That Night in Lagos Read Online Free Page A

the man had the required imagination and creativity for that. “And none of them can bloody well swim.”
    I murmured some noncommittal sounds, wondering when the tirade would putter out so that we could get on with the task at hand. While there was little point in mourning the loss of the chief informant — the assistant — there was still another in our custody who could perhaps provide some insights into the case.
    “That’s precisely why we are needed here,” he continued, not yet weary of his lecturing monologue. “To train these savages in the ways of common sense at the very least, if not in building civilization. What sort of halfwit jumps into the ocean with his hands tied and unable to swim?”
    “The sort who had more to fear from his master than from us,” I interjected, vexed with the self-righteous arrogance.
    “What?” he demanded, as if startled by the reminder that I was still present.
    “Whoever is behind the smuggling ring must be a fearsome bloke,” I continued. “Even more intimidating than the British police, as difficult as that might be to imagine.” I glanced at the rubber bludgeon tucked into the Inspector’s belt.
    “Indeed,” the Inspector said, frowning at me as if unsure if I was seriously suggesting there was a force greater and more terrifying than the one he represented. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small metal box of what I could only presume was snuff or some similar narcotic. “Could it be that… what did you call that fellow who attacked us?”
    “An Obayifo,” I said, not expecting him to be able to pronounce the word, never mind remember it. “And no, I don’t believe so. From what I’ve heard, the Obayifo don’t play well with others, and tend to be hired for one-off jobs, such as influencing minds and assassinating bodies, that sort of thing.”
    The Inspector scratched at his head, clearly struggling to grasp the world I was presenting to him. He extracted a pinch of powder from his box and delicately sniffed at it, as if to fortify himself for the ensuing conversation. He then produced from his desk a pad of paper and attempted to summarize what I’d just explained.
    “Well, that’s going to have to be reported. We can’t allow assassins to roam the streets of Her Majesty’s colonies.” He paused while tapping his mustache with his fountain pen. “So why would he attack me now?”
    I set my empty teacup onto its saucer as gently as my growing agitation would allow. “Inspector Jones, please do try to engage a little imagination, would you? It wasn’t you they were after. Whoever heads this gang is fully aware of the organization I am employed by and therefore has some inclination as to my position and abilities.”
    I studied the Inspector as he digested the news that I might be more interesting to his adversaries than he was. I couldn’t comprehend his disgruntlement, for it wasn’t a position to be envious about. If anything, it was unnerving that the news of my mission had travelled faster than I had, and I was now in danger of further attacks.
    Inspector Jones muttered something that sounded like ‘preposterous’, and then sat on his desk, his fingers tapping the edge.
    “Perhaps we should question the driver,” I suggested.
    “Of course we should question the driver,” he snapped. “I’m fully cognizant of procedure, Miss Bee, as I have more than a decade of experience in such matters. The same however cannot be said of you. I’d be dumbfounded if you have more than a couple months under your proverbial belt. You must be all of seventeen years old.”
    “Nineteen, actually,” I corrected him. “And I’ve been investigating for over a year now.”
    He snorted at that. “Nineteen, and your family allows you to gallivant about the world like this?” He waved at me, as if to emphasis what ‘this’ referred to. “You should be married and looking after your husband’s interests, not playing at being a