KILLER - Episode 2

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Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - malicious pleasure, Blood gushed through the room, the bathroom, the window, Street, full of knives, spanners and chisels, a devilish killer, apartment, investigation, killer, police.


He moaned pleasurably with his eyes tightly closed and his left hand over her mouth. Ifunanya’s eyes were teary and wide open as she contemplated the likelihood of an escape. Soon, he reached crescendo, twisting and curling up in malicious pleasure as he wriggled off her body. Slightly…just for a moment, his hand slid off her mouth as he lay beside her. He was completely drained. Abruptly, Ifunanya rolled off the bed and made a frantic dash for the door. She did not care that she was stark naked. She just wanted to live. Her assailant rushed right after her. “Hel…” Ifunanya began to shout but his hands came right back over her mouth before she could yell for ‘help’. He tackled her to the ground, covering her mouth and dragged her back to the bedroom. He gagged her firmly by tying a piece of cloth over her mouth.

Eerily, he dug into his bag which had been lying on the floor and produced a knife. He was working furiously and frenziedly in case someone actually heard Ifunanya’s attempted yell. He returned to her and looked her in the eye. “I can’t let you live Ifunanya,” he said to her ominously. She shook her head with all of her strength, begging for her life. “I won’t tell anyone that it is you,” she attempted to say in a muffled tone. He could hardly make out what she was saying because of the gag over her mouth. Without warning, he stabbed her in the chest. Blood gushed through the room, spraying all over him. He stabbed her the second time, and then the third and fourth time. She cried in pain as she rolled on the floor. He quickly walked to the bathroom and wiped himself down with a towel. He returned to the bedroom and felt her pulse. She was dead. He heard footsteps outside. He walked to the door and peered through the door view.

He could not see anything. He listened for a minute or two. He was not sure where the footsteps were going. Then, there was a knock on the backdoor. His heart began to pound ferociously. He tiptoed to the bathroom and opened the window – the same window through which he had entered the apartment. He jumped and ran as fast as he could. “Who is that?” A male voice asked. “I told you I heard Ifunanya shouting,” another voice said. They ran after the figure in black. He ran as fast as he could, but his pursuers knew they might be on the tails of the killer, so they doubled their efforts running with all their might after him. “Killer! The killer is on the run!!!” They shouted as they ran. Some men dashed to the streets with machetes in hand. Hardly any man in the area slept without a machete on his bedside.

“Where is he?” they yelled. “That way!” Shouted the killer’s pursuers. One of them caught up with him. He grabbed hold of the killer’s shirt and attempted to yank him down. He fell over and one of the pursuers tried to hold him, but he stabbed frenziedly at him. It was dark, so he caught him slightly. The pursuer’s heart sank into his stomach. He realized that the killer might stab him to death, so he stalled for a moment. The killer scampered to his feet and made a mad dash for it. They stayed on his toes, not sure how to bring him down if they closed the gap again. He ran like a zebra looking to evade a hungry lion.

Soon, there were several men in the street. When they reached Nzekwe Street, there was commotion. No one knew who the chaser was and who was the chased. “Where is he?” A voice asked “We thought he went that way,” said Ikoro, a thirty something year old man who was among the two neighbors of Ifunanya that started the chase. He was the person that nearly got stabbed by the killer. “We chased him from Owerri Road. I am sure he turned into Nzekwe Street,” said Igbokwe. He was a young father of two girls who lived at the end of Owerri road. “I saw a figure wearing black and on black dashing down O’Connor. He may have gone towards Nzekwe or Moorehouse Street. There is a narrow alley between Nzekwe and Moorehouse. If he took that alley way, then we would have missed him down there,” explained Uchenna, a young man in his twenties who lived on O’Connor Street. They dispersed in frustration, not before calling the police though.

Gbolahan and Uzokwe and their team were shocked to find a badly maimed body of Ifunanya. The next morning, they moved her body after taking several pictures and lifting finger prints from the entire room and apartment. For the first time, they found something that belonged to the killer. He left his bag behind. It was full of knives, spanners and chisels. The Streets of Asata were filled with angry parents who converged to register their concern about the inability of the police to find such a devilish killer amongst them. They marched to the government house at Independence Layout to register their concern with the governor. The governor promised to take swift action on the matter. “This is not who we are. This is not part of our culture. We will not tolerate this!” He assured them. “As I am speaking to you, the state commissioner of police is on his way to my office. All hands will remain on deck until this monster is fished out and brought to books,” he promised.

By evening, the streets of Asata swarmed with uniform and plaincloth policemen. Gbolahan and Uzokwe had been joined by a seasoned investigator, Oifie, assigned to the investigation by the state police commissioner. Oifie was a stubborn investigator who used unorthodox measures where necessary to catch criminals. “You were the last person to see her alive. So, you left and returned at night and killed her,” Gbolahan asked Uzomba, Ifunanya’s boyfriend.  “I did not kill her. I loved her,” Uzomba protested. He was brought in for questioning after they were told that he had been with Ifunanya in the evening leading to her murder. “I am sad and broken over her death, yet I am being accused of murdering her,” he added. “When was the last time you saw her?” Uzokwe asked him. “Gentlemen, leave that guy alone,” Oifie finally said a word. He had been observing the interrogation quietly.

“Why did you say that?” Gbolahan asked him. “Because the poor guy is innocent. Look at him…he leaves in Emene. How did he manage to come back to kill her and returned to Emene that night? He was her boyfriend, so I assume they had their thing going on. Why would he then kill her for sex? Did he murder the other three women too?” Neither Gbolahan nor Uzokwe answered him. “I read through your report. You are right about one thing. The killer lives in the area you have pointed out. Let this young man go please. We need to head back to Ifunanya’s apartment and start our investigation from there. That bag you recovered from the crime scene, I want to look at it. Has anyone seen anyone the same type of bag in the area? The key is around Ifunanya. We need to talk to her friends and neighbors.”

“Tell us what you heard,” Oifie said to Ikoro. They had begun questioning Ifunanya’s neighbors. “I heard nothing actually. It was Chukwudi who heard a shout…he said it sounded like a shout from Ifunanya’s apartment, so we went to investigate. Shortly after we got there, we heard someone jump from her bathroom window so we went after the person.” “Yes, I heard Ifunanya’s voice. It was rather subdued, but for sure, she was trying to shout. If only we had been a few minutes earlier, maybe we would have saved her. I think she was crying for help,” Chukwudi explained.  “Excuse me sir, can I tell you something,” Anulika, one of Ifunanya’s neighbors who had been loitering around chipped in. She was wearing a pair of fitting jeans and a flowery blue top. She stood atop a pair of high-heeled shoes like a mountain overlooking a city. She and Ifunanya were classmates at University. In fact, they had moved from Onitsha to Enugu together to study having grown up together. “Of course you can. What is it?” Oifie asked her. She moved closer, lowering her voice. “Let me speak to you alone, please,” she requested. She had noticed Oifie’s seriousness. He looked like the most senior of the three police officers.

Oifie stepped aside with her. “I think I know who killed Ifunanya,” she said. “Really?” Oifie asked her. “Yes. There is man who lives on Owerri Road. His name is Igbokwe. He had asked Ifunanya to sleep with him several times even though he is married with children…he has two grown daughters. He pestered her very much. He even said that he would not live to see her date someone else. Also, I heard he was out in the street last night. Maybe, he fooled the men chasing him. He has to be the killer, sir.” “You said his name is Igbokwe?” “Yes sir.”
“Do you know his full name?” “Igbokwe Agumba, sir.” “Thank you. Don’t mention this to anyone else, okay?” “I won’t sir.”

The next morning, the three policemen stopped at Igbokwe’s door. “What is going on?” He asked with surprise. He was getting ready to go to work when they arrived. “We would like to ask you a few questions,” said Gbolahan. “About what?” “Where were you last night before joining the chase?” “I was in in my house of course.” “Okay, we would like to ask your wife and children the same question if you don’t mind.” “Why? Am I a suspect here?” “We have to investigate everybody,” Uzokwe explained. “I don’t want you to ask my family any questions.”

“Don’t you want the killer amongst you to be found…unless you are the killer. Besides, how could you have heard the shouts from Nzekwe and O’Connor from here? Did your family hear it too? You need to convince us on how you ended up there from here,” Gbohalan said. “I did not kill anybody. People were shouting…I was outside right on the porch here. I heard the shouts and joined in the chase like any other good citizens. You cannot talk to my family, by the way,” he insisted. Without further question, Oifie entered his living room and shouted. “Who is here?” “Who is that,” Igbokwe’s wife asked. “She was a tall, beautiful woman. She smiled broadly. “Madam, where your husband dey last night…sometime between 8:30 and 9:00?” She paused to think for a moment. “I was at home,” Igbokwe shouted from the front porch. “Gbolahan and Uzokwe shut his mouth with a befitting slap.

“We hereby place you under arrest for thwarting the course of an investigation,” Uzokwe said to him. “He was at home with us,” his wife finally answered. “Madam, I will not hesitate to place you under arrest right now. I have the governor’s approval to do anything possible to find this killer including arresting and torturing you. You must tell me the truth now because I am sure you are lying to us,” Oifie said to her. He wore a frown on his face as he spoke. Fear jumped into her eyes. She ran outside to the balcony to get a good look at Igbokwe. “Are you going to place him in jail?” She asked them. “We have to, unless you convince us otherwise,” Gbolahan replied. “Maybe you too will be going to jail if you keep lying to us,” Oifie added. “He…he was…I don’t know where he was,” she finally said. “Igbokwe, you have been meandering around at night. I have been asking you where you dey go for night, but you would not tell me. Did you do it?” She yelled at him. She moved closer and dumped a hefty slap on his face.

“I did not kill anybody!” He yelled. “Then where were you last night? Because when we were watching NTA News last night you were not here. You came back breathing like a lizard that fell from the tree claiming that you were part of the team that chased after the killer. Are you the killer, Igbokwe?” She asked him. Her eyes were piercing into his eyes in search of anything to tell her that her husband of many years was not the evil serial killer in Asata. “Thank you madam,” Oifie said. “We will get back to you. In the meantime, we have to place him under arrest for further questioning. Please can I look at his room?”

“We have a common bedroom…he and I. Come and take a look.” Oifie looked around the bedroom for anything that might implicate Igbokwe in the murders while Gbolahan and Uzokwe handcuffed him and placed him in their van. Neighbors crowded the area and began to call Igbokwe names. “Ekwensu! (Devil!)” They shouted at him. “I can’t believe it is him,” said a voice in the crowd. “He has a beautiful wife. Why would he be doing this?” asked another voice. “Why are the police not beating him thoroughly?” asked another voice. “Shoot him!!!” suggested a different voice.

STORY CONTINUES...     CLICK HERE TO READ EPISODE 3 

                                                     CLICK HERE TO READ EPISODE 1

Written by:
Victor Chinoo

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Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog: KILLER - Episode 2
KILLER - Episode 2
Nigeria's leading fictional story blog - malicious pleasure, Blood gushed through the room, the bathroom, the window, Street, full of knives, spanners and chisels, a devilish killer, apartment, investigation, killer, police.
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Moofyme.com: An African Literary Blog
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