Chapter 8: PATTERNS

Karim got to the precinct extremely frustrated. His steps down the corridor were clipped, purposeful, almost militant. The junior officers sitting at their desks knew better than to stop him. His silence was louder than any barked order, his face taut and unreadable. By the time he reached his desk, he dropped into his chair with a heaviness that made the wooden legs groan.

He leaned back and pressed the heel of his palm against his brow, shutting his eyes. The day had frayed his nerves into threads. Aisha’s vanishing act lingered in his thoughts like smoke he couldn’t wave away. He could still see her tears, still feel the mistake of trusting emotion over principle. He should have had someone tail her, should have known better than to rely on her honesty.

A sigh slipped past his lips—long, tired, weary. He opened his eyes to find Salako standing nearby, holding a few files and watching him with quiet expectation.

“What have you found?” Karim asked, his voice sharp enough to slice the silence.

Salako didn’t answer right away. He shifted his weight, trying on a half-smile. “Our retired commissioner and first victim, Kola Ademola, had a partner that stayed the longest with him.” He paused for effect, as though dangling the information. “Can you guess who?”

Karim gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. He didn’t have the patience for riddles, not tonight. But the answer seemed obvious. “Commissioner for agriculture.”

“Spot on,” Salako said, the small smile flickering briefly across his lips. Then he asked, more gently, “How did your afternoon go, boss?”

Karim exhaled slowly. “She gave a pseudo residential address. She’s in the wind.”

The smile disappeared from Salako’s face. He sank into a chair, his features hardening. He didn’t speak, but the disappointment was written plainly in the crease of his brows.

“What else?” Karim asked, sitting up straighter, shaking off his mood as best he could.

Salako tapped the files. “There was another officer who worked frequently with Comm. Kola and his partner Jude Ogbona. He’s retired too. Entrepreneur now.”

Karim frowned. “Superintendent Musa Yahya?”

“Spot on again,” Salako said, nodding. “He retired five years ago. Doing very well for himself. And guess who’s throwing a party this weekend?”

Karim arched an eyebrow. “That’s oddly coincidental.” He sat back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Let’s warn him about the danger and start working on the list of people they’ve all worked cases with.”

“Yes, sir.” Salako gave a brisk salute, then gathered the files under his arm.

Karim let him trod halfway across the room before calling out to him. “Good work,” he muttered, though the words carried little energy.

—

Musa Yahya’s house reeked of self-satisfaction. The retired superintendent received them in his sprawling sitting room, a glass of red wine in hand, his kaftan embroidered so heavily it looked more like armor than fabric. Gold glinted on his fingers and neck. His laughter filled the room before Karim even finished explaining their concerns.

“Cancel my party?” Musa thundered, slapping his knee. “Detective, if you people don’t know how to do your job, don’t come here to spoil the enjoyment of others. Cancel? Are you mad?”

Karim tightened his jaw, forcing his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t clench them visibly. “Sir, two men you worked closely with are already dead. We have reasons to believe—”

“Believe, believe, believe,” Musa cut him off, waving a dismissive hand. “You believe too much. This is Lagos. People die every day. Is it today you realized it? That one concern me? My party is this weekend. Big men will attend. Commissioners, politicians, businessmen. I have worked too hard to organize it. I cannot cancel because you are chasing shadows.”

Salako shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Karim.

“Sir, with all due respect—”

“With all due respect,” Musa mimicked, sneering. “Respect yourselves first! If anything, you should deploy officers to guard my guests. That is your job. Protection. Security. Don’t come here to ask me to lock my doors because some old men are dropping dead.”

The laugh he let out was ugly, jagged. It grated on Karim’s nerves. He stared at the man, trying to decide which part of him was more offensive: the arrogance or the stupidity.

When they finally left, Karim walked in silence, his jaw locked. Even in the car, he said nothing, his thoughts burning like embers. Salako kept his eyes on the road, reading the storm in his superior’s face and choosing wisely not to speak.

—

Back at the precinct, Karim sank into his chair again, dragging his hands down his face. “A retired policeman with no respect for process or procedure,” he muttered bitterly. “What a joke.”

Salako sat opposite him, shaking his head. “It’s pride. He thinks he’s untouchable. Men like him believe nothing can touch them, not even death.”

Before Karim could reply, the office door creaked open and Irene stepped in, carrying a file. Her lab coat was folded neatly over her arm, her hair pulled back tightly. She paused briefly, noticing the heaviness in the room.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice calm but curious.

“Back to square one,” Karim replied flatly.

She walked closer, setting the file on the desk. “What happened?” Salako filled her in, recounting Musa’s arrogance, his laughter, his refusal. Irene’s brows arched higher with every detail.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, her voice thick with contempt. “Unbelievable.”

Karim leaned back, arms folded. “He said networking was more important than safety. Politicians will be there. That’s what matters to him.”

Irene shook her head slowly. “People are dying, and all he sees is an opportunity for cocktails and selfies.”

Karim glanced at her, almost surprised by how perfectly she mirrored his own thoughts. For a brief moment, her presence dulled the weight pressing down on him. But he snapped out of it quickly,

standing. “We have another lead. Someone who might know Aisha.”

—

The ride across town was quiet, filled only by the hum of the engine and the occasional honk outside. Karim pulled over suddenly beside his apartment building.

“I need to pick up a few things. Won’t be spending the night at home.”

Irene followed him inside. His apartment was as she remembered—disorganized, lived-in, half-home, half-office. A pile of books sat on the couch, shirts hung over chairs, a jacket slung carelessly against the doorframe. The faint smell of coffee and cologne clung to the air.

Karim moved quickly, gathering clothes into a bag. She leaned against the wall, watching him.

“You still live like a student,” she said softly, her tone teasing.

He let out a short chuckle. “And you still point it out.”

He turned, folding a shirt in his hands, when his eyes met hers. She hadn’t moved, but the look in her eyes made him falter. Something unreadable passed between them—recognition, longing, maybe both.

Her lips parted slightly, and she stepped closer. Her hand brushed his sleeve, tentative, almost shy. She tilted her head up, closing the space between them.

Her mind raced—how he had ruined her for others, how the men she met afterward never measured up. The dinners, the blind dates, the apps—all had left her cold. None carried the intensity he did, even in silence. Being with him had set her standards higher than she dared admit.

Her lips hovered close to his, and for a heartbeat, it felt like gravity was pulling them together.

But Karim blinked, and the ghost of another woman flickered across his face—the girl at the bar. He stepped back, gently but firmly.

“Irene…” His voice was low, heavy.

The heat flushed her face. She masked it quickly, turning to the table, pretending to adjust one of his files. The silence that followed was unbearable.

They left without a word, the air between them thick with unspoken things.

The drive was stifling. Irene looked out the window, her arms folded tightly, her thoughts a storm she couldn’t show. Karim gripped the wheel, his knuckles pale, wrestling with guilt and confusion.

—

The lead turned out to be nothing. The man they met barely remembered Aisha, offering vague recollections that led nowhere. Whatever hope they carried to the doorstep dissolved into emptiness.

They stepped back into the street, the night air pressing heavily on them.

Irene crossed her arms. Karim stared at the ground, then at the shadows stretching across the pavement.

It felt like chasing ghosts.

And for the first time, he wondered if the ghosts were winning