Killer of journalist confesses it was to protect his women-trafficking business

30 May Killer of journalist confesses it was to protect his women-trafficking business

The thick cloud of gloom that had hung over The Zodiac lifted gradually on Wednesday morning once people read Abel’s story. The mood of The Zodiac staff matched the clear, sunny Lagos weather. And they had additional reason to feel happy. Management had pledged ongoing financial support for Tunde Picketts’ family. It sent everyone a clear signal that Chief Benson took care of his own, that the paper’s employees would be supported should tragedy strike.

By noon, TV and radio stations were already broadcasting the police press conference, which had taken place an hour before. There, they had paraded the suspect, Jimmy Jay, before a curious and angry but relieved public. Jimmy Jay, the police spokesman informed his listeners, had lived 15 years in New York. He had confessed to killing Tunde to protect his business.

Against his lawyer’s advice, Jimmy insisted on making a statement. He spoke in a heavy African-American accent, rationalising that he had been pushed into this evil business by the “devil who dwells in drugs”. He said further that he surrendered without a struggle to protect his lovely wife and children. Dozens of heavily armed police had surrounded his home while he and his family slept. Through a megaphone the Commissioner himself had ordered Jimmy’s surrender, threatening to pull his house down if he resisted.

When booed over his concern for his wife, the increasingly distraught criminal turned to the sea of attending journalists, imploring them to convey his deepest apology to Mrs. Lola Picketts.

Asked to explain how he operated, and who his collaborators were, he said he had given the names to the police, insisting that he was himself a target for elimination as Sunday Ola was.

The Police Commissioner took time to commend Sergeant Fakorede and the investigating team, promising that appropriate commendations would be presented soon. As Abel watched, the whole affair struck him as surreal. It seemed more like a circus than a press conference. Everyone acted their parts for the amusement of a curious and ghoulish public.  Jimmy was at last led away, ending the spectacle. But not the story as far as Abel was concerned. For him, it was only beginning.

Later that evening, Tunde’s remains were committed to mother earth in the presence of a large group of mourners from all walks of Lagos life. Residents praised the police for their quick efficient action in solving the case.

Abel did not attend the burial rites. He couldn’t take another spectacle.  Besides, his strategy was to stay out of the public eye. Which allowed him to work on the story in anonymity. At some point, he would call Lola to reiterate his promise. He would get to the bottom of Tunde’s murder. The capture of his killer was only the first step.

While the entire staff of the paper attended the ceremony, Chief Benson met privately with Abel in his office. When Abel entered, he noticed the bright yellow curtains had been changed to black. Benson explained his secretary had suggested it to reflect the mood of the company.

Chief Benson nodded for Abel to sit as he swallowed Norvasc and Moduretic tablets for high blood pressure. He had abandoned his desk for the comfort of the black leather settees where he received visitors. A glass of water still in his hands, he looked at Abel with admiration and nodded his head.

Abel settled into a seat to his right. His boss appeared pale and tired.

“Chief, I am sorry about all that has happened. You must know that I share your pain.”

“Thanks, Abel boy. This has been hard on all of us. Especially senior citizens with weak hearts.” Benson paused.

“What is it?” Abel said.

“What pains me more is the story we failed to do. Had we attacked this trafficking earlier, Tunde might be alive. As the leading paper in Nigeria, we shirked our responsibility …”

Abel nodded. That very thought haunted him, as well. He and the boss were always on the same page. This was the reason they worked so well together.

“I came out of my research on Monday night feeling the same guilt”, Abel said. “We have to expose not only the prostitutes, but the syndicates that manipulate them.”

“It is dangerous work, Abel.” Benson set his glass down and stretched. “Age is catching up on me, so I have to slow down.”

“You need some more rest. Delegate some of the work, Boss.”

Abel had the sudden impression that Benson was about to talk to him about stepping into management. But Abel also knew this wasn’t the time. They were discussing an urgent project, which Abel had to complete before any change of assignment could be discussed.

“So apart from Tunde’s murder by a man who has no balls, what have you found?” Benson said.

“We hear and see most of these stories daily, but we ignore them. In a country groaning under so many other problems, we tend to overlook trafficking in innocents. That is where I go next. I have spent too much time investigating government scandals. This is a much greater one when you consider the cost in human lives.”

“Go on”, Benson said. Abel knew the Chief loved to listen when Abel became passionate about something. It always signalled the beginning of an important investigation.

“The average age of women trafficked from Nigeria to Europe is fifteen”, he said. “There are about eighty-thousand prostitutes in Italy and neighbouring countries. Out of these, sixty to eighty percent are Nigerians. Think of the implications for HIV and AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Time bomb”, Benson said with the nod of his head.

“Chief, the trafficking begins when a recruiter goes around looking for girls to take overseas. Now, because the recruiters are known members of the community, they even find willing accomplices in parents, who pressure their daughters to go abroad and make money. The daughters send money home, and their families use it to build modern houses and set up businesses. It is all about getting out of poverty. But at what price?  Some of them don’t see their children again.”

“Go on”, Benson said. “This is getting interesting.”

“The U.S. State Department says someone who recruits and transports a woman to a madam in Europe is paid about twelve-thousand dollars for every victim. The madam then seizes the girl’s passport so she cannot run and pushes the victim into the streets, into prostitution, to repay a debt of about fifty-thousand dollars. These girls are forced to commit disgusting acts with anyone, or anything, they are told. Bestiality is not uncommon.”

“Good God.”

“There has never been any serious prosecution of these traffickers”, Abel said, wound up now. “The laws aren’t effective, witnesses can’t be protected, and families are often involved.”

“Like the drug business.”

“Yes. Exactly. And like the drug barons, these madams are never caught. That is the problem, Chief.”

“So, this will be your next assignment.”

“I will do it for the Picketts.”

“Good luck, my boy. As usual, you have all my support.” He offered his hand.

Abel rose and took it. “I told Lola it would be all right, Boss.”

“Then fulfil that promise.”

Chief Benson broke the handshake.