“Are you a murderer?” Detective Nospoh asked while driving.

“No, do I look like one?” Dennis asked calmly.

“I’m just asking. Where exactly is your house? We’ve been travelling for ages,” Detective Nospoh complained.

“We are getting closer,” he said and in no time, they were on a bumpy road.

“Are you sure we are heading in the right direction?” Detective Nospoh asked.

“I’m sure,” he replied calmly.

Detective Nospoh was amazed by Dennis’ calmness. It was as if he was not in handcuffs.

They eventually arrived to the only fenced house in the area.

“I want to meet my boss and park the van,” Dennis said in a cool tone. He uncuffed him and watched him go in while they waited outside.

After he did the parking, he came back and led them to his house. It was a small house with a grass hedge but the house had iron sheets. They got in and he left them in the living room while he went to a room on the left. After some moments, he came back with a pistol that was placed in a plastic bag. He also had a grey briefcase in his left hand.

“Detective, on the night of 21 January 2016, I was in my quarters when I saw my boss making a phone call,” he dropped the things on a wooden table in the middle of the living room and sat opposite to Detective Nospoh, a position next to Mrs. Msiska who was almost quiet throughout the whole journey.

“What was strange was that she seemed to be panicking. I knew something was wrong but I chose not to go and ask her.”

“Where was she making the phone call?” Detective Nospoh interrupted, pausing his notetaking.

“Just outside her kitchen, directly opposite to my room,” he replied.

“Go on,” Detective Nospoh instructed as he wrote something in his notepad.

“A car came about an hour later. When she went to check on the car, one of the four guards at the compound knocked on my door. He came and gave me the briefcase and told me not to open it. As he was going out, he witnessed what I witnessed through my window. A policeman, Sergeant Moliati, had taken one of the house girls and had tied a cloth round her mouth to block her from screaming,” he paused and closed his eyes then opened them.

For once, he looked horrified.

“The guard coughed and that caught the attention of the Sergeant who pulled his gun to shoot him. The guard ran and jumped but unfortunately, he got shot on his left knee. Mrs. Khoviwa mistakenly thought I was the guard maybe because it was at night and he just saw someone coming from my room.”

“How sure are you that he mistook you?” Detective asked.

“I heard her whispering to the sergeant that ‘it’s that stupid gardener who got shot.’ The sergeant took the maid and threw her in the car boot and left. When I had just moved a few yards, I saw the guard who was almost dying due to excess bleeding. He told me most of the dirty secrets of the compound. I finally decided to leave the place by jumping out of the fence with a few of my clothes and the briefcase.”

“Before you proceed, how long had you worked there?” Detective Nospoh interrupted, playing with his pen while scrutinizing his notes.

“I had just worked for thirteen or fourteen months. However, I was the popular guy in there. Even Tito used to love me before he moved out.”

“So, what are the secrets?” Detective Nospoh asked.

“She was never married but she has a son. No one knows the whereabouts of his father.”

“I also know that. In fact, when Tito and Temwa were young,” Mrs. Msiska added, “…people believed she had killed her husband who was staying in another city but no one had proof.”

“None of her workers knew what she did for a living. And…” he paused and coughed, “she has never kept a maid for more than three years. On average, maids spend two years and leave.”

“Leave? Where to?” Detective Nospoh sought clarification.

“The guard died before he could spill more beans but one thing he told me was never to open the briefcase. He told me to either deliver it to you or D Mashangano of Kabila police.”

“Why did you not deliver it?” Detective Nospoh asked.

“Because I opened it and I held the gun inside. I was afraid my fingerprints would betray me so I chose to lay low.”

Detective Nospoh’s focus switched to the pistol and he moved the plastic bag closer to him.

Looking at it for seconds, his face turned pale, “This looks my firearm. It got lost three years ago…”

Tell us: What would you have done if you have found the gun in the briefcase?