SO, WHO KILLED MADAM? (Missing signals)

Interrogation Room B. 4:41 p.m. Fashola's coffee is ice-cold. He’s tired, but his eyes are sharp.**** The Manager — Mr. Chidi Dike. Questioned sixth. He came in straightening his tie. No grief. No nerves. Just a man adjusting his collar before an interrogation.. He sat, crossed his legs, and looked at Fashola like he was doing him a favor "Mr. Dike." "Detective." His voice was smooth, like expensive fabric. "Fully cooperative. Whatever you need." "Good. How long have you managed Mrs. Okafor's properties?" "Tabitha's," Chidi corrected gently. "Four years." "You were close." "We were professional. She was precise. She knew exactly what she wanted." "And her husband?" The ghost of a smile touched Chidi’s lips. "Mr. Okafor was... involved. In things built long before him. Tabitha handled that balance well." "Meaning?" "She was diplomatic, Detective." Fashola leaned forward. "Thursday. Walk me through it." "Working lunch. We reviewed files until I left at approximately six-thirty." "Your car was still there at eight p.m." Chidi didn't blink. He just touched his tie again. "Times blur when you work late. There were property transfer documents to finalize." "Whose signature?" "Tabitha's." "Did she sign?" "We were interrupted by dinner. She said she’d sign Friday morning." "But there was no Friday morning for her." Chidi looked down. The first time his eyes wavered. "No. There wasn't." Fashola stood slowly. He didn't go to the door—he walked right up to Chidi, pulled out the chair beside him, and sat on the edge of the table, looming over him Chidi uncrossed his legs, both feet flat on the floor now. "Mr. Dike. Did you ask Sunday the gateman to leave his post Thursday night?" "No." "Did you collect Madam’s food from the cook to take upstairs yourself?" A microscopic twitch in Chidi’s jaw. "Once or twice." "Tobenna said four or five times." "Tobenna miscounted." The room went dead silent. Then, Fashola’s phone buzzedFashola glanced at it. Read it once. Read it twiceFour seconds of pure silence. A muscle jumped in the detective's cheekHe stood up slowly, stepping directly into Chidi’s personal space. The temperature in the room plummeted. "What?" Fashola whispered to himself, then he locked eyes with the manager. "You are her manager. Her body is missing from the house. We can't find her phone. We can't find her documents. What happened to her, Mr. Dike?" Chidi looked up. He said absolutely nothing. He just stared at Fashola like weather... unbothered, patient, and already prepared for the storm Five suspects. One dead woman. A body that had vanished into thin air. Fashola straightened up and glared at the door. "So," Fashola said, his voice hard. "Who killed Madam?" Chidi smoothed his tie one last time, looked straight ahead, he didn't respond.

Who, Killed Madam?

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