The Man From Lagos Read online

  Sarah had left the bag of vintage candy on the kitchen center island, where it would sit until Monday.

  Chapter 8

  Why This One?

  Peters’ meeting with the chief this morning included all her precinct inspectors. The city’s homicides weren’t abating, and she wanted to get everyone together to talk through what each of them was doing in their district to close more cases and also discuss any trends or reasons for why this year’s crime was out of control again. This discussion could have taken place at their respective offices, but Chief Brown wanted to get everyone together to highlight the seriousness of the situation, as if they didn’t know that already.

  She ran through that week’s homicides as if she were reading off a menu. Last week a nineteen-year-old mother of one was shot sitting on her porch as she held her one-year-old baby. The investigation concluded that it was a stray bullet that killed her. The baby was fine but now would be growing up without his mother. Another murder was a domestic dispute that ended up being a murder-suicide. That one they couldn’t do anything with, as both the suspect and the victim were both deceased. But it still counted as a homicide on the books.

  The chief called for her inspectors to step up their presence in their districts and that they shouldn’t worry about any overtime costs. “If any of your officers can work extra hours, let them,” she added at the end of the meeting.

  As the inspectors left the conference room, she told Peters to stay back.

  “So, what do you have on the Smalls murder?” she began.

  “Nothing right now, Chief, but—”

  “Then I want you to give this one your full attention,” she added matter-of-factly.

  Peters knew there must be more to this case that the chief was not sharing, but he didn’t bother to ask. He wanted to close cases as much as she did, but this one was particularly important to her. He would do more digging as he went about his investigation. He had undergone this type of attention before on assignments. Tyson, his handler at the agency made similar requests after providing details for an upcoming mission. It was not his job to ask why, but he sensed it was important to someone higher up. Now, as then, it was the least of his worries. He was more concerned about completing the task and getting back home alive and without any leaking holes in his body.

  *

  Peters headed to the county records after leaving the chief’s office. He would call Sarah later to check on her, but now, he was focused on finding out more about Marcus and his background. What was it about this guy? Who was he, really? Was he connected to someone close to his boss or someone higher up who wanted this wrapped up with an arrest and conviction? Peters was going to find out—the old-fashioned way.

  It would have been easier to use the city’s computers at work, but that left a data trail. He didn’t want anyone to know he was digging into Marcus’s history and not just looking for clues on the street. Peters already had the Mustang clue, so it would be easy to find out who owned it and where it moved within the city. But first, he had to visit a friend at the county records.

  Carly Capra was a five-foot-nine retired Marine who had never married or had kids. The service was her life, and she always said she didn’t have time for anything but to serve her country. So, after twenty-three years serving her country, she took a job in the county services office because she couldn’t see herself sitting at home waiting for the mailman each day just to have someone to talk to. Peters estimated that she was about sixty years old, but Carly was still in tip-top shape. Peters believed but never verified that she probably did a hundred pushups daily. What Peters did know was how much Carly loved chocolate. Hershey’s Almond bars, to be exact. He always made sure to bring a couple with him whenever he came looking for a favor. This time, though, he was bringing a whole box with him—he hadn’t seen her in months and this was going to be a special request.

  It was easy to notice Carly when you walked into the service center on Chicago Avenue. She was the only woman with short-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair. All the other employees there were about half her age, but everyone knew who was in charge—even though she didn’t have a manager or supervisor title attached to her name. Peters figured that Carly might have left the military, but she didn’t leave her training and her ability to master her environment. She had much to teach her coworkers, and they were happy to listen to her because her stories and sense of humor were the best.

  Carly looked up and smiled when she heard Peters’ voice at the front intake desk, greeting the kid who worked there. His job was Carly’s doing. She had convinced her boss to start an internship for at-risk kids who could work there after spending their mornings at school. Carly wanted to give them experience, and the intake desk was a good spot for them. There, they would encounter all kinds of people during their shift. They would also experience getting yelled at, cursed out, frowned at, and being called all kinds of names. Carly would explain to them that if they could survive that position for six months, she would make sure they get hired as a part-time employee, and then full-time after they graduated from high school. In the time that Carly had been at the service center, she has only hired three out of the twenty or so who had gone through the program. Most quit within the first two weeks. Carly suffered no fools and didn’t want anyone working at the center who couldn’t find a way to deal with the public that walked in frustrated, tired, angry, and who thought it was your fault for their lives. Most of the kids didn’t realize that the former master gunnery sergeant was only looking out for them.

  “Peters,” Carly belted out as he walked towards her.

  No matter how many times he heard her call his name, Peters’ body always stiffened as if trying to stand at attention.

  “Master Gunnery Sergeant!” Peters yelled back.

  “Don’t call me that,” Carly shot back—but with a smile. “What do you want, Peters?”

  “I have a gift for you.” Peters extended the box full of goodies.

  “Wow, a whole box,” she stated while gazing down at the box of her favorite chocolate. “Must be a huge favor. What do you need this time?”

  Peters knew this information could get both of them in trouble. “I need to find someone’s records,” he said with a straight face.

  “Let’s go into my office,” she said as she motioned for Peters to follow her. The smile and pleasantries were over.

  Carly surely knew that he could have used the system in his own office, but he came to her whenever he wanted to avoid leaving his tracks on whatever he was searching for. Peters settled down in one of the two plain chairs perfectly aligned in front of her desk. Everything in her office was in place. Nothing was crooked or scattered on her desk.

  “So, who are you looking for?” Carly said, getting right to the point.

  “I’m looking for anything you have on a guy named Marcus Smalls.”

  “And who is he to you?” Carly asked without looking up from her terminal.

  “I’m not sure yet, but he was murdered, and there is something about this case that is off.”

  Carly went to work tapping furiously on her keyboard. Her glasses were still perched on her nose like an accountant studying numbers and figures. After more tapping and mouse movements, she made a grunting sound and turned to look at Peters. It must be something, as she got quiet and a scowl appeared on her face. Peters sat up and moved to the edge of his chair. Carly looked back down at her desk and grabbed a pen and her pad that lay perfectly on top of some papers on her desk. Peters saw her jot down some information while looking back and forth at her screen. After what seemed like forever, Carly dropped her pen. She tore the page from her writing pad and folded it in half. Carly stood up from her desk and extended the folded paper towards him.

  “You never got this information from me,” she said with a serious face. “If you get burned for this, please don’t come back here again.”

  Now Peters was intrigued. He would wait until he got to his car before looking at i
t. He grabbed the paper and thanked her for her time. There was no smile back from Carly—a first. This must be something, since she still had a worried look on her face as Peters walked out of her office.

  *

  Peters finally reached his car on the third level of a parking ramp close to the county services building. He checked his surroundings, and after the area was clear, he finally looked at what startled Carly. Peters was shocked.

  Marcus Demetrius Smalls, age 26

  Mother: Sally Schumacher

  Father: Donald Michael Lowe—MPD

  MPD. Minneapolis Police Department, where everyone knew who Donald Lowe was, because Chief Lowe was Lawana Brown’s predecessor. Now, it all made sense. No wonder the chief told him to treat this case as a high priority.

  Peters wondered if the call he walked in on, as the chief was having a heated argument, was with Marcus’s father—the ex-chief. Peters would not be bringing this up with his boss anytime soon. Maybe after he caught the killer, but not now, and maybe not ever. Chief Brown would have shared this information already, if needed.

  What a long day. Peters thought it was best to head home. He would resume tomorrow. Sarah would no doubt be waiting for him.

  Chapter 9

  And Baby Makes Three

  It had been two weeks since the embryo transfer. Sarah was apprehensive but hopeful, and wanted to wait one more week before taking the pregnancy test. So as not to jinx it, she never brought it up with Peters. He knew next week was important to them. He went to work and came home at decent times each day. Three days this week he came home with flowers, different colors and different varieties each time. Lulled by his extra warmth, she even found herself thinking about wall colors for the baby’s room.

  Sarah planned to have the pregnancy test at the doctor’s office. She had taken off work for the whole week and had been relaxing as much as possible each day. She noticed and indulged a nesting impulse: four days of scrubbing and sorting the house. She also made time to cook dinner every night for Peters. He ate anything she cooked, no matter whether the result was indistinguishable from a chef’s masterpiece or like a first attempt by someone new to a stovetop. Peters always wondered why she was so adamant to know what he thought of her cooking. Why she was seeking approval for her effort. He wondered if Sarah had ever spent time in the kitchen with her mother, or if she’d learned by secretly imitating what her sisters learned from their mom.

  Friday morning came and Peters was on his second cup of coffee when Sarah came down to his office.

  “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” she said, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “No, just have a lot on my mind.” He seemed distracted as he stood up and walked over to kiss her, even though she was wearing the red silk robe he’d bought her last Christmas. After a long hug, he seemed more present. Neither one of them spoke; they both knew what today was. It was a day that could or would bring great joy or a huge disappointment in their lives.

  Peters had cleared his schedule, but the chief called him the night before and asked if he could come in early Friday. She wanted to touch base on some developments, and she needed him to be part of the meeting. Sarah’s appointment wasn’t till 12:30 and he could meet her there, he said, as he broke the news to Sarah as gently and cheerfully as possible.

  Sarah said, “Don’t be late, please. Or we will start without you.” She smiled.

  “You better not,” he joked.

  He kissed her and started heading out. Just when he was about to open the garage door, Sarah called out to him.

  “Honey, can you take my car please? I’m out of gas and I don’t feel like breathing fumes at the station today.”

  Peters thought for a minute. He could fill it with gas and then bring it back before heading to his meeting with the chief. No, nothing to make either of them late. He yelled back that he would take her car.

  He squeezed into her driver’s seat, half-smiling, half-grumbling as he fumbled for the lever to free his knees from the steering wheel. He swore that her next car would have power everything, especially the seats. Maybe even one of those memory buttons where the car just knows where to put everything as soon as you sit down. Peters was thinking about what model he might be able to spring for as he backed out of their driveway; he was thinking about down payments by the time he stopped at the stop sign and turned left onto Regent toward 93rd. By the time he was done pumping gas, he was already imagining the surprised smile on Sarah’s face at her next birthday when he handed her the keys in a fancy little box.

  But had he skipped the gas station errand and taken his normal route that morning, he would have spotted the gray Chrysler 200 rental car idling on the side street with its four passengers.

  *

  Sarah had been ready for hours before her appointment. She had taken a bath the night before, but took another shower this morning just for the relaxing hot water. She washed her hair, scrubbed her feet with the pumice stone, then sat on the toilet seat and painted her nails red. She even put on some music from Peters’ collection—just hit play and some song came on that she had heard him play before. She thought the singer was saying Bang-Bang-Bang until she noticed the title of the song on the display. Beng-Beng-Beng. She liked the beat and tried to understand the lyrics but couldn’t make it out. She danced to it anyway as she got ready. She would remember to tell Peters that she played one of his songs while she got dressed. He would laugh when she told him what she’d thought the title was.

  When she opened the garage door to leave, she was wearing a loose-fitting pantsuit with a silk top. As a last thought, she threw on a Burberry scarf. She chose comfortable flats and pulled out her special pink Michael Kors bag. Today was an occasion. Sarah set the bag on the passenger seat as she slid into the driver seat. She wondered how someone could sit so far back when driving. She found his garage door opener in the center console, pushed the button, and reversed out of the garage. While the door closed, she checked her makeup one last time in the rearview mirror and then turned left on Regent. She would take 610-E to 35-W heading toward Woodbury. She would be taking 694-E because traffic wouldn’t be heavy on a Friday in the middle of the day. After merging onto 35-W, she finally turned on the radio, oblivious to the car that had started following her after she pulled out of her driveway.

  She wasn’t thinking of anything other than where she was going and what today meant to her. She kept to the speed limit, as she didn’t want to get stopped for speeding. Could not deal with the hassle or stress. Not today.

  Traffic flowed easily on and off the highways, but she couldn’t stop thinking the exact best speed to safely merge. When had she ever been so mindful about safe driving? This must be her maternal impulse. There was a chance of rain today, too, and she’d forgotten to bring her umbrella. Just as she was hoping that the weather would hold off, tiny raindrops started to fleck her windshield.

  “Damn it!” she muttered.

  The cars in front of her were braking more and more, slowing down due to the rain-darkened roads. The pavement could go from wet to slippery in a moment, which could cause you to hydroplane before you knew what hit you. Larger raindrops splattered on the windshield. Sarah turned on the wipers and turned on her lights.

  “Chance of rain, my ass,” she thought.

  As she slowly drove I-694, the skies opened. She was still at least forty-five minutes away. Her eyes darted between the sea of red taillights to the clock, and she kept calculating the drive, the dwindling odds of being on time. So of course, Sarah didn’t notice the gray Chrysler speeding up to her left, except to feel a pang of irritation that some jerk would be speeding in a hard rain.

  All of a sudden, the car swerved and was suddenly behind her, but it was not slowing down. She tapped on her brakes to flash the taillights, a signal to the driver to slow down…but it kept coming. The jolt was loud—it was everything. In an instant the long red line of taillights that had been in front of her was somehow far off to her right. She was fight
ing something hard, the wheel alive in her fists. Sarah tried to correct the skid, but the tires were skating all over the road. The median rushed up. Sarah’s life flashed before her eyes. Was this it? She thought of Peters, her unborn child, her clients, and a whole blur of other things that flashed senselessly in her head right before she hit the drainage grate that flipped the car and started it on a roll and roll and roll.

  The car must have rolled six times before finally coming to a stop.

  The people stuck in traffic observed the trail of car parts, the smoke coming from the hood, and all the shattered glass with a universal hit of dread. Dispatch started getting calls almost immediately. The stillness around the car stretched out, and the longer nothing moved around the wreckage, the more the strangers feared the worst.

  It would be another twenty-eight minutes, at 12:15 p.m., that paramedics on scene declared Sarah Ann Peters’ injuries not sustainable with life.

  Chapter 10

  Do as I Say

  Peters left the chief’s office in good time. The chief knew he couldn’t stay long for the briefing this morning. She had invited the precinct inspectors to her office along with Peters. The information Peters uncovered allowed them to put cars on the victim’s brothers, Ikee and Donald Smalls. In normal circumstances, these two would have been pulled over during a traffic stop and brought in to see the chief. These were different times, though, and a different chief. The cops following the brothers waited until they pulled into the neighborhood convenience store, and that was when they approached them. After a few minutes of convincing them that they did nothing wrong, but were being invited by the chief of police for a chat, they both agreed—still skeptical of what they were hearing. The officers even conveyed to the brothers that they could follow them in their own car.