John parks his scooter in the makeshift garage by the side of the building. The structure is Local Government commissioned. It consists of four stories with two flats each. The walls are grey and lined with moss sliding past web like cracks and fading paint.

He has lived here for ten years. Before that, he lived in a mansion with chandeliers and long winding staircases and professional house keepers.

Sometimes he finds himself longing for those times.

He puts his helmet under his armpit and marches to the staircase. The girls playing ten-ten stop to watch him pass. He has gotten used to their stares. At first it was unnerving; everyone watched him like a freak of nature, but now their gaze merely slides off his back.

John is six foot six and three hundred and twenty pounds of hard muscles and built like a wrestler. The thin iron railings sway under his grip.

He climbs to the top floor and lets himself into the first door on the right. The living room is very bare; a brown TV dominates one end and two sofas stand at the other end. The leathers are zigzagged with holes and tears. The floor is bare and the cement is cold. Two doors stand by side at the other end; his room and his mother's.

"Mama," he says. His voice is deep and seems to come from somewhere deep in his belly.

There is no reply, but the door at the other end is open. His mother always likes her door open.

"Mama," he says again. A small sound escapes the room, too quiet to be discerned by a stranger, but he knows what it is. His mother is crying again.

He walks to the room. His heart is thin and anxious in his chest. He parts the curtains apart and peers in. "W...Were you c...c...crying?"

His mother, Margaret is a frail figure sitting on the edge of a worn bed. Her skin is a light brown and her face is long and droopy as if she carries the weight of the world. She was beautiful once. He had seen her old pictures. She is wearing a faded Ankara around her waist and a Christ Embassy T-shirt with a red headscarf. She dabs her hands on her face, but she can't hide her red eyes.

She sniffs, looks up at him and smiles. "My son, you are back."

He drops onto the floor beside her. The ancient bed frame would brake if he sat on it. "Yes. A...And you are c...crying again."

She sighs. "I'm not crying."

He doesn't speak. He waits. They've been through this a thousand times. She tells him eventually. He is the only one she has.

She sighs again. "Those wicked souls have refused to pay your father's pension." She sniffs. "After twenty years of service and he was suddenly cut off like a stranger. How can people be so callous? They keep telling me to come back. They should just tell me if they have spent the money." She sniffs and her face is wet with tears.

John bunches his palms together and counts to ten. The priest had told him it would work. "Everything i...i...is going to b...be alright, Mama." He nods his head repeatedly. The priest had told him that much. "Y...Y...You just w...wait and see."

She stares at him. "I hope so," she says. She wipes her face with the end of her wrapper. "Come let me get you your food."

She stands up and reties her scarf. Soon she is humming a song under her breath.

John goes to his room to change. He would be carrying out the second part of the plan tomorrow. The first part had gone well.

He smiles and drops to a crouch. He removes a small wooden panel behind his bed. A small picture tumbles out. He caresses the slim film in his hands. It feels exhilarating. He almost laughs out loud.

"The Lord sends us to do his bidding. Who are we to say no?" the priest had said. "Shower the wrath upon them. Give them a taste of their own medicine."

John nods. He was going to do just that. At least, Jimmy owed him that much.

***

The headquarters of Luxor Groups is on the Lagos Island. Dave and Rose sits in the office of Madeleine Isa. She is the only director available on the Luxor board. The office has a faint smell of expensive perfume.

"Tomiwa was a great guy," she tells them. "He only came to Nigeria during the board meetings."

"Which was how many times?"

"Just four times a year and anytime there was an emergency meeting."

"Did Mr Tomiwa have any enemies on the board that you know of?" asks Rose.

Madeleine purses her lips. She stares at the both of them with a raise of her expertly carved eyebrow. Dave knows her type: upper class with foreign education and a perennial belief that everything is wrong with the country, not excluding the police force.

"Tomiwa wasn't a danger to anyone," she says.

"I thought he was the next in line to becoming CEO?" asks Rose.

"Yes, but everyone knew the last thing Tomiwa wanted was to become the CEO."

"Why was that?"

"He was a gentle soul. He didn't have the heart for the brutal plotting and politicking of the business world. Besides he had his own hedge fund firm he was running in the UK."

"But surely someone must have felt threatened by his position."

Madeline gives a small laugh. "He had openly announced that he was leaving the board. The last I spoke to him he made mention that he would be selling his shares. Why would anyone want to kill him?"

"That is what we are trying to find out," says Dave. "Pardon me for being so blunt, but who stands to gain from Mr Tomiwa's death?"

"Everybody and nobody. His shares would be put up for sale of course and..."

Just then the door opens and a young lady in walks in holding a sheaf of papers. "Sorry to disturb you, but Mr Lazarus has been calling. He says its important."

Madeline nods." Thank you," she says to the lady. She turns to Dave and Rose." I'm so sorry but this call is very urgent."

Rose stands up." Thank you for your time. Well get back to you."

Dave makes as if to leave. Then he says "Did you know Mr Tomiwa... intimately?"

Madeline blanches. "Excuse me?"

"You finger that chain on your neck anytime his name is mentioned." He points at the silver necklace on her neck. Tiny and delicate. Almost invisible.

Madeline laughs. She's uncomfortable. "Yes I... We dated for a while. It didn't work out well."

Dave nods. "Thank you."

Dave and Rose walk into the noisy Lagos heat.

Dave says, "That was a completely dead end."

Rose groans. "I really do hope you are wrong and this isn't a serial killer."

"I hope I am."

"How did you know they had once been together?"

"Who?"

"The victim and Madeline. How did you know that from just a necklace?"

Dave shrugs. "Just a hunch."

"I wish I had some of those."

Rose gets into her car and starts it. Dave winds down the glass as he sits. The inside of the car is stifling hot. The sun is glaring through the glasses.

"You ever been in love?" asks Rose as she eases the car into the traffic.

"Yes. Once."

She flashes him an enquiring look.

"It was a long time ago. She was the accountant at the base and I was a captain. I haven't seen her ever since Mogadishu."

"You got dealt the simpler cards."

"Why do you say so?"

"I'm in the middle of a nasty divorce plus the troubles of a rebellious teenage boy."

"That is a lot of weight to carry."

Rose chuckles. "I'll live."

Her phone rings and she answers from her Bluetooth earpiece. "Rose," she says.

After a moment, she slows the car and whispers "Oh my God."

"What is it?" asks Dave.

"You know Ralph, right? The new guy in the CID."

Dave shakes his head. "No. Not really."

"He has been undercover for six months now. He was found dead."