Murder At Midnight

MURDER
AT MIDNIGHT


MURDER
AT MIDNIGHT
JOHN UKAH
THE FEARLESS STORYTELLER HOUSEEMPORIUM LTD


MURDER AT MIDNIGHT
by JohnUkah
Copyright © 2016 John Ukah
Coverdesign by Godson Okeiyi
Published by THE FEARLESS STORYTELLER HOUSE EMPORIUMLTD
Distributed by Smashwords
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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ISBN:978-978-54707-1-0


John Ukah is a seasoned banker andAssociate ofthe Institute of Capital Market Registrars (ACMR). He is a graduateof Business Administration from the University of Benin, where hewas listed as University Scholar. He also holds a Masters Degree inBusiness Administration (MBA).
Murder At Midnightis his firstbook.


CHAPTERONE
BACK TO OBUDU
It was in late November after I suffered asevere case of typhoid fever, that I decided to visit Kinging GuestLodge. I needed to rest. I had overworked myself prior to theillness that had kept me down for about two weeks. For me,visiting KingingGuest Lodge in the Obudu Ranch Resort of Cross River Stateisalwayslike cominghome.
I had visited the Lodge earlierin the year; if my memory served me well, it had been in January.The area is reputed to have the most clement weather in thecountry. With the beautiful beaches, gardens, water parks and leisure spots, the Obudu Ranch Resort is a haven for tourists. The springing upof guest-houses that boast decent facilities and affordable rates,has also turned the place into a holiday-maker's delight.
Some people come here ondoctors' orders, to recuperate from one ailment or the other.
Yet, not all my visits have beenrefreshing. In fact, one could argue that given some of myexperiences, I ought to stay away.
Duringmy previous visit, two of the guests died at the Lodge. One, a veryold man, of natural causes; the other who had died on the samenight, committed suicide.
I had been a member of theNigerian Police Force at the time. I resigned in May and went into privatepractice.
I was unsure what kind ofpersons I would meet at the Lodge this time. I also wasn't sure what I would actuallyspend my time, doing. But I was determined to enjoy mystay.
The Lodge itself was animposing, white, one storey building with wide windows on both floors. It was secluded by ahigh-walled fence. The style of service was quite old-fashioned.Guests were treated as if they were members of the same largefamily, with meals served to everyone at the same time.
AyubaBaba, who ran the place with the help of his wife, Amina – who isprobably the best cook I know – came running over to help me withmy bags, as I paid the taxi-driver who had brought me. He was afat, middle-aged man of average height and was dressed in atraditional flowing, white robe and headdress. He had a chubbyface, a cheerful disposition and very kind eyes.
“How good to see you!” exclaimedAyuba. “You are welcome!”
“Thank you very much,” Iresponded warmly, as he picked up one of my bags and we made ourway inside.
“How is the Lodge?” Iasked.
“Ah, businessis slow. That is the problem now,” he replied. “I have only sevenguests, which is the problem now.” I had long discovered that Ayubawas in love with the word now.
“I’m sure it will pick up,” Iencouraged him, spotting four guests who were sitting around awhite table in the lounge and watching Michael Jackson moonwalk onthe television.
“Father Lord!” exclaimed one ofthe men, getting up quickly and almost upsetting thetable.
I recognised him immediately.His name was William, but he was called Willie by his friends. Hehad also been a guest at the Lodge during my last visit. He was ahuge man with a round head, which was flat at the back. He had ahigh forehead, with naturally arched eyebrows that made him looklike he was permanently questioning. There was a deep cleft in hischin. He had said back then that he fasted every Saturday, hadnever been seriously ill in his life, and never needed to take medication. I could nothelp envying him now, as I had lost count of thenumberof tablets I hadswallowed in the short period that I was ill. I had becomeaccustomed to seeing him with the enormous Bible he carried in hisright hand and the crucifix hanging around his neck. He had alsotold me back then, that he was an Assistant Pastor in one churchnamed Advanced Believers Love Chapel. It appeared that life hadbeen treating him kindly since our last meeting, as he wasmuchfatterthan Irecalled. Hereminded me of a pig I had seen in a children's cartoon.
“Pastor Willie!” I exclaimed andI went over to shake hands with him.
“What a coincidence that weshould meet here again!” said Willie. “How is theForce?”
Iexplained to him that I was now into private business.
“I see,” he said, clutching hisBible. “I’m sure it is the Lord’s doing. All things work togetherfor good, for those who trust in God.” He then introduced me to thethree other men, who were seated at the table. I didn't realisethen, but I would come to know them intimately.
First, I shook hands with TonyeBriggs; he was a short man with a large square head, a thick neck,bushy eyebrows, small inquisitive eyes and a big flat nose. He alsohad a square chin and his fair skin was unusually smooth. He lookedbiracial. I would discover much later that his