“Yes, that’s what they said. And we heard him say that he was coming before he opened the door.”
“Yes?”
“We were not sure that they were soldiers. You know how armed robbers can sometimes say they are soldiers. So we were afraid to go out.”
“That’s understandable. When exactly did this happen?”
“They were here exactly one-fifteen or so. And they left at around two-thirty. That was when they came out with our neighbour.”
“How many were they?”
“They plenty-o. Some came inside and some stayed outside. My husband said they must be up to ten but I didn’t count.”
“Did you get any vehicle numbers?”
“I tried to but they parked under the umbrella tree, s
o the security light could not shine there for me to see the number well.”
“Was he rough-handled? Listen, you can speak without fear.”
“Unless inside the house. But outside they did everything quiet.”
“So there was no struggling or pushing or something like that… outside?”
“No. I didn’t see anything like that.”
“But our neighbour’s hand was inside hand-cuff,” said the wife, “and his face…”
“We couldn’t see very well sir. As I told you it was dark…”
“His face?” asked Chris turning fully to the wife.
“We couldn’t see very well whether his face was swell up. It was too dark. So we don’t know whether it was because of the dark or that his face was swell up.”
“Thank you very much. You have given us the first solid information. You need not worry. We shall not mention you in any way.”
“Thank you sir, thank you madam. This our country na waa. Na only God go save person.”
WHEN CHRIS FIRST HEARD through a friend’s telephone call of MM’s deportation at six p.m. the day before, he had tried to speak to Ikem but he had apparently gone out with Elewa. So the last time they talked together was the morning of the regicide story. Containing his irritation as much as possible he had wanted to know exactly what Ikem had said at the lecture. He fully expected an explosion from the other end in answer to his query but to his delight Ikem seemed quite upset that whatever he said had been so atrociously distorted and he was then drafting a stiff letter to the editor and even mentioned possible court action.
Standing there now ineffectual, in the ruins of his flat, Chris’s mind, locked out as it were on a barren corridor of inactivity, fluttered, panic-stricken, from one closed door to the next.
“I wonder if he did send the letter.”
“What letter?”
“To the Editor of the Gazette. It is important that they print his denial.”
“You think they will. With that odious fellow licking his lips. Anyway phone him and ask him why the letter has not appeared. He used to be a poodle of yours…”
“We must reach Elewa. Who knows there may have been hints of this earlier in the day.”
“How?”
“I don’t know really. But she was here till six.”
“The people came at one in the morning. Still I agree that Elewa ought to be told, anyway. Do you happen to know where she lives. No? Nor do I. The houseboy might know.”