Murder At Midnight Read online

  MURDER

  AT MIDNIGHT

  MURDER

  AT MIDNIGHT

  JOHN UKAH

  THE FEARLESS STORYTELLER HOUSE EMPORIUM LTD

  MURDER AT MIDNIGHT

  by John Ukah

  Copyright © 2016 John Ukah

  Cover design by Godson Okeiyi

  Published by THE FEARLESS STORYTELLER HOUSE EMPORIUM LTD

  Distributed by Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-978-54707-1-0

  John Ukah is a seasoned banker and Associate of the Institute of Capital Market Registrars (ACMR). He is a graduate of Business Administration from the University of Benin, where he was listed as University Scholar. He also holds a Masters Degree in Business Administration (MBA).

  Murder At Midnight is his first book.

  CHAPTER ONE

  BACK TO OBUDU

  It was in late November after I suffered a severe case of typhoid fever, that I decided to visit Kinging Guest Lodge. I needed to rest. I had overworked myself prior to the illness that had kept me down for about two weeks. For me, visiting Kinging Guest Lodge in the Obudu Ranch Resort of Cross River State is always like coming home.

  I had visited the Lodge earlier in the year; if my memory served me well, it had been in January. The area is reputed to have the most clement weather in the country. With the beautiful beaches, gardens, water parks and leisure spots, the Obudu Ranch Resort is a haven for tourists. The springing up of guest-houses that boast decent facilities and affordable rates, has also turned the place into a holiday-maker's delight.

  Some people come here on doctors' orders, to recuperate from one ailment or the other.

  Yet, not all my visits have been refreshing. In fact, one could argue that given some of my experiences, I ought to stay away.

  During my previous visit, two of the guests died at the Lodge. One, a very old man, of natural causes; the other who had died on the same night, committed suicide.

  I had been a member of the Nigerian Police Force at the time. I resigned in May and went into private practice.

  I was unsure what kind of persons I would meet at the Lodge this time. I also wasn't sure what I would actually spend my time, doing. But I was determined to enjoy my stay.

  The Lodge itself was an imposing, white, one storey building with wide windows on both floors. It was secluded by a high-walled fence. The style of service was quite old-fashioned. Guests were treated as if they were members of the same large family, with meals served to everyone at the same time.

  Ayuba Baba, who ran the place with the help of his wife, Amina – who is probably the best cook I know – came running over to help me with my bags, as I paid the taxi-driver who had brought me. He was a fat, middle-aged man of average height and was dressed in a traditional flowing, white robe and headdress. He had a chubby face, a cheerful disposition and very kind eyes.

  “How good to see you!” exclaimed Ayuba. “You are welcome!”

  “Thank you very much,” I responded warmly, as he picked up one of my bags and we made our way inside.

  “How is the Lodge?” I asked.

  “Ah, business is slow. That is the problem now,” he replied. “I have only seven guests, which is the problem now.” I had long discovered that Ayuba was in love with the word now.

  “I’m sure it will pick up,” I encouraged him, spotting four guests who were sitting around a white table in the lounge and watching Michael Jackson moonwalk on the television.

  “Father Lord!” exclaimed one of the men, getting up quickly and almost upsetting the table.

  I recognised him immediately. His name was William, but he was called Willie by his friends. He had also been a guest at the Lodge during my last visit. He was a huge man with a round head, which was flat at the back. He had a high forehead, with naturally arched eyebrows that made him look like he was permanently questioning. There was a deep cleft in his chin. He had said back then that he fasted every Saturday, had never been seriously ill in his life, and never needed to take medication. I could not help envying him now, as I had lost count of the number of tablets I had swallowed in the short period that I was ill. I had become accustomed to seeing him with the enormous Bible he carried in his right hand and the crucifix hanging around his neck. He had also told me back then, that he was an Assistant Pastor in one church named Advanced Believers Love Chapel. It appeared that life had been treating him kindly since our last meeting, as he was much fatter than I recalled. He reminded me of a pig I had seen in a children's cartoon.

  “Pastor Willie!” I exclaimed and I went over to shake hands with him.

  “What a coincidence that we should meet here again!” said Willie. “How is the Force?”

  I explained to him that I was now into private business.

  “I see,” he said, clutching his Bible. “I’m sure it is the Lord’s doing. All things work together for good, for those who trust in God.” He then introduced me to the three other men, who were seated at the table. I didn't realise then, but I would come to know them intimately.

  First, I shook hands with Tonye Briggs; he was a short man with a large square head, a thick neck, bushy eyebrows, small inquisitive eyes and a big flat nose. He also had a square chin and his fair skin was unusually smooth. He looked biracial. I would discover much later that his conversation never veered away from his complexion, and that he spent a considerable amount of time admiring himself and strutting around like a peacock.

  He was actually a dull kind of fellow. He never got the gist of anything you told him, unless he had asked some rather silly and pointless questions, prompting you to repeat yourself over and over again. I think it took him about a week to understand what took normal folk a minute to understand.

  Tonye also had a rude manner of staring at people; his brows would be drawn together and his mouth slack open, and it would be obvious that he did not care whether or not anyone was aware that he was staring. He did this while shaking hands with me. I took an immediate dislike to him.

  Next, I shook hands with John Brad. He was of average height and build, and always wore a disapproving frown on his face. He seemed withdrawn from everything happening around him. I would later remember that I never ever heard him whistling or singing, and I never witnessed him getting excited over anything. His arms always hung limply by his sides as if they were mere appendages whose use he had failed to discover. He moved in a dull, stiff and sickly manner, as if he was a ghost, or was suffering from some internal ailment.

  I never really took a liking to him, but he turned out to be the kind of person who wasn't bothered about something as mundane as whether or not others liked him! Yet, I made a point of talking to him because I like cultivating friendships and investing in people. Besides, you never know when they would turn out to be be useful.

  I would also come to learn that John took the adage cleanliness is next to godliness to heart. He was a paragon of neatness; he took great pains to keep his belongings and person, spotless. He even bathed thrice, daily! His cleanliness and apparent love of water reminded me of a swan.

  The third man was Philip Newman. Although he looked older, Philip was in his late twenties. He walked with a swagger and spoke in slangs. He was as huge as Willie. His build reminded me of a professional wrestler or weight-lifte
r. He also seemed to me to be a person who cared nothing for conventions, and liked to do things in his own way and at his own time.

  Introductions over, I returned to Ayuba, who was now sitting behind the bar, which also served as a reception desk.

  “You can still have your old room,” he said. “It is unoccupied.”

  I told him that that was fine by me. He handed me the keys, even before he opened his register and filled in my particulars. While I waited, I looked down at my feet. I had three bags with me and all were quite heavy. Just then, a young man came into the lounge from outside. He was casually dressed in a white shirt and shorts. I felt he must be one of the youths in the neighbourhood, who did odd jobs now and then for Ayuba and the guests. Without any hesitation I called out to him.

  “Come and help me with these bags,” I said, pointing at the bags on the floor. He stopped in his stride and looked me over, as if he could not believe his ears. A look came into his eyes, which I can only describe as a mixture of anger and bitterness.

  “And who do you take me for?” he asked. The air was tense. I could sense that he was barely controlling his anger. "The errand boy around?" he continued. I was taken aback by his tone.

  “I’m sorry, I em…” I stumbled for the right words. I noticed now that he was not as young as I had first assumed. He had a boyish face and physique, but there was no doubt that he was a man; not just any man, but a man apparently of some education and standing. Ayuba, bless his soul, swiftly intervened.

  “This is one of my guests, Mr. Simpson,’ he explained to me. “His name is Nagoth Ali and he is actually in the room opposite yours.”

  “I am sorry; do not be offended,” I apologised to him. Mother Nature had apparently short-changed him in both the height and size departments. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Ayuba can help me with the bags.”

  “With all pleasure, Mr. Simpson,” replied Ayuba, as he picked up two of the bags and I followed him with the remaining one. The young man, still stiff with annoyance, preceded us as we climbed up the broad staircase that curved to the left towards the landing. As we came up the landing, we encountered a long, wide corridor leading to different numbered rooms with one door directly opposite another. All the rooms in the Lodge had en-suite bathrooms.

  During my last visit, I had stayed in the last room by the right.

  The young man walked to the last room by the left with the number tag ‘11’. He took out his key from his pocket and opened the door. Then he went in, closing it behind him.

  Ayuba deposited my bag before my door with the number tag ‘12’.

  “Is there anything you need?”

  “No,” I replied, as I opened my door. “I’ll just take a bath and have some rest.”

  “Dinner is served at 6:00pm,” he said as he started to take his leave.

  “I’ll be down by then,” I said.

  “Fine, now,” he replied.

  I met the other two guests later in the evening at the dining table; an older woman and her daughter. It was an unwritten rule in the Lodge that single women had their accommodation downstairs.

  The dining room was quite large and with additional tables and chairs, could conveniently sit about 20 people. But Ayuba had only eight guests. I found myself flanked on either side by the two women; whether this was a purposeful arrangement or a coincidence, I could not say. The mother, who introduced herself as Mrs. Marshall, was on my right. Her daughter, Maria Marshall, sat to my left. Directly opposite were Nagoth, Tonye and Philip. At either end of the table, sat Willie and John.

  Mrs. Marshall was quite a woman. She walked around with the aid of crutches, which now lay beside her chair. Two features immediately struck you, when you met her. First, her eyes. They were intense and round, reminding me of an owl. Secondly, there were her large protruding ears with which she, I had no doubt, could hear far more than others around her!

  Maria had fine features. Her face was oval and she had dark, beautiful eyes. Her dark hair was very long and her nose, dignified. Her smooth, dimpled cheeks seemed to beg to be touched. This was a young lady who was aware of her own beauty. I also noticed that she flirted easily with the men. Her bright, loquacious and exuberant outlook to life reminded me of a parrot I once had.

  As Nagoth Ali was sitting on the opposite side of the dining table, I had a good opportunity to observe him without looking like I was staring. He was quite short with a boyish physique. He had a round face, fat cheeks and rather feminine hands. His fingers were long and shapely, two of which were wrapped in a white, silk handkerchief. He was rather quiet. I already deduced from our first encounter that he was touchy. He reminded me of a porcupine. I had spooked him and his quills were out. He was the first to finish eating, and left the table immediately.

  Dinner was delicious; Amina had not lost her touch.

  “You seem far too young to retire,” observed Mrs. Marshall, turning to look at me, her round eyes boring into mine. By this time, we had all finished eating and Amina was busy clearing the table.

  “I just wanted to stand on my own feet and be my own boss,” I explained.

  “And how are you finding the experience?” asked Maria with a smile that instantly lifted my spirit. Her voice was as soft as silk. It was like the gentle caress from the soft hairs of a feather.

  “Oh, it is quite challenging,” I replied, as I let my eyes roam.

  “And challenges make champions,” she said.

  I agreed with a smile.

  “So you have been here before?” asked Tonye, who was picking his teeth. I wasn't sure why, but the question sounded like an accusation. His voice grated on my ears, like the rusty hinges of a creaky door.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Willie has been here before, too.”

  “I heard two people died here then on the same night?” asked Philip.

  “Yes,” I responded. “An old man and a young lady. The old man died of natural causes, but the young lady took her life.”

  “So, she took her own life?” asked Tonye, holding his toothpick in mid-air, with a look of horror on his face. “But why did she take her life?” he continued.

  “Well, she was under some emotional stress, it seems. The autopsy report showed that she was about two months pregnant. She also left a suicide note, saying that she was tired of life.”

  “Oh, it was terrible,” said Willie. “May God grant her soul eternal rest in his bosom.” He made the sign of the cross and mumbled some prayers, which the rest of us could not quite hear. Then, he continued, “She used to come to my room then, for prayers. Though she never told me her problems specifically, she always asked me to pray for her.”

  “So you knew she was going to take her life?” asked Tonye.

  Willie stared at him in some surprise. “I never said that.”

  “But Mr. Simpson just said that she had some emotional problems and you confirmed it by saying that she came to you for prayers,” said Tonye, waving his toothpick in his hand.

  “But it is not everyone who is under an emotional problem that commits suicide,” pointed out Willie. Nevertheless, Tonye was not satisfied. So, he kept arguing with Willie.

  I turned to Mrs. Marshall.

  “What of your husband?” I asked.

  “He is dead,” she replied matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, I see.” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “He died in the car accident in which I injured my legs. He was driving and I was sitting beside him, when we collided with another car that had veered off its lane. Somehow, his side door got open and he was flung out of the car. An oncoming vehicle from the opposite direction, at top speed, ran over him. He was instantly killed. The driver sped off. The car finally landed with the roof down and the tyres up. I crawled out and looked around for my husband, but I could not find him. It was much later that some people came to help me and told me that he lay dead on the highway.”

  I did not know what to say, as her words painted a truly horrific picture in my mind.

&nbs
p; “It was the most tragic day of my life,” she concluded in an emotion-laden voice.

  But time would prove that more tragedy lay ahead, especially for her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SOMEONE TRIES TO KILL ME

  Nagoth was absent at breakfast, the following morning. Amina took his meal to him in his room, on a tray. None of us asked why. It crossed my mind that many small men tended to make big issues out of nothing. I had a feeling that he was still angry and was avoiding me. Otherwise, it was a pleasant, dry and hazy Friday morning.

  I found myself sandwiched between Tonye and Willie. Philip was sitting between Mrs. Marshall and Maria on the other side of the table. And he was not complaining at all. In fact, going by the smile on his face, he seemed to be having a good time. I observed that he would gently squeeze Maria's hands from time to time, for no apparent reason. From the look on her face, she was confused by his gesture.