At 2.30 p.m., Detective Rose picks up her son, Samuel, from school.

Samuel is probably the only happy thing left from her marriage with Dan. They had grown apart after fourteen years of marriage.

Dan had always blamed every little thing on the perennial absence from home that her job required and Rose simply could not put up with him, especially when she found out about his extra-marital affairs.

Samuel could have easily ridden the school bus home but Rose insists on dropping him off and picking him up. She tells herself it’s safer than a chartered bus or tricycle. She refers to the increasing statistics of kidnappings and road rage. But deep in her gut she knows it is because she does not want to be left in the dust if the divorce with Dan goes on to a custody battle.

The thought of losing Samuel scares her more than anything ever has. She has to take a minute to steady her trembling hands whenever she thinks about it.

She waves and gives him a smile as she watches him emerge from the gate. The school is almost empty, classes had ended an hour ago.

“Sorry,” she says as she reaches over to pop the passenger door. Samuel slides in. Sits with his school bag on his lap. She sees the look on his face, today was surely not a good day.

Samuel is a carbon copy of his father, down to the fuzzy eyebrows and the tilt of his lips when things don’t go his way.

Samuel wants to be an astronaut. Last week he wanted to be a sailor. Rose thinks he changes his mind with the next movie he watches.

Rose pulls out of the school compound and onto the busy road with lines of traffic which seems to go nowhere. “Don’t ask me,” she says. “I had a very good day.”

Samuel doesn’t reply, he only hugs his bag to his chest and looks the other way.

Rose sighs. “Alright, out with it.”

Samuel slowly turns to her. He is scowling. “Aunty Esther eized my issue of Arkham City.”

“Another of your comic books?”

“The one Dad gave me for my birthday.”

“Oh.” Rose stops at a T-junction. A policeman is directing traffic. The traffic lights are out of order. “Why did you have it out during class?”

“I thought it was in my bag but I found it under the books on my table after break.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have a talk with your teacher tomorrow.”

“No!” Samuel puts a hand on her shoulder. “All the other boys will call me a cry baby.”

“Alright, I’ll get you a new one.”

“You don’t know where the comic book store is. Only Dad does. He knows where they sell the latest ones.”

Rose winces. She takes her phone on the dashboard and clicks the Google tab. “Have you heard?” she says after a quick scroll. “The latest Batman issue is out.”

“Really? Last Knight On Earth?”

“Yeah. I have a friend who reads a lot of these books. I’ll ask him to get you one.”

“Thanks mum.” He beams at her. He looks beautiful and brimming with innocence, somewhere in those delicate plains between child and adult.

Rose wants to reach out and brush his head. But she knows it will embarrass him.

The officer waves their lane on and the traffic eases. Rose yawns. She’s so tired, she wants to crawl into bed and wake up hours later. But she can’t. She’s got work to do.

***

The meeting has already begun when Rose pulls into the parking lot.

She flies out of her car, she doesn’t lock it. She jogs to the main doors, flashes her ID at the security.

She makes it to the elevator just before it closes. She nods at the occupants.

Rose steps out of the elevator. She has never been on this floor before. The offices are glass-partitioned, the tall windows give an airy view of the whole headquarters. There is a large depiction of the Nigerian coat of arms at a corner.

She walks to a white door. The office is filled with people, all seated. They are facing a projected image.

“Shit,” Rose mutters. She takes a deep breath, runs a hand through her short hair and eases the door open.

Eight heads turn to face her. Six men are seated, all plain-clothed.

Two figures stand by the side. One of them is a woman, she is operating the projector. She looks to be in her late forties, with shockingly pale skin. Rose reckons with a different hair texture she could pass for a European.

The Inspector General, Michael Ejiro,  is standing next to her, lean and of an imposing height with skin as dark as midnight. Rose thinks they know each other. Their comfortable proximity can only be borne of intimacy.

Rose closes the door behind her and salutes.

“At ease, Detective,” says Michael. “You are late. That is not a good start.”

“I had to pick my son from school, sir.”

Michael nods. “Do take a seat.”

The woman looks up at Rose. Her eyes have a strange, resigned light to them. Rose has seen those kinds of eyes before. The same eyes Dan’s uncle had after a prolonged battle with cancer. The eyes said he had simply given up.

Rose takes the last seat. She does not recognize any of the men seated. She has never been bothered about sticking out like a sore thumb in a workforce filled with men. But now she feels vulnerable.

An image zooms onto the projection screen. It is the picture of a crime scene. It takes several moments before Rose understands what she is seeing and when she does, she stifles a gasp.

It is Clifford Madupe, lying in a pool of blood with single bullet wound right on his forehead. His face is frozen in a rictus of surprise.

“And the latest victim we’ve discovered so far is Clifford Madupe,” says the woman. Her voice is soft, but with a rough edge, like she has been crying. “You were his arresting officer, right? Detective Rose.”

Rose turns her head. “I… Yeah. I was.”

“Were you aware of his death?”

“No. I haven’t heard about him since when he was acquitted.”

The woman opens a notebook. “He was found by the housekeeper the next day after the court discharged him. Autopsy placed the time of death at 11:45p.m the previous night. What can you tell us about this case, Detective? I hear he was discharged due to some unforeseen legal technicalities.”

“It was pretty rocky from the start. We had no concrete proof and the murder weapon was inconclusive. The other person who witnessed the murder and called us had bailed and was nowhere to be found.

"I think the victim was the turning point, for he had a host of life threatening diseases, so much that the coroner couldn’t conclude as to whether the stab wounds had caused his death or not.”

“So the court threw it out, judged it was all hearsay.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what you thought about Mr. Erasmus?”

“He was guilty. I’m sure of it.”

“You seem to have a very strong opinion about that.”

“I’ve been a detective for a while and I like to believe I know a criminal when I see one.”

The woman smiles. “Thank you, Detective. That was enlightening.” The woman converses with Michael in low voices. She switches off the projector and turns to them. “At this point, we have to assume this killer – The Executioner – is a serial killer. All signs point to it.”

“So we are looking for a pattern, then,” says one of the men.

“I imagine very few of you have worked a serial killer case.”
All the men shake their head.

Rose raises her hand. “I’m working on one.”

The woman inclines her head. “Serial killer cases are almost non-existent in this part of the world. It doesn’t mean they do not exist, but it is largely due to lack of documentation. The one thing we should all know about serial killers is their patterns. The patterns mean everything.”

“He kills criminals,” says one of the men. “That is the pattern here, right?”

“Exactly, but that isn’t what we should look at. We must look past that. What else can you discern from that little piece of information?”

Rose bites her nails. The image of Erasmus is still fresh in her mind. The answer burns through her mind like a streaking comet. “Information. The information.”

“Correct. Information is key. How does this killer know about these criminals?”

“He must have access,” says Rose. “He must work in the legal system.” She catches herself biting her nails. She looks up, sees the woman watching her with a small smile on her lips. “Or in the Force.”

“Correct,” says the woman. She is beaming. The smile lights up her face. “The police force will be our first assumption.”

She goes to a desk, pulls out bundles of papers from the drawer and hands them to everyone. “I have profiled this killer and the next couple of pages are a shortlist of sorts.”

Rose reads through. Employed, early thirties to mid forties, a justified killer, seeks to reconcile the society with an image in his mind, military training or experience. She turns to the next page, sees a list of names.

“Those are the total number of ex -soldiers currently in the employ of the Nigerian Police. Six trainers and seven detectives.”

“What is the next step?” says a man.

“We are going to bait them.”

Rose turns the next page, the name she sees stops her heart in her chest. “No.”

“You have a suggestion?”
Rose swallows. “No, I wasn’t… I meant this can’t be possible. I know Dave.”

The woman glances at her note. “Dave Coker?”

“Yes. He is my colleague. We have worked on a few cases together.”

The woman glances at Michael. He gives her a small nod. “Can we have the room, please?” she says. “Let’s go for a 30 minutes break.”

Rose stands, watches all the men file out. Michael rubs the woman’s shoulders and squeezes her hand, then he goes out. Closes the door behind him.

Rose turns to the woman. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- "
“You don’t have to apologize, Detective. Tell me about Dave Coker.”

“I have worked with him close to a year and half now and he is nothing but professional. I trust him with my life.”

The woman stares at Rose for a while. Then she sits. “What if he actually is the killer, are you willing to take him down?”

Rose swallows. “I will do my job. But I can assure you this is not Dave.”

“You do know he is just a suspect and we are only working with assumptions.”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Call me Janette, can I call you Rose?”

“Yes, you can.”

“We plan on handing everyone on this list a bait of sorts. We are going to be releasing a set of criminals in the district these men work. These criminals will be followed of course. If the Executioner’s urges are awakened, we plan on catching him.”

Rose nods. “It sounds great, actually. I think it is a great idea.” She finds herself warming up to the woman.

“Good.” Janette smiles. “I hope there won’t be a problem when it is Dave’s turn.”

“Oh, no. I won’t do anything to sabotage the plan. I understand what you’re trying to do. But I’m sure Dave’s angle will come up empty.”

Janette stands, pats her shoulders and walks out. Rose stares at the windows. The sun is sinking and the sky is a bruised palette. Dave is the best officer Rose knows. Dave couldn’t be the Executioner. He was always cool, calm and calculating, even during interrogations. And his hunches were always right.

Rose stares at his name on the paper. She folds it and places it on her chair. Seeing his name there doesn’t feel right.