Chapter 2: The Investigation Begins

For something like this to happen for National Film Institute, na real nightmare for police.

Even the DPO for Jos North hear the news, nearly drop him kunu. “Haba! For Film Institute?” He know say trouble don land, media go scatter everywhere.

Once report reach them, Jos Area Command send their best investigators come scene.

Police siren dey blast, two Peugeot 504 cars, three men for okada. People clear road sharp-sharp, even okada boys pause their gist to watch. Neighbours dey snap with small Nokia phone.

Major Crimes Unit from State Police CID join, send top forensic and technical people, led by Superintendent Danladi Garba, come institute.

Danladi Garba always carry small leather jotter—everybody for station dey fear that jotter pass query letter. Tall, dark, serious face, respect full ground for am. Rumour say na him solve that Plateau bank robbery last two years. As he land, his eye dey scan everywhere like CCTV.

When Danladi enter the apartment, everywhere don scatter—drawers and cabinets open, items dey waka for floor.

He waka careful, see flower vase wey fall, textbooks scatter, TV remote inside dustbin. “Whoever do this, no come play,” he reason.

Jumoke repeat her story, voice low: "Oga police, I no touch anything. Na so I see am." Danladi jot everything, heart heavy.

Amara Nworie don already rush go hospital before police reach.

Siren noise still dey Danladi ear. He see blood stains where stretcher pass, neighbours dey huddle, some dey pray.

Hospital call back soon: Amara Nworie stabbed seven times—she don die.

The message hit Danladi and his team like hot slap. He close eye, whisper, “May her soul rest in peace.” Nurse for phone sound tired, sorrow full her voice.

No doubt—na murder be this.

Jos never see this kind wahala for years. Everybody dey talk, “Na real murder o, no be film trick!”

People wey no know Amara Nworie today, that year, she popular well.

Dem call her "Queen of Jos Bata." Even taxi men sabi her face, old women for Bukuru market dey use her dance to catch customer.

Amara Nworie, 38, teach physical performance for Film Institute, train students like Morayo Adeyemi and Ochuko Efe.

Dem dey talk say she fit bend pass masquerade for Ofala festival. Students still dey use her advice, some get her signed photo for hostel.

Before Institute, she act for grand Jos dance drama “Rain on the Plateau,” do back-bending bata pose, people call her “most beautiful Amina.”

People still dey hum “Rain on the Plateau” songs for NTA Jos reruns. Her poster everywhere, parents dey name pikin Amina because of her.

*Note: Amina na main female character for the dance drama “Rain on the Plateau.”*

She play the role so well, even outsiders sabi her face. Local gist talk say her Amina performance make old men cry for theatre.

As public figure, her murder shock Danladi, but wetin happen next pass imagination.

He look around, jotter for hand, not knowing say the next call go shake Jos to the bone.

While Danladi dey lead investigation, urgent voice blast for walkie-talkie:

“Oga, something don happen for Room 401 of this building too—abeg come down check am!”

Junior officer voice dey shake. Danladi nearly drop biro, shout, “Team, move!” Rush for stairs, boots echo for corridor.

Officers join, guns ready. Nobody sure if killer still dey. Tension thick like ogbono, sweat dey run even for those wey never waka gate before.

As he open Room 401, Danladi chest tight. Compared to upstairs, this one worse.

He freeze for door, metallic smell strong pass pepper soup. Proper horror—bad market for midnight.

Room 401 be two-bedroom flat. For parlour, middle-aged woman dey ground, body full of stab wounds, blood pool under her.

Her gele for side, hand open, eyes wide. Room still show family just chop—tuwo shinkafa and egusi soup still dey table.

For second room, small boy of ten dey bed, same condition.

Yellow Arsenal jersey, feet dirty from sand, half-eaten gala for pillow. He look like person wey dey sleep—except for blood.

Forensic officers confirm both don die.

Officers dey shake head, snap photo with old Kodak camera. One constable whisper, “God, abeg, protect our children.”

Middle-aged woman stabbed thirteen times, boy nine times—all for vital places.

Danladi count wounds, pen almost fall. He dey wonder wetin fit drive person do this kind thing.

Neighbours identify man of house as Dr. Ibrahim Abdullahi, associate lecturer for Acting Department. Victims na wife Halima and son Musa.

Dr. Ibrahim na known face—loud laugh for corridor, wife dey always bring fried plantain for PTA meeting. Musa na spelling bee champ, quick to greet elders.

Dr. Ibrahim teach speech and vocal training, famous for Plateau Chiller fridge advert.

People still dey mimic “Chill your life with Plateau Chiller!” for campus. His voice dey carry like bell.

Danladi learn say na Dr. Ibrahim discover bodies, call police.

He write for jotter, wonder how man fit talk after seeing that. Even as police, e hard.

Dr. Ibrahim dey film for Barkin Ladi, but since e no get work for days, he decide come house.

Man still wear brown shooting jacket, dust from Barkin Ladi full shoe. Carry small gift for Musa—carved horse—but no get chance give am.

Before reach house, Dr. Ibrahim call home, nobody pick. He think say Halima carry Musa go out, so he head home.

He dial her number, busy tone. He brush am off—Halima dey like that sometimes, especially if NEPA don take light and she dey cook.

Downstairs, crowd gather. He ask, find out something bad happen Amara Nworie for seventh floor.

He know some faces—Mrs. Eze from Block B, twins from Drama School. As dem see am, everywhere quiet more.

Dr. Ibrahim shock. Amara Nworie beautiful, talented, close friend to Halima. Now, so young, die like this…

He press chest, hold tears. He and Amara dey always joke on who get more fans. Now, all that don pass.

He wan go seventh floor go console, but as he reach fourth floor, he think: let me greet my wife first.

He always say, “Family first.” Plan to surprise Halima and Musa—maybe they go laugh, maybe she go vex say he forget bread.

As he reach door, Dr. Ibrahim see iron security gate open, but wooden inner door lock. He knock long, nobody answer.

He knock till knuckle pain. “Halima! Musa! Na me o!” Only echo answer. Neighbours peep from door.

This one strange.

Halima no dey joke with lock. Even for short waka, she dey double lock.

If dem go out, both doors dey lock. Why only one open?

He begin fear. Mind dey play all those old mama stories—“Evil fit wear many faces.”

Car park downstairs—wife suppose dey house.

He remember the car, brush dust off bonnet, think Musa go want wash am later. No sign of anybody.

He borrow neighbour phone call Halima, still no answer.

Mrs. Dogara give am phone, hand dey shake. He dial, let ring tire. “Maybe they just step out,” she say, but her eyes dey worry.

He dey worry more, especially after hear about upstairs murder.

Sweat dey soak shirt, even with breeze. His voice scatter as he ask again, “You sure say you never see them come out today?”

Halima and Amara close—always eat, market together. Could it be…

He see them two dey laugh, share suya by road. “No, God forbid,” he whisper, but panic grip am.

He no wan think further.

He close eye, try pray, but words no come. “Allah, abeg, not my family too.”

No key to inner door, he decide climb from neighbour balcony.

Risky but desperation dey. With Mr. Musa from next flat, squeeze past clothes, jump reach own balcony. Shirt tear, he no even look.

As Dr. Ibrahim enter through balcony, he see bloody scene: wife and son don die. Strong man for TV nearly faint, but open door, call police.

He collapse for ground, voice hoarse, calling Halima and Musa name like say them fit answer from spirit world. Tears soak face as he beg for help.

Danladi Garba look the bloodstains, heart heavy—he no know say the next call go shake Jos to the bone.