The Moment of Truth

Chapter 12

Inspector Nkumbe Fabrice Enongene closed from work late that evening and stopped by a bar for a few bottles of beer before retiring to his rented apartment at Dirty South – a neighbourhood just east of the University of Buea - completely fagged out.
     He parked his navy blue TOYOTA CARINA just outside the fence of the compound where he was renting, and dragged his tired body past the gate and toward the right side of the building where his apartment was.
     Feeling both exhausted and a little tipsy, he dropped his black leather briefcase on the verandah of his apartment and fumbled for his keys in his trouser pocket. Finding the bunch of keys, he fiddled with it until he found the right one with which he opened the door.
     Stooping to get his briefcase was so demanding that he cursed under his breath as he got it and entered the pitch dark living room. He moved the palm of his right hand against the adjacent wall to his left, feeling for the switch. He found it after a few seconds’ enduring search, flipped it on and watched his small living room illuminate before his dizzy eyes.
  Next to the front door, to the right, was the door leading to the tiny kitchen; and at the far right wall was the door leading to the bedroom.
     The tiled floor was covered by a green rug on which stood a couch, two armchairs, a coffee table and a small cupboard carrying a flat-screen TV, a DVD player, a decoder and a stereo set.
     On the wall to the far right hung a wooden wine bar with an empty wine bottle and six dusty wineglasses turned upside down.
     He shut the door behind him and flopped down on the armchair facing the TV before flinging his briefcase onto the couch. He leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling the tiredness coarse through his body. Every muscle in his body ached. He needed sleep like a drowning man needed air.
   The living room was a mess: the furniture was covered by a fine layer of dust; a number of documents, magazines and pens were strewn all over the coffee table; and the rug needed a good wash.
     He had neglected his domestic duties ever since he dumped his ex-girlfriend six months earlier after catching her red-handed in her room in bed with a man old enough to be her father. He told her there and then it was over between them without giving her a chance to say a word. He just said his piece and stormed out, slamming the door so hard behind him that it almost fell from its hinges.
     He stopped cooking altogether and was now eating out; he only cleaned his house once a month or so, and could not remember when last he did his laundry.
     He made a mental note to get a housekeeper just before going through the recent developments of the Pentecostal Church Pastors’ case.
     Just after Gladys had tried to get him to take a break, Timothy dialed Lizette’s number to inform her of the murder of her roommate. But from the girl’s tone, it appeared she had been informed earlier by the neighbours. He then told her to report to the station for a statement when she returned to Buea.
     The following day, Timothy went to Bokwaongo to talk with Eposi who rented a one-bedroom apartment with her kid brother. Like Tony, she said that she herself was surprised byBlandine’s recent behaviour, and was unaware of any deal she might have made with the killer. Neither did she know who Pichichi was.
     When Lizette reported to the station two days later, she told them the same thing the others had said.
     They had been dialingPichichi’s phone number all along; yet, the operator kept saying the phone was switched off.That was another dead end.
     Fabrice had never worked on a case as complicated as this one, and he became more interested in it with every passing day.
     As was his habit, he had rarely got enough sleep ever since the Commissioner assigned the case to him, Gladys and Timothy.
   He had submitted a preliminary report on the investigation to the Commissioner who was on their necks for expedited results which he claimed the Governor needed so he could issue a press release to pacify the agitated public growing impatient by the second.
In the report, he stated that the two recently murdered young ladies had been in the killer’s employ to implicate the pastors with the photos taken during lovemaking, which served as leverage for the killer to get the pastors into announcing to their respective congregations the sole legitimacy of the Roman Catholic Church.
      However, in the press release issued by the Governor that morning, he simply said the police was making remarkable progress in the investigation and would soon put the killer behind bars. As for the two recent murders, he said the police was still working on it, and that the public had nothing to fear.
     When Fabrice heard the press release over the radio at the station that morning, he had guessed that the Governor decided to not mention the connection between the young ladies’ murders and those of the pastors so as not to get the public any more worked up than they already were, since they would just put the blame on the Roman Catholic Church, making matters even worse.
     After all, rumour had it that the Governor was a Catholic Christian.
Fabrice struggled to his feet, grabbed his briefcase and staggered to his bedroom which, too, was a mess.
Trudging in, he felt his way to his bed, and flipped the switch before dumping his briefcase on the floor next to his unmade bed. He willed himself to go to his closet and change into his pajamas.
     He then threw himself on the bed, unabashed by its untidiness, feeling now even more tired than ever.
After flipping off the light, he laid his head on the pillow and instantly gave in to the gentle grip of sleep as his eyelids fell heavily over his eyes.
Around two o’clock he woke with a start, cursing under his breath as he adjusted his sleep-ridden eyes to the darkness. This was one habit of his which he hated most. Whenever he woke from sleep during night – which happened often – he found it very hard to get his eyes closed again. It made him wonder whether he was becoming an insomniac.
     He felt on the wall against which his headboard was set and flipped on the light, blinking his eyes to the brightness. He then rolled onto his belly and with his outstretched arm got his leather briefcase which he set on his lap. If he was going to be up for a while, he thought, he might as well keep himself busy.
     He opened the briefcase and fished out the Pentecostal Church Pastors’ case file which he had brought home with him. He got a photo of each pastor in his left and right hand, and forced himself to scrutinize the photos more rigorously than ever before, believing that somehow there was a clue in those photos which they had not yet figured out – a clue which could result in a major breakthrough in the investigation.
     After about thirty minutes of staring hard at the photos – as though waiting for them to develop the power of speech and tell him what the clue was – he finally saw it!
     With wide eyes he saw what had been staring at them all along without being noticed. In a way, the photos had talked to him and granted his wish. Just above Amanda’s breasts in the photographs was a tattoo, and there was another one on the right side of her neck. Likewise, Blandine had a tattoo on her left arm and another on her right shoulder.
     He felt his entire body shudder with spasms of excitement as he recalled with painful vividness where he had last seen such tattoos.
     Now, before joining the police force, he had led a decadent lifestyle in his high school days: hanging around with bad friends, smoking cigarettes and even marijuana; drinking excessive alcohol, whisky and strong wine; and frequenting nightclubs as often as he changed his clothes. At one time, they even insufflated cocaine which one of his friends had procured from clandestine sources.
     He went to the club each night with a different girl, and was what his friends termed “a ladies’ man.” He was even more handsome back then, and was so selective about his clothing that – in addition to the way he swaggered – got the girls practically scrambling for his attention.
     He and his friends frequented a good number of nightclubs in Buea, most notably Las Vegas snack bar, especially when they heard that there was going to be a strippers’ night (a night when strippers perform at a nightclub).
     Now what made him summon this memory of a lifestyle he had finally abandoned after battling with his urges and the peer pressure was the fact that the tattoos he was now seeing in the photos before him were the very same tattoos he had seen on similar body parts of the strippers whom he had seen performing at Las Vegas snack bar many years ago!
     He felt his body shudder with a cold as he came to the logical conclusion that Amanda and Blandine had both been strippers. It was then that everything started making sense. No one would hire just about any lady to seduce a man of God and take photos of their lovemaking without any qualms. The killer would have hired a professional - a stripper!
      However, Fabrice recalled that neither Juliet, Anthony nor any other person questioned about the recently murdered young ladies had mentioned the fact that they were strippers.
     But then, no one would admit such a thing to the police, fearing that they themselves might be implicated in a way, especially when murder was involved.
     So the stripper hypothesis stood.
     Congratulating himself silently for achieving such a milestone in the investigation, he put away the briefcase and, seeing that it was already almost four o’clock, he switched off the light, buried his head on his pillow and waited for sleep to come.