Treachery in the Yard (15 page)

Well, how about that?

I watched them walk to the elevators and go into one. From where I sat, I could see that the elevator stopped on the sixth floor.

Minutes later, Chief walked into the lobby. No uniform today. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a fez cap. The outfit was odd for him, and he looked awkward. If you did not know who he was, you would not think he was a senior officer. But it was Chief, all right.

I watched him walk directly to the elevators, and take one to the sixth floor.

Well, how about that?

I sat there for a short while, letting it sink in. That floor was getting crowded. But what I saw next was a slap in the face.

A moment later, Barigha Duncan, supposed boss of the Duncan gang, walked into the lobby. What timing. He also took an elevator. It stopped on the sixth floor.

Well, how about that, indeed?

My mentor was involved with Okpara. And Barigha. Police, politicians, and criminals—meeting privately in a hotel room.

I drank the rest of the wine.

When I walked into the lobby, I looked for and saw what I had hoped: surveillance cameras. Which would provide proof. Proof at least that they were all in the same hotel at the same time. The cameras also seemed to cover the elevators—proof they all went to the same floor.

I approached the hotel manager, showed him my badge, and asked him about the security system, in particular the cameras. There were cameras throughout the hotel. We went into the security office. Soon enough I had confiscated the lobby videotape along with the tapes recorded just now on the sixth floor.

A friend of mine, Phil, runs Global Video at Rumuola. He would be helpful. As I drove to his place, I regularly checked my rearview mirror.

I called Phil on my cell.

“Good afternoon,” his thick voice answered.

“Phil, it's Tammy.”

“Tammy? Long while, buddy.”

“It's dark-clouds time. I need you.”

“Name it.”

“I have some security tapes. I need to watch them, transfer them to digital, and make a few copies.”

“Is this police work?”

“Yes. But it's even worse than that. You don't want to know.”

“Well, come on by then, I'll be here. You piqued my interest.”

“I'm already on my way. See you in ten.”

It did not take that long to reach his shop. I parked my car behind the building and went in through the back door. If I was being followed, there was no point making it easy for them to find me.

Phil was a thin man whose face barely seemed to have room for his wide grin.

“Okay,” he said. “Hand them over.”

“Can I do this myself? Without involving you?”

“No.”

“It would be healthier for you, my friend.”

He looked at me steadily, his grin gone. “You would not know where to begin.”

I sighed. “Okay. But I was never here.”

The grin did not return.

We sat at a console and he loaded the lobby tape. It was not hard to find the shots of Chief and his “friends” entering the lobby and then going into elevators. The security cameras on the sixth floor were particularly significant—we saw each of them enter the same hotel room. Watching my mentor go into that hotel room made me sick. I wanted to close my eyes, to shut the damn machine off, to wipe the memory of the tapes clean. But you cannot stop watching a rushing train become a wreck.

I watched Phil push some buttons and make a digital version of the important sections of the two tapes, then burn some CDs. With his equipment and expertise, it did not take long. When he was finished, he handed me several CDs and a Zip drive, each containing the digital versions of the tapes.

As I left, I saw him checking for the pistol he kept under the counter.

I planned my next move. It was not enough to have Chief on tape, meeting with Barigha and Okpara. I must have proof of his relationship with those two, plus the identity and role of Mr. Calluses. I drove to my bank, got access to my safety deposit box, and put one of the CDs into it. That was my safety net. Then, back in my car, I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Chief's direct cell line. I had no idea what I would say specifically, but I knew the generalities.

“Hello?”

“It's Tammy, Chief.”

“Tammy. What do you want?”

“I have a tape showing you, Okpara, and the young man I ran into leaving your office a few days ago. All meeting together. Made me sick to watch you and your pals, Chief.”

“What pals? What are you talking about?” His “surprise” was not convincing.

“You, Okpara, the friend of yours I saw in your office days ago—and Barigha Duncan. You all met at the Protea Hotel today. The room number was 666. Appropriate, isn't it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Sure you do, Chief. I was there. I saw you. And I saw you again on the hotel security tapes.”

Silence.

I visualized him thinking, quickly sorting through his options. “Don't do anything stupid,” he finally said. “Bring the recordings to me. We will work something out.”

“Chief, you know better.”

“Wise up. You don't know what you are up against. Bring
the evidence to me. I will make it all go away, just as if nothing happened.”

“There are a lot of people dead, including a police officer. I'm coming to see you to settle it all.” I hung up before I could say anything else. Things kept getting worse, but they could not get that much worse. We were near the end. My hope was Chief would pull a terrific rabbit from his hat.

It was not long, on my way to headquarters, before the white Toyota truck appeared in my rearview mirror. I sped up; so did it. I saw Thompson in the passenger seat, Mr. Gorilla driving. Eastern Bypass is always deserted. The first shot shattered the passenger window behind me. They were not about to leave me alive this time. I floored the gas but the Toyota swerved into me, forcing me off the road. My car found a tree. My head and the steering wheel made friends.

The Toyota drove off the road toward me. Thompson and Mr. Gorilla emerged, each carrying an equally nasty-looking pistol. I shook my head, getting my brains back together as Thompson walked to the driver's side window while Mr. Gorilla stood pointing his gun at me.

Some blood trickled down my face, but not into my eyes.

Thompson yanked the door open, grabbed me by the collar,
and roughly dragged me out of my car. I punched him in the gut and he doubled over in pain. Mr. Gorilla stopped me by shoving his pistol between my eyes. “Don't do that again,” he snarled. Then he pushed me against the car and took my pistol from its holster. He looked inside my car. The glove compartment had popped open and the surveillance CDs had spilled out. He opened the door and grabbed them. Now they had them all—except for the one in my safety deposit box.

Thompson was gasping for breath, holding his stomach. He slowly stood, cursed me, and punched me in the stomach, to return the favor.

A cell phone rang, with a
Star Wars
theme. It was Thompson's. He flipped it open. “Yes, sir. We have him and the recordings.” He gave the caller our location. Then we all waited. Me and the two guys who wanted to kill me.

I think the wait was harder on them.

After maybe twenty minutes, a black Ford Expedition rolled up. The same one Howell Osamu had stepped into. The driver stepped out. He held an Uzi. Getting out of the backseat was Barigha Duncan. He looked at me as I stood holding my stomach, leaning against the car, waiting. His two thugs stood on either side of me.

He must have seen the look on my face when I saw him step out of the SUV.

“You never reckoned to have to deal with me. You see, you were interfering with my plans. I set Okpara up to run for the statehouse. And you see, he must win.”

It felt like another blow to my stomach hearing Barigha speak. So Okpara was part of the Duncan gang. Barigha had even more sinister plans. If and when he succeeded, he would become untouchable. It certainly explained the killings.

“I suppose Olatunji called you?”

Barigha lit a cigar instead. The smoke he blew in my face was expensive. I acted as if I was still dazed. They all bought it.

“The CDs,” he demanded, still staring into my face but asking one of his men. Thompson handed him the disks. “Where are the original tapes?” Barigha demanded. He looked at me. “Never mind. We will find them eventually.” He looked around. It was quiet. No witnesses.

A cell phone rang, but no
Star Wars
theme this time. Barigha pulled a cell from his pocket. “Okpara. Hello.” He listened. “Yes, I am on my way. Something came up, but nothing I can't handle. Don't get yourself worked up. No. Okay. Bye.”

I looked at Barigha. “So Dr. Puene was telling the truth all along, and Okpara was lying. Thompson here was never working for Dr. Puene. He's working for you. And Okpara. What will happen now?” I asked him.

“Unlike some, I have no problem with your being dead. In fact, by now I am rather looking forward to it. You will be found dead in your car, I think. A tragic accident.” He sounded like a judge reading my sentence. “You should have driven more carefully,” he said, and then laughed to himself.

“Why kill Femi?” I asked.

“You have your Chief of Police to thank for that.”

“Chief would not do that.”

“Sure he did. Femi saw Olatunji with me. So he was a threat to the whole plan.”

“So who tried to blow up Okpara?”

“My, you want to know a lot, don't you. Is this a bad movie, where everything is summed up at the end? Okay, fine. Somehow Puene had discovered the bomb under his car. Angus was preparing another bomb meant for Puene's house and it detonated prematurely, injuring him. But it all worked well for a diversion.”

“And all the other dead?”

He shrugged.

“What about Wike, Okpara's personal assistant? What threat did he make?”

“His mistake was calling Okpara to say that he had spotted your car around his home. He couldn't keep his cool. Okpara called me to say that Wike needed to be taken care of or he'd give our plan away. Wike was a smart man but he was soft.” He looked at Thompson and smiled. “Thompson, here, on the other hand, is a great kid. I'm proud of him. If he keeps up the good work, he'll head to the top. But enough. I don't have to tell you anything more, detective, except good-bye. I've had enough of you being protected.”

I was glad I had hidden a digital recorder on me. Now all I had to do was stay alive.

“Thompson, he's all yours,” Barigha said. The driver passed his Uzi to Thompson, then he and Barigha turned to leave.

“So long, Tammy,” Barigha said.

“I have other copies. And you still don't have the original.”

“Nice try.”

“Embarrassing for you when someone else sees it.”

“No one else will see it. And if they do, they'll know who their friends should be.”

They all chuckled, and while they were expecting nothing from me, I hit Thompson in the jaw. As he fell back, I grabbed the Uzi.

Once I had the Uzi, it was not so tough. Nothing is that tough if you have an Uzi.

Mr. Gorilla and the driver reached for their pistols but the quick bursts from the Uzi were faster. They fell, as did Thompson. It was not hard. All I had to do was pull back on the trigger. Suddenly
they were dead. Suddenly it was just Barigha Duncan and me. He reached into his jacket for his own gun but stopped as I leveled the Uzi at him. I could have shot him. I almost did. Instead, I gave him firsthand knowledge of what it felt like to be punched in the stomach.

He writhed on the ground for a while, surrounded by ex-employees who had recently suffered an abrupt termination. I took the CDs and threw them into the Explorer. Then, getting a pair of cuffs from my car, I hooked him up to the steering wheel of my damaged car. I took away his cell phone.

“Where are you going? You can't leave me here like this,” he shouted at me.

“Sure I can. I'm borrowing your SUV. I have an appointment with Chief Olatunji. Don't worry. I'll tell someone you're here.”

I got into his car and drove off, leaving him surrounded by death.

I made one call on the way. When I arrived, Stella was not there. Chief's front office was deserted, but his door was open. From inside I heard him say, in that deep voice, “Come in, Tammy. I've been expecting you.”

I thought I heard a tinge of pride in his voice, pride that I had turned up alive. He had taught me well.

I walked into his office. He sat behind his desk, his hands folded over his stomach, looking at me.

We just stared at each other for a while. There was no need for talking.

Finally, I said, “I have the evidence, sir. The tapes showing you, Barigha, Okpara, and your young friend. I never got his name.”

“George Minima.”

“Who is he anyway?”

“Okpara's campaign manager.”

“Hmm. I guess he's probably going to jail with the rest of you.”

“You think so?” His eyes were unwavering. So were mine. “How does one million naira sound?” he asked.

“I don't care about the easy life, Chief. You disappoint me. What do you think your antigang crew would think? And please don't tell me that meeting with those criminals was part of your police work. No one would believe that.”

“Everyone cares about the easy life.”

I thought more. “Maybe. Okay, how does three million sound instead?”

“Two.”

“How about two and a half?”

He blinked, then frowned, realizing he could not buy me.

“You wanted me dead, Chief.”

“You have it all wrong. I never wanted you dead. That is why you are still alive. Port Harcourt depends on pretending, Tammy. I do a lot of good as chief of police. I turn my eye to the rest. Someone has to balance the interests of the citizens against organized crime and the oil companies. Tammy, I kept order in Port Harcourt.”