The Aso Ebi Chronicles: Complete Mystery Series

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5When Bewaji got home that evening, Seun still had not sent the additional details on Olu Ade. How on earth could she verify that he was the person she had narrowly missed in Bariga? And what if it was just a coincidence? And why was she involved in this again? For $300?

She was still battling these thoughts and the doubt that came with them when her phone rang. It was Seun. He apologized for the delay, saying he had been out of town for a couple of days. He had just e-mailed the details to her and would text the address Connie gave him.

Minutes after their phone conversation ended, Bewaji’s phone beeped and vibrated. She had a new text message. It simply read “Olu Ade’s address: Number 38, Adesina Street, Bariga, Lagos.”

Bewaji could not believe her eyes. This was too easy! Baba Mufu’s shop was on Adesina Street, and that woman had confirmed that the stranger on the phone lived at Number 38. Now, all she needed was the actual photograph of this person. For that, she would need to check her e-mail.

“I’ll do that after church service tomorrow,” she decided.

The very next day, after the church service ended at around 1:00 pm, Bewaji made her way to a nearby cybercafé to check her e-mail. She had never used this particular cybercafé before and regretted her choice by the time she was done. The snail speed of the internet connection was the least of her complaints. At the top of that list was the noisiness of the patrons. It was just ridiculous.

The computer station where she sat waiting for the yahoo mail website to open up was right smack in the middle of two older gentlemen. The man on the right was in a chat room, and he said each word he typed aloud. That was how she knew what he was doing. The man on the left seemed to be clueless as to what the computer was for. Or maybe he was just pretending. Instead of using his computer, he kept glancing at Bewaji’s computer screen. He did not even try to hide it. When the website finally pulled up and it was time to enter her password, she looked over her shoulder to find the man’s eyes glued to her keyboard. She was furious! She shouted at the man to keep his eyes on his screen, which he did grudgingly.

After that annoying hiccup, she logged in and saw the pictures of the person Seun had e-mailed to her. The first picture was of a young man sitting down in a studio, one leg crossed over the other, ankle to knee. He looked like he was around Bewaji’s age, but Seun had said this man was in his thirties. Could he have lied about his age to Connie? It was possible.

The man was bald and dark-skinned with a small gap in his teeth. He looked to be of average height, possibly about five foot seven with a blunt nose and thick lips. He had absolutely no facial hair. He looked so ordinary and unassuming that Bewaji might have walked past him in the street and not known who he was. He was not handsome by any standard but had what could be called an “honest-looking” face. Ironically, his involvement in the entire affair was allegedly not quite honest.

In the second picture, the same man stood under a large tree with his arms wrapped around the tree trunk as if the tree was planted for his sake. Finally, in the third picture, he stood outside a gate that used to be red but was now a rusty brown color. In the corner of the picture, above a light switch or doorbell—one could not tell which it was—the number of the house was painted in faded black paint on a cream-colored wall. It was Number 22.

Why was this man standing in front of a house with a number different from the one he had given Connie? Bewaji was confused.

She printed out and paid for the three pictures Seun had sent. Then, she returned to her computer to read Seun’s e-mail one last time. Just before she reached the last paragraph, a peculiar idea jumped into her head.

“That’s it!” she said aloud, snapping her fingers together at the same time. The peeping tom on her left looked at her in amazement. He looked like he was going to ask her what “it” was, but the words died in his throat when she gave him a nasty look that said, “Don’t even think about it.”

As she made her way home, the idea kept growing. By the time she got to her room, it had developed into a full-scale plan. She picked up a pen and began to make a list of items. When she was done, she put the list aside. Then, she took a pencil and sketched a woman’s face. When she was satisfied with her drawing, she scribbled two words under it:

Iya Olu.

Smiling, she pointed at it and said, “Tomorrow, I will become you.”

The woman smiled too.