Saturday, 31 March 2018

Short Story: Death on a good friday

Her death must have been very painful.

The call came after he informed his wife that he would be home for Easter. He looked at the phone with so much disgust.

The air smelt of nothing far from tension. Sergeant Tim had put his men under pressure for four sleepless nights.

Easter Tuesday  

Everyone’s work was at stake: the Inspector-General,  the Commissioner of Police, Tim’s, and that of his men. In fact, their tenure in office depended so much on him finding the killer and bringing him to book –the dead was long gone.

The police men had earlier combed the area before they surrounded a particular house. Tim had earlier put the house on a twelve hour surveillance, because all evidence led them back to the bungalow, which sat at the back of a mansion on Boulevard Street.  The suspect didn’t  make a move since the surveillance. They gathered that she bought the house for him, solely for her personal service. From their investigation, he gathered that it was the trendy thing among women of her status on the Island, because they could not afford to be seen, sneaking about in hotel rooms with their side chicks, like their husbands.

Sergeant Tim gave the order with the wave of his four fingers in mid-air, and some men who were dressed just like him drew close to the house, while those that stayed behind acted as a backup. The case tied all their fate and carrier to the senator’s waistband.

When they got to the door,he could feel the weight of fatigue on his men, and heard their heart pray eagerly for a break in a case that, kept them on their toes for more than seventy-two hours and away from their families for Easter. He knew that some of them only travelled home once in a year or once every festivity period. They could not afford to live close to their family, due to the incessant transfer,  or afford to travel home all the time, because the pay was too poor, and they could not afford it. It was better to send the money home for upkeep.

 

At the count of three, Sergeant Tim gave a heavy kick on the door, it flew open, tear gas followed, and with their face masks on, they took their position, and rushed into the house,  one after the other. Each man was busy, looking for the suspect in one room or the other. Sergent heard Clement’s voice:

“Sir, I think you need to see this.”

He turned from where he stood, and with some effort, he walked to the voice. To his greatest surprise, their nightmare dangled from a rope, and not too far from him, he noticed the bloodied boots that left foot prints, all over the house.

Thursday Night

Sergeant Tim busily puffed out some smoke after the call with his wife; he was always thrown into deep thought, each time he called her. The demand from his work no doubt had put a tear to their fifteen years; both lived a separate life, and each knew what the other did, but cared less. He could not remember spending a full year whenever he was transferred to any place.

Clara came from nowhere and placed her two hands on his shoulders, he knew she heard their conversation, all the time. Clara was a smart one, she knew her place in his life, and didn’t try to be too demanding like the others. He tried to get up, and join her in bed, but another call came through.

“Sir!”

The commissioner’s base voiced blasted at him through the phone.

“We have a serious case on our hands. You must report to the address I sent to your phone, first thing in the morning.”

“Yes, sir!”

The line went dead, and Clara went back into the darkness, just like she came.

 

The Early Mornings

A gloved hand pried the heavy door open. He was still confused on why the commissioner picked him for the case even as he stepped on broken glass. The glass had been separated from a small wedding frame. He picked the frame off the floor and looked closely at it; a man and a woman smiled to the camera. Tim brought the portrait closer, and noticed that it had been tampered with; a rough line was used to scratch the woman’s upper torso. He looked up, and one of his men brought a transparent evidence bag.

Tim surveyed the rooms in the mansion, one after the other; the luxury furniture was turned upside down. It was too obvious that the suspect made away with some goodies. He got to the room where she lay, and thought of how devastated the senator must have felt, when he was informed of his wife’s death.

The drawers in the room had all been forced open. The air conditioner still chilled the room, and the television was turned on. He wondered what must have led to her cruel death. The woman was obviously in her late fifties, but she had the body of a thirty year old.

From all indications, she was pretty. Her night gown was socked in her blood due to the knife wounds. Her death must have been very painful. Tim wondered where her husband must have been, and what he did at the time of his wife’s death. It was the domestic assistant that discovered the body, when she came up to call her madam to dinner. Her Madam never had visitors, but how come death paid her a surprise visit?

The Discovery

Sergeant Tim didn’t know if it was necessary to feel pity for the dead or annoyed. The senator’s wife didn’t deserve to die like a rat? She was too busy with her sugar toy while her husband went about his duties; although he was known to be a popular one with the ladies.

 

She offered her boyfriend so much, but it seemed that he wanted more. He closed her file, drew out his gun, and left to make an arrest.

Written by Udemezue, Oluoma

Udemezue, Oluoma loves to read and write, you can catch her on udemezueoluoma@yahoo.com, udemezue, Oluoma Judith –Facebook,  oluomaudemezue on Instagram, and @Udemezueoluoma on Twitter.

Short Story: Death on a good friday



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