Murder At Midnight

when I smashed into it. We rushed in and met a gory sight. Mariawas lying face up on her bed; her eyes were open and staring inwhat seemed to be surprise, at the ceiling. Her mouth hung slightlyopen. A butcher knife was buried deep in her chest and thebedsheets were caked with dried blood. I did not need a doctor totell me that she was dead. Ayuba gasped in shock, and Mrs. Marshall screamed and fellforward. I caught her just in time to avoid a nasty fall.
“She is dead!” said Ayuba, in astrangled voice. Shock and dismay were boldly written on his face.It dawned on me that this was the same room in which a young ladyhad hung herself earlier in the year. Was it a room of death? Thiswas not good for business in any Lodge.
“Did she kill herself?” askedAyuba. “Her door was locked from inside.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, as Ihelped Mrs. Marshall into a chair.
She was understandablyin a state ofshock. Her body was shaking and she kept saying, “Maria! Maria!Maria!”
I took some steps closer to thebed and examined the corpse. She had been dead forhours,and theknife was buried to the hilt. A loose, white, square button layclose to her right hand; I observed that it did not match those onher dress. Though I did not touch it, I could not help feeling thatthere was something familiar about the button. Ifelt like Ihad seen itsomewhere before, but I could not quite rememberwhere.
“Call the police, Ayuba! And getan ambulance,” I said.
The otherguests,who had beenattracted by the scream, now crowded the doorway.
“What happened?” asked Willie,who led the group. A shocked silence followed when they saw thebody.
Within the hour, an ambulanceand two police vans arrived. While waiting, I had kept watch by thedoor of the bedroom, so that nothing would be tampered with. Theothers had hung around, too. Mrs. Marshall had been taken to thelounge, where Amina sat with her. She looked like she wasdesperately in need of medical attention. She was still saying,“Maria! Maria! Maria!” intermittently. She was still shaking and wasnow crying.
As soonas the police came, we were all waved aside. We were kept out ofthe room, while they worked, as was routine in such circumstances.Finally, a gurney was brought out of the ambulance and wheeled intothe room. Maria's body was placed on it, covered with a sheet andwheeled inside the ambulance.
Mrs. Marshall asked toaccompany them to the morgue, and they only agreed when it was explained that she was themother of the dead girl.
Ten policemen were dispatched;they went over the room and asked us all kinds of questions. Theykept nodding to themselves. I introduced myself as an ex-policeman,thinking that would make them take me into their confidence. I wasgreatly mistaken. They just smiled and asked some polite questionsabout my career in the Force, then proceeded to completely ignore me.
But I was eager to knowwhattheythought of the button, which I had seen earlier. So, I called one of the policemenaside.
“I don’t knowif you saw a white, square button on the bed?” I asked.
“What about it?” asked thepoliceman. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“I just wanted to know if youtook note of it,” I explained. “I observed that it did not matchthose on the dress of the deceased.”
“We saw it andalso took note. Thank you,” said the officer curtly and he left.They probably thought I was poking my nose into theirinvestigation. I would have thought the same. All the same, there had beensomething oddly familiar about that button.
At the end of the corridordownstairs, was a cupboard where Amina kept her cleaning items:mops, buckets, vacuum cleaner and disinfectants. It was spaciousenough for a man to hide. When the door was shut, there was a smallcircular opening that you could see through. The police seemedparticularly interested in it and spent an enormous amount oftime inspecting it. What the cupboard had to do with the murder,wasa mystery tome. In myopinion, they were simply wasting precious time inside a cupboard, instead ofconcentrating on the actual crime scene.
I went back to the lounge wherethe other guests were huddled together, discussing in low tones. Some speculated that it might besuicide, while others were of the opinion that it wasmurder.
“But her doorwas still locked from inside,” observed Amina who still had ashocked expression on her face, with her chin in her palm. “So she must have killed herself. Iwonder if this has anything to do with the black cat that ran infront of me this morning. But I prayed about it. I even spat over my left shoulder, three times.”
“Stop beingsuperstitious,” said Ayuba, putting an arm around her shoulders. “A black cat runningacross your path this morning, has nothing to do with anything. Shemust have died, last night.”
“She couldn’t have driven theknife so deep in her chest by herself,” said John, who actuallylooked bored. “She must have been killed by someone.”
“But who?” askedTonye.
John had no answer to that andthe perpetual frown on his face, deepened.
Just as the weight of themillion Nairaquestion began to hang thickly in the air, one of the policemencame into the lounge. He was similar to me in height andbuild.
“Listen,” he said, standing stiffly and looming over us since we were allseated. “You’re all to remain within the Lodge until the autopsyreport comes in or you’re given any other further instruction. Noneof you is to leave the Lodge before then. This is not a suggestionand it is not open to any debate. It is anorder.”
Without waiting for aresponse, he went back to join his colleagues. We all stared ateach other in silence.
Nothing particularly eventfulhappened until two days later. But you could have cut the tension and fearin the Lodge during that period, with a knife. The police had taken the knife usedfor the murder to their forensic lab for analysis. Apart from beinginterviewed and having our statements formally taken, we had alsobeen swabbed for DNA and fingerprinted.
People began to go to bed asearly as 8:00pm, with their doors firmly locked.