Dave sits behind the bar. The court room is filled to the brim. Blonde wigged lawyers, journalist wielding flashing cameras, clerks and interns furiously scribbling.

In the midst of it all, stands Clifford Madupe. He is the accused. He stands in the dock. Hands on banister. His bespectacled face is calm, betraying no emotion.

Rose is in the witness stand. There is a slight frown on her face. The case is slipping away and she knows it.

The defense lawyer walks up to her with a smile. "You were the arresting officer on the sixth of December, 2017."

"Yes."

"In your arrest sheet, you said the accused was standing over the deceased when you got to the crime scene."

"Yes, he was. The deceased had already bled to death."

"Were there any witnesses to the crime?"

"No, but-"

"What made you so sure that the accused was guilty?"

"Objection, Your Honour," says the prosecuting counsel.

"Objection sustained," says the judge. "Are you going somewhere with this?"

The defense counsel gives a small smile. "Eventually, Your Honour. Tell us what you saw when you arrived at the crime scene."

"The deceased was lying in a pool of blood while the accused was trying to clean the scene."

"And the murder weapon?"

"The knife was lying on the floor."

"So there was no one who witnessed the deceased being stabbed to death?"

"No one. But we discovered the accused had been trying to rid the scene of his presence."

"How exactly was he doing that?"

"He had rolled the deceased over and folded the rug. He was in the process of getting away in his car when he was arrested."

The Defense spreads his arm wide. "Anyone in their right mind would panic when he opens his door to find a body in a pool of blood."

"Not when that body is your friend and business associate."

The Defense holds up a dull red knife wrapped in a plastic bag. "What can you tell us about this weapon found on the crime scene, Mrs Rose."

Rose gives him her icy stare. "It is Detective Rose," she says. "The weapon matches the stab wound found on the deceased."

"How does it connect with the accused, Detective Rose?"

"It doesn't. He wiped it clean before we got there. Lifting a print was impossible."

"So, it is possible that he had no knowledge whatsoever about the murder weapon."

"Like I said, we haven't being able to lift a print."

"That will be all, Detective."

Rose steps down from the witness stand and walks to her seat beside Dave.

"Does the Defense have any other witnesses?" asks the Judge.

"Yes, Your Honor. I would like to call upon Dr Chisom Emmanuel, the coroner."

The doctor walks to the stand. He is middle aged with a crown of grey at the top of his head.

The clerk stands before him. "Raise your right hand," he says. "Do you promise that the testimony you give in the case now before this court shall be truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Doctor Chisom nods. "Yes."

"What were the results of the post mortem, Doctor," asks the Defense.

"As I stated in my report, the post-mortem examination on the corpse of the deceased clearly showed that the deceased died due to acute cardiopulmonary failure with stab and injuries status post-up."

"Did the stab wounds match the weapon found on the scene?"

"Yes they did."

"But you stated that he had an acute pulmonary failure."

"Yes, acute cardiopulmonary failure caused by diabetes. The deceased had an unusually high level of blood glucose, even for a diabetic. He also had a high blood pressure and high level of cholesterol. He was also a smoker. He was quite literally a walking corpse."

"Certainly, the deceased person's ailments of diabetes must have contributed to his unfortunate death?"

"Yes."

"Could the stab wounds have caused his death?"

"I cannot say with absolute certainty that it was the stab wounds inflicted on the deceased that caused his death."

"Thank you. I have no further questions."

The judge scribbles furiously for a few seconds, then he says "Does the Prosecution rest?"

The prosecuting counsel stands up. "Yes. Your Honor." He turns to Rose before he sits and gives her a small shake of his head.

Rose bunches her fists together. "Shit," she says.

The Judge wears his glasses and clears his throat. "The death of a human being had taken place and the act was done with the intention to cause death or the accused knew that death should be the probable consequence of his act. Where a human being is wounded and dies as a result of injury sustained, within a year and one day, the accused is deemed to have killed the deceased.

"Generally, and it is already established in our criminal justice system that in a charge of murder, the prosecution has a burden to prove certain elements of the charge beyond reasonable doubt. These are; that a human being has died, that the death of the deceased was actually caused by the accused, and that the accused intended to either kill the victim or cause him grievous harm which resulted to death.

There is no doubt that the death of a human being, in particular, the death of the victim of the alleged murder was established by the prosecution. But the Prosecution has fallen short of as required by the law the essential elements of murder beyond doubt.

"The entire evidence of all the prosecution witnesses amounts to hearsay because none of them was an eye witness of the attack on the deceased. Suspicion is not enough to secure conviction."

There is a moment of silence as the Judge pronounces his verdict. Dave watches Clifford. He wonders how he is so calm.

"The defendant is not found guilty," says the Judge. "He is therefore discharged and acquitted. Court is adjourned."

Rose storms out of the court room. The cuffs are taken off Clifford's wrist. There is a slight smile on his face. He turns a full circle before climbing down the dock.

For a few seconds, Dave's eyes meet Clifford's and a cold shiver runs down his back. He knows Clifford isn't innocent. He calls it instinct, this 'knowing'.

He walks out into the parking lot. Rose is at the wheels. There is a cigarette dangling from her lips. "I never knew you smoked," he says.

Rose starts the car and drives out of the court house. "A bad habit," she says.

"It wasn't your fault, don't beat yourself over it."

"I know. It is just frustrating seeing a criminal walk freely and being helpless about it."

"He is going to get what is coming to him."

"I almost understand The Executioner sometimes."

Dave's blood runs cold. His heart is racing. "The what?"

"The Executioner, you know. The guy who cleans the streets nowadays."

Dave chooses his words carefully. "I thought he was just a myth."

Rose shakes her head. She flicks the cigarette out of the window. "No. Not anymore. People are starting to notice. A federal judge was found recently murdered, execution style; a single shot to the head. He was corrupt to the bone."

"I hear he only kills people like that."

"Yeah. He may be on a righteous cause but no one has the right to be judge, jury and executioner. It just isn't right."

Dave looks out the glass. At the trees dashing past, at the bronze evening sun and the thousands of commuters. He thinks of the criminals among them; monsters walking freely.

"Are you okay"? asks Rose. "You look a bit pale."

Dave swallows. "I'm alright." He wonders what he is going to do to Clifford Madupe and how he is going to get away with it."

***

Dave chews on a burger. Not tasting, merely eating. He thinks about going home. But what would be the point when there are a million voices in his head all screaming. Clifford.

He sits in his car. He is boiling like a faulty pressure cooker.

So he drives to Clifford's house, a duplex in Canterbury Estate. He parks and sits at the wheel. He is clenching and unclenching his fists.

At length, he removes the Glock under his seat, and checks the cartridge. The gun is cold and satisfying in his hands. He marches towards the house and waits in the darkness.

Thirty minutes later, a black BMW pulls up. Clifford Madupe gets out. He is wearing a brown Polo, black khakis and Timberlands. He is holding a bottle of champagne.

He opens his front door and switches on the light. He lingers on the threshold and squints into the night. He frowns and shuts the door.

Dave stands in the shadows. His skin is completely covered by mosquitoes, but he doesn't feel their bites. He stares at the house, breathing.

At 11:30, the lights are turned off.

***

"All reports are negative, sir," says Agent Charles. "We could be looking for a ghost here."

Vincent Tiu, the Deputy Director of the SSA sits with his arms on his bare oak table. His face is smooth and ageless. He is wearing a grey suit. His face is expressionless. His face is always expressionless. His eyes are staring and unblinking behind brown rimmed glasses. "Sit," he says.

Charles draws a chair and sits. He wonders why the Deputy Director had asked to see him. Operations always handled mission briefings.

"Fabian Dost is no more our priority, at least not now."

"Are we to halt all missions?"

"No. I only need you for this." He rolls open his drawer and brings out a folder. It is wrapped with a red ribbon, labeled Confidential.

Charles stares at the folder. "I do not have clearance for this, sir."

"As of now, you do."

Charles removes the ribbon and opens the folder. There are reports and photographs. All of people shot in the head.

"He is called The Executioner."

"The Executioner?"

"Yes. His signature is a single shot to the head. All his victims have been criminals -- murderers, rapist -- the usual bunch. Although it isn't clear if he is an assassin or a vigilante. There have been twelve murders with this signature so far."

"Looking at this, I'll say he is more of the latter. Shouldn't the police know about this?"

"Open to the last page."

Charles flips past the pages until he reaches the last. There is a grainy photograph of a man. His face is half turned to whatever camera had captured his image.

"Clifford Madupe was murdered a few hours ago. We had just managed to wriggle him out of a potential death sentence but it seems he had already fallen into someone's radar."

Charles frowns. Clifford Madupe was an informant in a corporate espionage case that had lasted almost two years. "What did he have to do with this?"

"There were cameras installed in his apartment. One of them took that. Clifford has just fallen victim to the Executioner."

"What do you want me to do?"

"We are running that picture through facial recognition. If we are lucky he would be in the system."

"Should he be brought in?"

"No. You only watch him. Remember, this is for your eyes and ears only."

***

Vincent Tiu frowns at the glass of Scotch in his hands. He opens his medicine cabinet and takes out an Aspirin. "Take me through to the President," he says into the phone. He pops the pill into his mouth and downs the Scotch.

There are a few beeps and a sharp voice blares through the phone. "Yes."

Vincent winces. He closes the bathroom door and pads to the living room. "This isn't the President," he says.

"The President is busy at this moment," says the voice. It is Christopher Etim, the President's chief of staff.

"It is of utmost importance, Chris."

"I know," says Christopher. "You can tell me whatever you want to tell him."

"In that case, I was going to say that the election be cancelled."

There is a sharp bark. Vincent stares at the phone before he realizes it is laughter.

"Cancel an election that is just two days away?"

"Fabian Dost is in Nigeria, Chris. And only God knows what he is up to. We have proof to point out he is going to influence the election."

"I thought the Interpol --"

"We are hardly their concern, Chris. This isn't the United States. We do not have the FBI and the CIA at our beck and call."

"What do you need?"

"I need to talk with the president. Canceling this election would save our asses."

"I'm afraid that is impossible. The Senate is on the brink of division. We cannot risk losing the majority this time. An impeachment is the last thing any President wants."

"Fabian Dost is a monster, Chris."

"A monster the Interpol has created."

"We-"

"There is a reason you people were hugely funded in the last budget. Don't make all those money be a waste. You don't want to make an enemy of the Senate. They don't like you already."

"I don't care about the Senate. This isn't a problem we can just solve in the blink of an eye."

"You can fix it, Vincent. Fix it. That is your job." The line goes dead.

Vincent pours himself another Scotch. He stands by the tall windows and stares at the Lagos skyline. Somewhere out there is Fabian Dost.