrows relaxed, and she straightened up, her tone shifting from guarded to almost apologetic.
''I'm sorry, but Doctor Ife no longer works here.''
Ade's jaw tightened. He'd driven across town in the city's traffic only to end up in square one? He leaned in closer, the faint scent of antiseptic and overbrewed coffee hanging in the air.
''When did that happen?''
She tilted her head, tapping a pen against her desk as if rummaging through mental files.
''I think it was almost two years ago. Let me double-check.''
She said, but sounded and acted hesitant
He put the badge on the counter, so she could see it clearly. No harm in reminding her this wasn't a casual chat.
''Can I see the exact date he stopped working here?''
Without hesitation, she spun her computer monitor toward him, the screen glowing with employee records. His name popped up, while Ade whipped out his phone, thumbing the camera app open.
''I'm going to take a picture of this.''
She nodded, her eyes wide, sensing the gravity. She'd probably seen enough cop shows to know this meant trouble was brewing. The receptionist could only nod, her fingers hovering over the keyboard like she was afraid to touch it. Ade snapped a few shots, the camera shutter clicking softly in the quiet lobby. He seemed to pause before speaking to Grace.
''Can I trouble you to print these out for me?'' he asked, pocketing his phone.
She hit print without a word, the machine whirring to life behind her. A moment later, she handed him the warm sheets.
''Here you go.''
''Thank you,''
He said, folding them neatly and tucking them into his jacket. He turned on his heel and stormed out, the automatic doors whooshing open to the humid Redwick afternoon. As soon as he was gone, Grace grabbed the phone, her voice low and urgent.
''Sir, I think we may have a problem. A police inspector was just here asking about Doctor Ife.''
Meanwhile, back in his truck, Inspector Ade slumped into the driver's seat, the leather creaking under his weight. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos, zooming in on the dates. According to this, Doctor Ife had quit exactly one week after those kids died. Alarm bells rang in his head—loud, insistent, like a fire alarm in a crowded market. Something stank, and it wasn't just the exhaust from the idling cars outside. He fired up the engine and peeled out toward the station, weaving through honking bikes and street vendors hawking plantain chips.
As soon as he stepped into the bustling precinct, his partner, Inspector Morka, grabbed his arm and yanked him into a dimly lit corner by the water cooler. The air was hot and smelled of sweat-soaked uniforms. Morka's face was a mask of worry, his whisper harsh.
''Where the hell have you been, Ade?''
Ade glanced around, noting the curious stares from other officers pretending to shuffle papers.
''What's the problem?''
Morka leaned in closer, his breath hot.
''The chief's been asking for you since you missed the big meeting this morning. What the hell have you been up to? You look like you've not been sleeping at all.''
Ade cursed under his breath. He was screwed, and Morka knew it. Chief Dede was a legend—a former Belvaria army commandant with a temper that could level buildings. Strict didn't even cover it; the man ran the station like a boot camp, demanding precision and no excuses.
''Shit! I'm fucked!'' Ade muttered, rubbing his temples.
''That you are,'' Morka agreed, glancing over his shoulder.
''I tried covering for you, but it was useless. I couldn't tell him about the case you're chasing—Mrs. Bems' file is closed as a suicide. He doesn't know you're still digging, and now he's furious. He said to send you straight to his office the second you show up.''
''Shit!'' Ade kicked the nearest door, the thud echoing down the hall.
He ran his hands through his short-cropped hair, frustration boiling over. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one with trembling fingers, and took a deep drag. The smoke curled up, calming his frayed nerves. Four puffs later, he stubbed it out on the floor, popped a stick of gum, and started chewing furiously. Morka handed him a small bottle of cheap perfume. Ade sprayed it into the air and walked through the mist, letting it settle lightly on his clothes. Morka chuckled.
''You and your weird habits, man. Most people just spray themselves.''
Ade shrugged. ''Keeps the smell from overpowering. Wish me luck.''
''You definitely need it,'' Morka said, clapping him on the back before slipping back into the main office.
Ade took a few more minutes, pacing the hallway as colleagues shot him pitying looks. His mind raced—preparing for the worst, like a man heading to the gallows. Finally, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and marched to the chief's door. The wood was scarred from years of angry knocks. Everyone in the bullpen stared, whispering like buzzing flies. He reached for the handle, pushed the door open, and stepped in.
No sooner had he entered than a flower pot came flying at his head. Ade ducked just in time, the ceramic shattering against the door with a crash, soil and shards scattering everywhere. Before he could recover, a heavy folder full of files smacked him square on the face. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he staggered, the papers fluttering to the floor like confetti.
''You fucking idiot! What the hell have you been doing out there?!''
Chief Dede bellowed, his voice rumbling like thunder, shaking the framed certificates on the walls. The chief was a mountain of a man, his uniform straining against his broad shoulders, and his face twisted in rage.
Ade straightened up, tasting blood where he'd accidentally bitten his lip when the folder had hit him. The room smelled of polished wood and the chief's cologne—sharp and commanding.
''Sir, there's so much on the ground, but I—''
''There are so many unsolved cases in the pile! Why are you running around investigating a closed case?'' Dede interrupted, slamming his fist on the desk, making the pens jump.
Ade licked his dry lips, choosing his words carefully. Even if this was his end, he wanted to go out with dignity, not shredded like yesterday's newspaper.
''I found new evidence, sir. It suggests this might not be a suicide after all.''
Dede's eyes narrowed, his face reddening.
''Hand in your badge and weapon. From now on, you're on indefinite suspension. Use this time to reflect and let this case go. Till I call for you, I don't want to hear your name or see your face anywhere around here, understand?''
His voice was a growl, authoritative and final.
''Yes, sir!''
Ade yelled, snapping to attention. He unclipped his badge and slid his service pistol from its holster, placing them on the desk with deliberate care. He took a step back and saluted sharply.
''You're excused!'' Dede turned his back, staring out the window at the city skyline.
Ade pivoted and opened the door, only to find half the precinct huddled outside, eavesdropping. They scattered like roaches under light. He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips, and walked out. Morka fell in step beside him.
''You should be glad it was only a suspension,'' Morka said, keeping his voice low.
Ade turned to him, determination hardening his features.
''I'm not giving up on this investigation.''
Morka sighed, glancing around before shoving Ade into a quiet alcove near the vending machines. ''Are you out of your mind? Do you want to lose your job now?''
''I'm telling you, there's more to this case than meets the eye,'' Ade insisted, his eyes burning with conviction.
''Isn't that just your imagination, though?'' Morka shot back, crossing his arms.
Ade met his gaze steadily.
''It's not, and I'm gathering proof.''
He sighed slowly.
''Speaking of proof, I need your help, Morka.''
''No way,'' Morka said, shaking his head.
''There's no way you're roping me into this. I'm not crazy like you to lose my job over a closed case.''
Ade grabbed his partner's shoulder, squeezing gently.
''I promise you, I wouldn't put you in that position. I'll take responsibility for everything. Please, just help me.''
Morka hesitated, frustration etching lines on his face.
''No, I advise you to take a break and forget about this case. After a few weeks, come back and ask for the chief's forgiveness. I'm sure he'll let you back in.''
''Before you were my partner, you were my friend,''
Ade pressed.
''Now that my badge and weapon are taken, I can only rely on you. I promise this won't bring you any harm. You're the only person I trust enough to ask this favour. Please help me.''
Morka punched the wall several times, the thuds echoing his frustration, his knuckles reddening. Ade stood back, letting him vent. Sweat beaded on Morka's forehead and neck. Finally, he turned, wiping his face.
''Just this once.''
Ade's face broke into a relieved smile.
''Thank you so much. I owe you.''
Morka rolled his eyes. Ade pulled out his phone and sent him the picture of Doctor Ife's resignation date.
''Can you track that person's bank details and find out if they received any huge sum of money?''
Morka zoomed in on the image. ''Why are you looking into this?''
''I have a hunch,'' Ade said simply.
Morka sighed resignedly, then nodded. ''Okay, I'll look into it and let you know my findings.''
''Thank you.'' With that, Ade headed to his car.
Just as he reached for the door handle, his phone buzzed—a notification. It was a video sent in a zipped file format from an anonymous sender. Heart pounding, he played the video. His eyes widened in horror. The footage showed two twin teenage girls, naked and bound, gags in their mouths, ropes tying their hands behind their backs. They knelt on a concrete floor, eyes glassy and unfocused, clearly drugged. They looked familiar, but he couldn't place them yet.
He unzipped the file. The first document detailed a lieutenant general sentenced to death by firing squad for treason. The pages were full of military jargon and accusations. Another file was an invite with two words: 'Spectrum Gallery - Klarity Foundation.'
That was it. His phone beeped again, and a news update of Governor Buike, complete with a family photo, flashed on his screen. That's when it hit him: the girls were the governor's daughters. Ade replayed the video, hand over his mouth. Behind the girls stood a naked man in his late sixties, body sagging with age, holding a whip and laughing like a madman. His face was obscured in a pig mask, but a tattoo on his left chest caught Ade's eye—a gruesome headless horse, inked in stark black lines.
Shocked, Ade slid into his car, mind racing. Should he take this to the governor? Why was this sent to him? There had to be more. He needed to uncover what this Spectrum Gallery was all about.
A FEW DAYS LATER
''Great! You made it!''
Monsieur Alain's voice cut through the chatter, his thick accent never hard to miss. He strode toward them across the marble-floored foyer of his sprawling villa, the evening sun casting golden hues through the tall windows. LED lights twinkled above, in the open air, carrying expensive perfumes from the gathered elite.
He shook their hands warmly, his grip firm.
''Bonjour, Monsieur Alain. Merci de nous recevoir,''
"Hello, Mr. Alain. Thank you for having us."
Amy said, her smile bright as she glanced around the opulent space—walls adorned with abstract art, guests mingling with champagne flutes in hand.
''Tu as une si belle maison,'' she added, admiring the exterior decor and the terrace overlooking manicured gardens.
"You have such a beautiful house,"
''J'apprécie le compliment, Miss Amy. S'il vous plaît, installez-vous confortablement,''
"I appreciate the compliment, Miss Amy. Please make yourself comfortable."
Alain replied, kissing the back of her hand gallantly.
He turned to Tonna with a nod. ''Monsieur Ziko.''
''Monsieur Alain,'' Tonna responded, his tone even.
''The party's in full swing, so please do enjoy yourselves,'' Alain said, gesturing to the lively crowd where laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. As he moved to greet other arrivals, he spun back. ''Oh, and Miss Amy, les biscuits étaient absolument délicieux. You must teach me how to make them.''
"Oh, and Miss Amy, the cookies were absolutely delicious. You must teach me how to make them."
''Ce serait un plaisir pour moi, Monsieur Alain,''
"It would be my pleasure, Mr Alain,"
She replied, raising her glass. He smiled, toasting her before drifting off.
Amy and Tonna wove through the guests, the hum of conversations buzzing like a hive. Amy's eyes scanned the room, spotting potential investors she'd researched meticulously. The party was a goldmine—arranged no doubt by Alain himself. She leaned toward Tonna. ''This is Mr Juan. He leads the Spanish conglomerate Grupo Paraguas, specialising in investments in our sector.''
Tonna nodded, extending his hand. "Hola, Señor Juan.''
"Hello, Mr. Juan."
''Hola, hola, Señor…''
"Hello, hello, sir..."
Juan trailed off, his eyes lingering on Amy with obvious interest. He was in his late thirties, fit as a bullfighter, with chiselled features and a charisma that turned heads.
''Ziko,'' Amy interjected smoothly.
''Sí, Señor Ziko,''
"Yes, Mr. Ziko,"
Juan laughed, a deep, hearty sound. His gaze shifted, but not before giving Amy another appreciative once-over.
''Señor Juan, el Señor Ziko es el director general de Smart Power's Energy,''
''Mr. Juan, Mr. Ziko is the CEO of Smart Power's Energy,''
Amy explained.
That snapped Juan's attention to Tonna, his expression turning from flirtatious to respectful. He shook Tonna's hand with renewed vigour. ''I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Ziko. I've heard of the amazing work Smart Powers puts into its ethics. I'm very pleased. Do you mind if we step aside to talk business?''
''Certainly not,'' Tonna replied, nodding to Amy as they moved to a quieter corner by a grand piano. Tonna glanced back at her, impressed anew by her poise and preparation—she was a force, turning every opportunity into gold.
Juan wasted no time, his Spanish accent clipping the words.
''I'm not one to beat around the bush, Señor Ziko, so I'll go straight to the point. Forgive me if I sound too blunt, but I know of your company. I'm impressed with how consistent you are in giving consumers the best. But recently, I've heard about some troubles, like takeovers, and adulterated goods. Word is you're seeking investments for a new refinery, but your own people seem to be sabotaging you. Keeping that in mind, no matter how much I respect your ethics, this is business. If you want my money, clean house first.''
Tonna's smile was slow and wicked, like a predator spotting prey.
''I appreciate your upfrontness, Señor Juan. And I can assure you, I'm taking care of this matter as we speak.''
Juan nodded, reading the steel in Tonna's eyes. He'd long heard rumours of Tonna's ruthless reputation, and that smile confirmed them. Partnering with Smart Powers could catapult his conglomerate globally. Opportunities like this were rare; he'd longed to meet Ziko, and now here he was. They clinked glasses and rejoined the party, the deal simmering under the surface.
MEANWHILE
''Mom, could you meet me at Tranquil Haven Retreat? I'm on the ground floor.'' Duru's voice was clipped over the phone, hanging up before she could respond.
On the other end, Duru's mother felt a chill snake down her spine. This had Amara written all over it. After talking to Oyinye the other day, there had been radio silence about Amara—meaning she hadn't surfaced yet. But Amara was a clever girl; had she reached out to Duru already? No, she needed to see him and probe gently. Praying she was wrong, she walked to her closet, dressed quickly in a simple pair of trousers and a blouse, and headed to the hotel, her mind swirling with dread as the city lights blurred past her taxi window.