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Big Dee Nigeria
Writer | Speaker | Creative Voice. I tell stories, make calls & design confidence. @ Yabatech
Lagos, Nigeria
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In Literature, Writing and Blogging 3 min read
WHO, KILLED MADAM (Kitchen series)
<p><strong><em>SCENE 2</em></strong></p><p><strong><em>Interrogation Room B. 2:13 p.m. The folder on the table is thicker now. Fashola has not eaten since morning.</em></strong></p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><strong><em>The Male Cook — Tobenna. Questioned fourth.</em></strong></p><p>He came in with his chef whites still on, looking as though he’d been pulled from a simmering pot. </p><p><br/></p><p><span style="background-color: transparent;">He sat carefully and clasped his hands on the table. Fashola noticed his knuckles were pale, the kind of tightness that comes from a man holding his breath with his whole body.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: transparent;"><br/></span></p><p>"Tobenna."</p><p><br/></p><p>"Sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>"How long have you cooked for the Okafors?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Two years and eight months, sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>"You knew Madam."</p><p><br/></p><p>A small nod. "She brought me here from the hotel I worked at before. She liked my food enough to come into the kitchen herself." He looked down briefly. "People in her position don’t really do that."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola let the silence sit, heavy and expectant.</p><p><br/></p><p>"Thursday. Walk me through your day."</p><p><br/></p><p>"I served lunch at one. Madam ate with Mr. Chidi in the dining room. They were working while they ate, so I left them alone." He rubbed his thumb once against his palm. </p><p>"Dinner was at seven-thirty. Only Oga came down."</p><p><br/></p><p>"Madam didn't eat dinner."</p><p><br/></p><p>"No sir. I kept the food warm till nine. After that, I covered it and left it."</p><p><br/></p><p>"And then?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"I slept, sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola opened the folder halfway, then closed it again. </p><p><br/></p><p>"Mr. Chidi. How often was he around?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Almost every day. Sometimes before Oga woke up. Sometimes till late evening."</p><p><br/></p><p>"That felt normal to you?"</p><p><br/></p><p>Tobenna shrugged. "Madam worked all the time, sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>"And him? What kind of man was he?"</p><p><br/></p><p>The silence that followed was long. Too long.</p><p><br/></p><p>"He liked things done a certain way," Tobenna said eventually. "Sometimes he came into the kitchen himself to carry Madam’s food upstairs."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola’s pen stopped. "He carried her food himself?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Yes sir. Maybe four or five times."</p><p><br/></p><p>"And that never bothered you?"</p><p><br/></p><p>Tobenna opened his mouth, then stopped. "I just didn’t think about it."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola tapped his pen once against the table. "The gateman. Sunday. Did you ever see Mr. Chidi with him?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Sometimes. He would call Sunday over to help him open the back entrance for deliveries."</p><p><br/></p><p>"The back entrance."</p><p><br/></p><p>"Yes sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>"Not the main gate."</p><p><br/></p><p>"No sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola finally wrote something down. The ink seemed darker on the page.</p><p><br/></p><p> "One last thing. Did you ever notice anything strange between Madam and Mr. Chidi?"</p><p><br/></p><p>Tobenna leaned back. "Once. About three weeks ago. They were outside the kitchen corridor. Mr. Chidi was speaking to her in a way I didn't expect. Firm. Too firm. The kind of voice you don't use with your employer."</p><p><br/></p><p>"And Madam?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"She just listened. Madam wasn't the type to keep quiet when somebody crossed a line. But with him... she was softer, sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola studied him for a moment longer, then stood. "Thank you, Tobenna."</p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><strong><em>The Female Cook — Chika. Questioned fifth.</em></strong></p><p>She looked frightened before she even sat down. Not guilty frightened.. she was obviously scared kind of freightened<span style="background-color: transparent;">. Her apron was twisted into a tight rope between her hands.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: transparent;"><br/></span></p><p>"Chika. Thursday night. Did you see Madam?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"In the afternoon, sir. She came through the kitchen. I had a cold. She told me to drink ginger and honey." Chika swallowed hard.</p><p><br/></p><p>"Did she seem upset?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Not upset. Just... distracted. Madam was always busy."</p><p><br/></p><p>"Did you see Mr. Chidi that day?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Yes sir. He was around till evening. Maybe six, or six-thirty."</p><p><br/></p><p>"And after that?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"I didn't see him again."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola flipped a page. "Did you see him leave?"</p><p><br/></p><p>Chika looked up quickly, then away. "I saw his car. From the kitchen window. Around eight o'clock."</p><p><br/></p><p>The room went still. "The car was still outside at eight?"</p><p><br/></p><p>"Yes sir. But maybe somebody else drove it," she added breathlessly. "I don't want to cause trouble for anybody, sir."</p><p><br/></p><p>Fashola watched her. She wasn't lying; she was simply terrified of being important. He closed the folder slowly. </p><p><br/></p><p>The "thud" it made was final. If Chidi’s car was there at eight, the timeline was a lie.</p><p><br/></p><p>He stood up. </p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><strong><em>Outside, footsteps moved past the corridor. Life continuing beside death.</em></strong></p><p><br/></p><p>"Alright," Fashola said quietly.</p><p><br/></p><p> Then louder: "Next person in."</p><p><br/></p>

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