At forty nine, Janette Lincoln has been a professor of forensic psychology for fifteen years. She quit her job at the Goldmans University of London four months ago after Harry committed suicide.

Harry had been nineteen and her only child. He was handsome with an unruly mop of curly hair and his father's roman nose. He had wanted to become an actor and had enrolled into a drama school immediately he graduated from high school. He eventually starred in a couple of advertisements then his breakthrough came when he starred in a Spooks spin off.

They only saw each other mostly during the weekend and over the occasional Skype call.

After the funeral, Janette began to wonder if Harry had in fact been unhappy and withdrawn during the few times she saw him. Or perhaps that was her own guilt talking. Janette knew that kind of guilt taints the memory of the suicide, that people left behind look for signs that may have not been there.

One afternoon, Harry had gone home from work after shooting the final scenes for a movie and shot himself in the head with a 9mm. His friend had found him on the floor hours later.

Five days later, Janette was sitting on a church pew in funeral clothes with shoes that looked too black to be real. And she sat empty, looking at the coffin.

She has played and replayed every bits and pieces of Harry in her memory; his posture at the dinner table the times he slept at her place, his voice when he talked about his work, the joy in his eyes when he talked about his love for the theatre.

Everything feels like a black and white film. She looked through the window of her apartment, out at the foggy London skyline and the psychologist in her knew she was slipping into depression.

Three days ago, Michael had called. She had jumped at his request like a dog to a bone. She knew a change of environment would occupy her mind.

So here she is, in the Murtala Muhammed airport, waiting for a policeman named Felix.

Janette buys the Sun, the Guardian, and the Nigerian Tribune. But not the VOA. Janette detests the Voice of Africa.
Then she goes to the café and orders a black coffee. She shrugs off her coat and scarf and sits on one of the plastic blue chairs.

The sun is glinting off different airplanes taking off and landing. She has never felt this hot in years.

Someone taps her shoulder and she turns. It is a policeman. He wipes his brow with a damp handkerchief. "Are you Janette Lincoln?" he asks. He pronounces Lincoln as 'Link on'.

Janette smiles. "Yes, I am. Are you Felix?"

The policeman gives a toothy grin. "Yes," he says. "Do come with me."

Janette follows him through the throng in the airport and out into the parking lot. He offers to take her bag and she gives it to him. He rolls it to a green Peugeot with dark tinted glasses. The plates are government-issued.

He opens the door for her and she smiles at the man sitting at the other end. Michael Ejiro, 55, bald and as dark as coal. He is the Inspector General of the Nigerian police force. He had been her boyfriend in high school until he moved back to Lagos with his family. They had managed to keep in touch for a while after that, but distance finally wove its spell and they drifted apart. Until Michael called her a few days ago asking her to join a taskforce he was building.

"It is good to see you, Janette," says Michael as Felix drives the car out of the airport.

"And you too," says Janette.

Michael opens his arms and she hugs him. "I'm so so sorry for your loss," he says. "I can't begin to imagine how you must be feeling."

Janette looks through the glass by her side, at the tall buildings, the bridges, the traffic and the hot sun frying everything under its glare. Lagos had changed. "Its not easy. I will try to move on."

Michael holds her hand. "You should take a few days to get used to everything. You've been away for so long, it must all feel strange."

Janette laughs. The sound surprises her. She doesn't remember the last time she laughed out loud. "Strange? I was born here, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were. I just meant -"

"I'll be fine, Michael," she says. "In fact, I'd love to begin immediately."

"But you just got off a six hour flight. I really think you need some rest."

"You know I'm not going to listen to you. You know how stubborn I can be."

Michael laughs. A loud thigh smacking laughter. "I know, I know," he says. "Alright, but I won't let you overwork yourself. We will go to the headquarters then I'll show you around and that will be it. You won't do anything else until tomorrow."

"Fine, fine," says Janette. "I won't argue."

"Excuse me," says Michael as he takes his phone from his pocket and answers a call.

"How is your family?" asks Janette.

The car passes an underpass and there is a moment of darkness. "They are all fine. Anna is fine. She works in a law firm. We have two kids. Boys. The older one is eighteen and his brother is fifteen. None of them wants to become a policeman."

"That's great. I'm happy for you."

"You should meet them sometime."

"I would love to."

"The way these kids grow up is so scary sometimes. One day, they are in their diapers, toothless and playing with their toys and the next day, they are as tall as you are."

Janette's breath catches in her throat. She thinks of Harry in his diapers and it seems like a million years ago. Her eyes are burning up and she shuts her eyes to keep the tears from falling.

"I'm sorry, Janette. I didn't mean to -"

"The question I have been asking myself is: why?" Janette says as Michael holds her hand. "He had everything. He had a family, he had friends, he had a career he actually loved and he had plans. But it wasn't enough. By God I should have known. I study people for a living but how could I have missed that?"

Michael keeps his hand around hers and the car is silent until they reach the headquarters.

It is nightfall when Janette checks into a hotel. There is a buzz in her bones that she knows is exhaustion. Michael had shown her around the headquarters then he had finally taken her to her office. It was a large space at the top floor of the administrative block with pristine floor to ceiling windows.

Michael gets into the elevator with her and follows her up to her room. She thanks him and makes him a cup of tea. They talk about the case in general terms. He hands her the files, rinses the cup, wishes her goodnight with a kiss to her forehead and leaves. He promises to send someone to pick her up the next day.

Janette takes a cold shower and wears her nightgown. Then she crawls into bed and cries herself to sleep.