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."

Janette jams the phone between her jaw and shoulder. She steps out of her nightie and dumps the contents of her bag on the bed. "How far is the crime scene from Hilton Hotel?" she asks as she searches for clothing.

***

The station buzzes. It is a low and often undetectable sound, but Chidinma feels it in the air, in her bones, in the wary looks of the police officers on duty. Chidinma has been an officer for twelve years, so she knows when something is happening. The last time she remembers this kind of atmosphere was when the previous Inspector General was fired by the presidency. The air had been charged then as the top officers exchanged worried looks, not knowing what to say, and generally keeping shut to escape the long tentacles of politics. The lower ranked officers were unperturbed, they were not political appointees and so had no business choosing sides. These officers ran the rumor mill.

Chidinma thinks this over as she prepares the bail papers of a suspected fraudster. She wonders what has happened now. A hundred scenarios run through her head as she marches to the printing room. She rules out the incident with Detective Rose, word was she was responding to treatment and the general reaction to that would have been pity and not this.

Some officers are huddled at the other end of the room, hands folded, grave and trying to keep their voices silent. Chidinma only hears snatches of the conversation over the hum of the photocopier.

"...cannot believe it."

"...heard he has been behind all..."

"...told me the killer was found dead..."

"...nawa oo..."

The photocopier stops and the conversation ends. The officers, all rookies, disperse. Chidinma staples the papers in her hands. Perhaps, something has happened to the guys at the top of the police hierarchy, Chidinma thinks.

She is about to leave when Gambari, a constable, walks in bearing a pile of papers. Chidinma grabs his arm as he raises a hand in greeting. She shepherds him away from the door. "Wetin dey happen?" she asks.

Gambari grimaces, his face is a battlefield of tribal marks. "Ah! Chi, you never hear? Na Detective Dave," he begins.

Chidinma is equal parts shocked and horrified when Gambari is done. She had always regarded Dave as one of the few sane ones in the police force, probably because of his alleged military past. He wasn't known to be a womanizer or an alcoholic and he was dedicated to his job as a professional would be—a quality that was sorely missing around here, but Chidinma has to admit there was something off about him. Something she really couldn't place her hand on.

Chidinma takes the files to the criminal and his lawyer at the counter. The whole station is abuzz with rumors, theories about Dave Coker and his secret crusade. The latest news was that he was in custody. Chidinma is so caught up in the wave of gossip that an hour later she doesn't notice when a stranger claiming to be from the police service commission comes asking for the detective and she spills it all out.

***

Yemi marches out of the police station, somewhat relieved that the officer hadn't noticed that his ID had expired four years ago. The police service commission changed their protocols every year, and calling in a few favours to have one cloned was going to take a while. The detective was in some kind of trouble and that was the only way he could get any useful information about him.

Yemi enters the taxi parked just outside the gates of the police station. Charles is at the wheels, he takes one look at him and says, "What's wrong?"

Yemi holds up a finger as he dials Vincent Tiu's phone. Charles starts the car, they ease into the traffic. The road is dark, slick with the rain that has just stopped. Yemi cleans the dust on the dashboard clock; the time is a quarter past 6.

"Yes," says Vincent.

"There has been a problem, sir. Coker has been apprehended. He is in a hospital, and with what he knows... with what he has done, a lot of things could happen."

There is a slight screech at the other end. Yemi wonders what Vincent does when he isn't the head of the secret service. Vincent says, "Find him and bring him in."

***

The stretchers are taken off the ambulance. Janette watches the nurses wheel them up the ramp and into the hospital. She resists the urge to bite her nails. She is brimming with excitement, anxiety she can barely contain. One stretcher holds Dave Coker, unconscious, she hopes. His clothes are drenched, and his forehead is bloody. The second stretcher holds a man with proportions that can only be said to be monstrous. His chest is one large mass of blood.

A black SUV swerves into the hospital ground with a splash of water. Madueke and a retinue of armed policemen come down and charge for the hospital doors. Janette falls into step with Madueke, the assistant commissioner looks grim, looks like he has aged overnight. "I need to talk to him," she says.

"I really do not have the time for this, Madam," Madueke snaps. "You are here because the Inspector General asked me to keep you in the loop."

Janette struggles to keep the irritation from her voice. "So you called me here to do what? Be an official witness?" Madueke does not reply. He marches ahead with his officers, a steely frown on his usually sheepish face. Up ahead, the nurses roll the stretchers into separate emergency rooms. Madueke stops before the detective's room. He stares at the viewing glass into the room where a crowd of nurses heave the detective onto the bed. Madueke nods at the man next to him. The officer enters the room and cuffs the detective's wrists to the bed frame. The nurses fix the IV lines and leave the room, quick and efficient.

"Please," says Janette.

Madueke stares at the detective for a long while. Patients and hospital staffs shuffle silently past them. The sight of this many police officers in the hospital must be a strange sight, Janette thinks. "You may be right after all," says Madueke. "Even if Dave isn't a serial killer there is something very fishy going on. He was given direct orders to take the day off, but it seems he went after this suspect with all intentions to kill him. The gun fired has Dave's fingerprints."

"What are you trying to say, deputy commissioner?"

"What I am trying to say is that this right now is above my pay grade. The police service commission has been informed and an internal investigation has started. When those people are involved, there is nothing anyone can do, not even the Inspector General." Madueke turns to Janette. Suddenly, he looks defeated. His shoulders sag, his jowls gather above his tie. "I can only give you five minutes."

"Thank you," says Janette. Madueke posts an officer to Dave's door then he leaves. Janette imagines the kind of trouble he is in. He may not have had anything to do with the string of the detective's extrajudicial killings, but they happened right under his nose. She imagines he would face an early retirement.

Janette sits on the bench facing the door, stares at the boots of the stern-faced officer standing guard. She considers asking the nurses to inject the detective with adrenaline, but decides against it. She wants to talk to the detective when he has his wits about him. So she'll wait for him to wake up, no matter how long that takes.