Silhouette

LIII

Somewhere on the fifth floor of the Hilton Hotel, Janette Lincoln sits with her back to the bed frame, staring at the long trails of water on the glass windows, listening to the sound of the deluge outside and waiting for a break, a respite, a stroke of sunlight amidst this bone-deep gloom. She shivers as the air conditioner kicks on followed by a slight glitch in the hotel's electricity. It has been cold all day throughout the rainfall and she really should switch the air conditioner off as the room is getting unbearably cold, but she can't bring herself to stand up and do it.

She feels herself sinking into the drab reality she was living back in London shortly after Harry's suicide. Now she realizes that coming to Nigeria wasn't going to solve the problem, she was only postponing it. Diving into work was a common way people tried to run away from dealing with grief. She should have seen this coming; after all she had dealt with this issue with many of her patients.

Now, at 49, with age hardly by her side, she feels rudderless and out of depth. She outlines the choices before her—stay and catch this serial killer or go back to London and the monotonous world of the academics.

Janette very much intends to go through with her first option, but the serial killer case is proving to be a tough nut to crack and she runs the risk of her funds running low. Though Michael has been paying for all her expenses since she arrived, she likes being ready for worst case scenarios. And though she won't admit it to anyone, Janette is obsessed with this case.

She looks at the pile of papers at her feet. Dave Coker's life rendered in print—his birth certificate, university transcript and military records. The last couple of documents puzzle her. Dave Coker's military records are heavily redacted, large swathes of black dashes cover most of the papers. Janette had tried calling Michael to enquire about it but his secretary announced he was in a meeting.

Janette has never been conflicted over a case as she has been with this. Here was a prime suspect who fit largely into her profiling and neither could he be caught in the act nor could he be confronted and questioned. He was a war hero and a good detective and they proved sufficient covers for him. Janette has had to question her directions every step of the way. She had been so close to catching him in the storm drain days ago, she had even heard Bifouma scream, followed by a sound of gunshot but even though there was only one way in and out of the storm drain, they had been unable to find who pulled the trigger.

A sound pierces the thick cloud of her thoughts. She turns around, confused, then she remembers the cell phone she bought just days ago. Janette scrambles to her knees and onto the bed. She brushes aside rolls of the bed sheet, brown folders, papers, photographs. Only a handful of people have this number. And if it is who she hopes it is...

Janette locates the phone. Her heart pounds in her ears. "Hello," she answers.

The deputy commissioner's halting voice fills her ears. "Er... You said I should call you if I notice something fishy and I think... This really looks bad. I mean... You may have been right..."

Janette holds the phone tight to her ears. She closes her eyes and silently hopes it is what she hopes for. "Mr Madueke, can you tell me what has happened?"

The line goes silent for a while and then Madueke's voice comes back stronger, as if he's made a decision. "Earlier today, one of my officers reported that an informant told him he witnessed Bifouma being dragged away by someone. And this someone matches the detective's description."

"Will that be enough to call Dave for questioning?"

"That is not all. I am currently at Sevhage with a squad and before me are the bodies of the detective and a killer we have been trying to catch. I ordered Dave to go home after the ordeal he has gone through today, but it seems he disregarded it and came after this killer all by himself."