DIVISIONAL CRIME BRANCH: MYSTERY IN THE HOUSE

THE DIVISIONAL CRIME BRANCH
MYSTERY IN THE HOUSE 2

I sat down facing the boy sitting opposite me now alone on the bench. His eyes were moving from one corner of the office to the other, but refusing to be focused on mine.
“Is there anything you wish to talk to me about that happened on Monday?”I asked him at last.
“Sir, I was not well on Monday, that was why I did not go to school,” he said flatly.
“Well, I see that you have enough guts attempting to talk yourself out of this,” I told him, as I stood up. “Hello Serge,” I called the desk Sergeant, “Please Sir, would keep this boy in the cell till I return?” With that, I left the office, the boy looking at me befuddled.

“And what is the boy telling you about his movement on Monday?” the DPO asked.
I have gone to his office to brief him of the case so far. We have not met since our last talk on the matter the previous day.
“I will get back to him soon. I have him detained briefly to come and brief you. I believe he will be reasonable to talk something meaningful the next time we will meet.”
“Are you of the opinion that he may have knowledge about the stealing,” he asked.
“Sir it’s a long shot, but the boy is a regular visitor to the Salamis’ house. He was not in school on the day of the incident and he is lying about that. Why would he want to do that? I think I should hold on to that hunch till we prove otherwise,” I pressed on.
“And you said the doors to the house were not broken.” He reflected
“No, they were not. Whoever that came to the house must have let himself in without broken in. also, they have lost a key earlier,” I explained.
“Let us see what we can get from him, but keep the case open,” he said after a brief pause.
I saluted him and left the office for the Crime Branch. On the way, I met Itoro and asked him to come into the office to observe the interrogation. I asked the Sergeant also to bring the boy from the cell.
He was more subdued now than when he came into the office with his friends earlier in the morning.
I brought out a statement form from my drawer, deliberately dragging the moment for effect.
“Dalapo,” I looked into his eyes across the table, “What class are you?”
“I am in class three,” his voice was faint.
“Which is more important to you in life?” I asked him. He was befuddled not knowing where I am headed with the line of question.
“I mean, what is more important to you in life; if you do not want to attend school?”
He sat back in his chair, trying to articulate an answer to the question.
“I will go to school,” he said finally.
“When did you remove the key from Sunday’s kitchen?” I drew my face to just some few inches from him.
“I---Sir---I----, “and he trailed off without saying a word.
“Can you tell me what happened? Tell me everything you could remember,” I prompted him.
“I was not the only one that went into the house,” he finally admitted.
“Just tell me everything you know,” I coaxed him firmly.
And this is the story as he told us at the Crime Branch.
Some three months ago, he and some of his friends had gone to visit Sunday in their house. It was a Saturday, and there was no school. They were entertained by Sunday brother’s wife with food and drinks.
While they were helping Sunday to clean up the kitchen that he removed the key from the door. He did not know why he did that, but he did it anyway.
The key had been in his bag ever since. It was a week ago that he met a friend called George. He told him about the key he collected from a house at the DSC Camp Extension.
George was much older than him. Somehow, he persuaded him (Dalapo) to go to Sunday’s house to see what they could help themselves to get. George told him that he has got some friends that could help them to dispose of any electronic they could get, and they would share the proceed.
It does not sound like a bad idea at the time, and there seems to be no risk involve. He bought into the idea.
It was his first time doing anything of sort, but he cannot say the same about George.
On that faithful Monday morning, both of them dressed up in their school uniform, and came to the camp. The security men at the gate were not interested in checking school children in that rush hour.
They easily strolled up to Sunday’s house, knowing that the family would all be out of the house at that time. He knows that Sunday’s uncle works with the company – DSC. The wife is a teacher and would have gone to school. Sunday of course, will be in school.
Anyway, they let themselves into the house, removed the video player from its rack. They saw a pot of rice and stew in the kitchen and helped themselves to plateful and left the house, locking the door behind them.
They do not consider the reason of locking the door, but they did. They put the player in the school bag and sauntered out of the gate without any hindrance.
It was when they were going to dispose of the video that they met Sunday, and the other boys with their class teacher at the Ovwian express Junction.
He did not know who bought the video. George took it away, and came back later with two hundred Naira as being the proceed of the sale of the video.

He clasped his hands together, and huddled up at the edge of the chair, and put them between his locked knees and looked up at me, his eyes shining.
“Where can we get the George at this time of the day?” I asked him.
“I think he will be in his house at this time.”
“And where is his house?” I asked in a hard voice.
He glanced at me and looked at Itoro who was sitting a table away from us listening to our conversation.
“He lives opposite the market, before the Udu Bridge,” his voice was a little more than a hush.
“Bara, let us go and get him before he gets wind of the arrest of his friend,” Itoro blustered. He was already on his feet.
“Okay, Dalapo, will you just sign his statement and then take us to your friend.” I read out the statement to him and he signed it with his hand shaking.
We took a Taxi in front of the station and drove to a compound just before the said bridge. George was sitting in front of their house bare bodied, wearing only a jean short.
“Hello George,” I called out to him cheerfully. My name is Baralate from Ovwian Police Station. How are you?” I flashed my ID at him.
He stood up slowly. His eyes darted from my face to the rest of the group with me in surprise. He would be in his seventeen, with a broad square face. There is a scar on his upper arm; an indelible mark of boys growing up in the ghetto.
“I am fine Sir,” he growled a response to my greetings.
“This is Cpl Itoro, and over there by the car is Charles,” I pointed out Charles to him, who was standing with Dalapo beside the taxi. “And I hope you already knew Dalapo,” I nudged.
“Sir, I don’t know any of you,” he answered casually without looking at the direction of Dalapo.
“Well, not to worry,” I continued. “You will come with us to the station. We have some few questions to ask you since you said you did not recognize you friend Dalapo.”
“I don’t know any Dalapo, and I don’t if I can follow you to the station right now.” He made to turn away.
“Will you halt there!” the bark was like a sharp wipe from Itoro. He was already beside the bewildered boy, pinning his hands behind. In a flash, he clamped a pair of cuffs on his wrist, shouting, “Do you think we are here for fun?” His eyes were red.
He pushed him into the taxi and we drove away as people started coming out of their room to observe the drama.

“Do you know Dalapo?” I asked him. We were back to the Crime Office. I was sitting on my desk facing George, sitting on the bench. Itoro and Charles were on the two other tables in the office. Dalapo was sitting on the same bench with George.
“Sir, I said I don’t know him,” his voice was still a low growl.
“Urueh!” Dalapo swore at him and jumped to his feet, the manacled hands raised up threatening to smash his head with them if he denies him again.
“Hey! Will you stop that,” I shouted at him.
“But Sir, what kind of thief is this boy? Why will he deny his friend,” he fumed. Facing George he continued, this time almost pleading. “Please, tell them whom you sold that video recorder to.”
I walked up to George, “Look, we are losing patience with you right now. We have treated you enough like a guest. I will ask you for the last time. If you do not tell me what I will like to hear, I will ask the CRO to put you in that cell till when I make up my mind to talk to you again – and when that will be, I do not know. So, whom did you sell the video player to?”
“I don’t know who bought it,” he mumbled. His eyes were fixed on a spot at the table. “I gave it to Richard to sell it for me. He brought four Hundred Naira to me. I gave Dalapo two hundred Naira.” He still did not raise his head to look at any of us.
I eased back on my chair. There was an air of relief in the office.
“How can we get to this Richard,” Itoro sat forward on his chair.
George looked at him briefly. “He lives somewhere after the bridge, before the roundabout,” he answered, his tone subdued.
“Can we get him at home if we go there now?” I asked, following the momentum.
“No way!” he looked up sharply at me. “Richard cannot be at home at this hour. The best time should be in the night.”
“Alright,” I breathed heavily. “We will stand down now, but in the mean time, this is what we will do. I will ask you some questions and then you will sign your statement. Is that okay by you?”
“You are the boss. What can I say,” he answered resignedly.

It was 12 midnight when we piled into Mr. Salami’s car and left the station. I have briefed him about the outcome of the case thus far. I asked him to come with his car at about this time to go on this midnight raid, and he had promptly complied.
Aha Baralate,” he had shouted my name when I told him about our success. “You mean that boy actually stole a key in my house to come and rob me?” he asked incredulously.
I was in the back seat with Charles; George was between us. Cpl. Itoro was in the front seat, while Mr. Salami was driving the car.
As we crossed the bridge, George asked us to slow down the car, and pointed at a building with a row of room facing the road.
Mr. Salami slowed the car to a crawl, just revving the engine, and eventually brought it to a stop besides the building.
There were about six rooms all facing the direction of the bridge where we were coming from. There was another building adjacent to our target. There were shouting, and sign of quarreling coming from a room in this house.
Cpl. Itoro went up to the third room and rapped at the door; there was no answer from, within. He knocked a second time with the same result. The night was quiet, which was broken only by the quarreling from the next house.
“What do these people think they are doing disturbing the neighbourhood,” I said and walked up to the front door and banged on it roughly. I cannot believe that any same person would be having a fight at this time of the night. There was pause from within the room. I can hear the murmuring of voices and shuffling of feet from inside.
“It’s the Police. Open the door,” I called out.
The Beretta pistol was in my right. I looked round at the faces of the others with me. Corporal Itoro was grinning at me in the dark, his hand wrapped around the Revolver pistol with him. Constable Charles was holding the suspect’s belt on the waist line with his left hand. He held a pump action rifle on his right.
We have left Salami in the car. I do not have to look that way to know he will be there peering at us and the emerging drama.
As I raised the baton in my hand to bang at the door again, I heard the bolt pulled back from within. I stepped into the shadows of the door and flattened myself against the side as the door was flung open.
It was Itoro who pushed his way into the room almost knocking down the man who came to open the door, barking at the man. “What is going on here?”
I went in behind him, brandishing my pistol around the room for effect. There was one lone oil lamp on a table in the centre of the room. Three startled faces turned to look at us. The man who opened the door for us; a man in his thirties I could tell from his look. The other person was woman of about the same age. And another young lady: presumably their daughter.
I turned to face the man. “What is happening in this room that you were fighting at this time of the night,” I asked him.
It is our daughter,” he pointing at the young lady in the room. His eyes shifted to the other woman, and he became silent.
“Okay. What is about your daughter?” I prompted him
“She… She came home l..late,” he stuttered and broke off.
“So she came home late and you started fighting with her in the middle of the night?” Charles queried him.
He was standing by the door with our suspect. “Do you know what the time is now? It is 1 “O” clock in the morning and you are here disturbing the neighborhood because your daughter returned home late,” he sneered.
“Officers, we are sorry,” the man pleaded.
Meanwhile, I was pacing around the room, peeping into every corner. “By the way, who are you?” I asked him off offhandedly.
It is either he did not understand my question or chooses to play ignorance, but I could see that the suddenness of the question has thrown him off guide.
I..I..m.. I am Mukoro. We.. em,” again he broke off.
I turned to look at Cpl. Itoro standing by the man. He turned to look at the wife. Well I don’t know if she is the wife, but for now I will assume that she is. At that moment, I noticed that the door was not opened to its hilt. I went behind it and saw heap of clothes and utensils packed together.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I started poking at the heap with the baton roughly. All of sudden, I heard somebody cried out in pain from the heap. I drew back a pace and shouted out an order. “Come out with your hands up,” my pistol pointing as a young man came out from the heap of clothes with his hands raised.
He has obviously jumped behind the door at our knock and his parents thrown the garbage over him.
“What are doing in there?” Itoro asked his eyes boring into the man’s face.
“And don’t tell us you were afraid of the Police,” I asked with a veiled threat.
“Sir it is the truth. I was afraid when you said you are Police. That was why I hid myself,” he admitted.
“And if I may ask, why were you afraid of the Police?” Charles was blunt.
“I don’t want to be arrested for two fighting,” he was shaking violently.
“And that is exactly what we are going to do.” I told him, and asked Charles to handcuff him together with our other suspect.
“Oh! My son is innocent,” cried the mother, trying to stop us as we went out of the room with the two suspects.
As we came out of the room, I pointed out Richard’s room to him. ”Where is Richard, your neighbor?”
It was just an off at hand question that came at the spur of the moment. But it scored a bull’s eye.
“Ah, Richard did not sleep here this night. He went out with his girl friend to her place.”
Fortune, they say, favours the brave, but here, I would rather say, fortune favours the fortunate. I resisted the impulse to show my relief, but took this unsolicited information on stride.
“You will take us to the girl friend house now.” the tone of my voice made it clear that he has no option in the matter.
“It is in Kolokolo layout,” he said.
“That is where you will take us to,” Itoro pressed on.
He was rather pleased to do that as well if it can buy him his freedom.