SIX MONTHS LATER
The house was unusually quiet. Morning light filtered weakly through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the living room. The shrill, insistent ring of the doorbell sliced through the quiet afternoon air. It was an abrupt, jarring sound that made everyone in the living room look up from their phones and books. The comfortable, languid silence of a post-lunch lull was shattered.
Ding Dong
"Who is there? Someone's knocking on the door," their mother called out from the kitchen, her voice edged with a slight irritation. Joy, ever agile, sprang up from the couch. "I'll get it, Mom!" She padded barefoot across the polished tiled floor, her phone still clutched in her hand, as she went to answer the door. But then everything went quiet
A moment later, her voice, usually a cheerful trill, took on a note of surprise mixed with apprehension. "Mom, it's the police!"
Duru, who had been staring blankly at a television screen with the volume muted, sat upright slowly. Their mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, her hands still covered in flour. Amara and Onyinye exchanged quick, worried glances and immediately put their phones away.
Joy opened the door wider, revealing two men standing on the porch. They were dressed in the crisp, dark blue uniforms of the Police Force, their faces a sombre, unreadable mask. Their badges glinting faintly in the morning light. One of them, taller and more imposing, had a calm, commanding presence. His partner, a younger man with sharp, observant eyes, stood slightly behind him.
"Good day, ma'am," the taller man said, his voice a deep baritone. "My name is Inspector Morka, and my colleague here is called Inspector Akin. May we come in, please?"
Their mother hesitated, uncertainty clouding her face. Finally, she nodded and stepped aside. "Please… come in, have a seat," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
They entered with measured steps, their presence heavy, their eyes scanning the living room. The inspectors settled onto the plush, floral-patterned sofas, their posture ramrod straight. The family, except Joy and Duru, huddled around themselves, a cluster of anxious faces. Joy stood near the door, her hands clasped tightly. Amara and Onyinye flanked their mother, their shoulders almost touching. Duru remained sitting, his hands deep in his pockets, a sense of foreboding settling over him.
Inspector Morka's gaze swept over them, a quick, almost imperceptible assessment. "Ma'am, if I may, may we speak in private?"
All eyes flicked toward her. She looked at her children, their faces tense and anxious, and straightened her back. "Inspectors, you can speak freely here. Everyone here is family."
Inspector Morka exchanged a brief glance with his partner. Then he leaned forward slightly, folding his hands.
Inspector Morka gave a curt nod. "Very well. May I ask if you know a Mrs. Amy Bem?"
The room stiffened instantly. The name struck like a blade, pulling at scars that had barely begun to heal.
"Yes, Inspector," Amara took a deep breath, answering, her voice surprisingly steady. "She used to be my brother's wife. Is anything the problem?" she added, her tone filled with concern.
Inspector Morka didn't respond directly. Instead, he asked a question that made Amara's lips part in a disbelieving smirk. "Was she ever... missing?"
"Missing?" Amara scoffed and forced a laugh.
This was where Duru finally spoke, his voice dry and hollow.
"Inspectors, excuse my sister. She's reacting this way because my wife... sorry, ex-wife, ran away from home after some issues."
The inspectors' eyes met, a brief, silent communication passing between them. Inspector Akin spoke for the first time, his voice a little softer but no less probing.
"Problems?" Inspector Akin asked carefully.
"Did you fight?"
Duru's jaw tightened. "There was… a misunderstanding. But she left. She never came back."
Their mother leaned forward, frowning. "Inspector, why are you suddenly asking about her now?"
Inspector Morka inhaled deeply, as though bracing himself. His voice was low,
"From our investigation, it seems like your daughter-in-law was involved in a fatal motor accident that claimed her life. It seems to be suicide. We could not identify her sooner because the whole car was burnt, and her body was reduced to ashes."
A collective gasp ripped through the family. The mother's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. Joy stumbled back, her hand fumbling for support against the wall. Duru stood frozen, the blood draining from his face, leaving a sickly pallor.
"Thankfully," Inspector Morka continued,
"while a couple was walking around a lake last week, they found her ID card and plate number. It was close to the scene of the accident. There was blood on it, so we decided to get it tested at the hospital. We were able to determine that the blood belonged to your wife. We matched the plate number to the car she drove on the last day she was seen alive after we watched CCTV footage of her driving off from the hospital."
"What?!" Amara's voice cracked.
"Oh my God!" Their mother's wail was a sound of pure, unadulterated grief and shock.
"Inspector, so you are saying that my daughter-in-law has been dead six months, and no one knew about it?"
"Yes, ma'am," Inspector Akin said quietly. "Unfortunately, that is the case." Inspector Akin answered, his gaze fixed on Duru, who was still as a statue.
"No! No no no!" their mother wailed, rocking in her chair. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Omg! Omg... No!"
Heavy grief filled the room.
But the inspector's gaze lingered on Duru. "Mr. Bems… did you not look for your wife? For six months?"
Duru's lips trembled. He couldn't speak. His chest rose and fell, shallow, fast.
"Mr. Bems?" Inspector Akin's voice sharpened.
Finally, words stumbled out of Duru's mouth, broken. "I… I was angry. I found out she cheated. That the children weren't mine. That day… women came here, made a scene, humiliated her. She ran away. We thought… we thought she left out of shame. We never… never imagined…"
His voice broke.
"Never imagined she was… dead."
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Then Inspector Morka asked softly, "So you mean Jayden and Jessi Bem… are not your children?"
Duru was caught off guard by the question at first, but then lowered his eyes, whispering, "No. They weren't mine."
"Exactly, Inspector," Amara confirmed
Duru's head snapped to attention, his eyes wide with a sudden, dawning panic. "Oh my God! Inspectors, what about the children? Where have they been for six months?" The question was a desperate plea.
The inspectors watched the family's faces, their own expressions unreadable. Inspector Morka sighed,
"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But the children passed away last month. Two weeks apart."
The room shattered with a collective cry.
"What?!"
"Hey, why?" their mother asked, her sobs turning into a shuddering plea.
Inspector Morka continued, his tone heavy. "According to their attending doctor, the children were very sick. They could have survived, had treatment commenced on time. Your ex-wife was willing to donate her kidney to them. But the doctor requested she inform their father first. We discovered she called your number multiple times. She also contacted your joint bank account before… the accident."
He let the words sink in. "Now, isn't that strange? How can a woman who refused to leave her children in the most strenuous circumstances just commit suicide?"
"Inspector Akin, are you saying that there's more to this and she didn't commit suicide?" Amara's voice was sharp, a high note of disbelief and irritation.
Inspector Akin's eyes, as sharp as glass, met hers. "Well, at this point, it's only a suspicion."
Amara quickly took out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. "I don't know what you mean, but maybe this can count as a reason she did what she did." She played the video of the women attacking Amy and the spectacle in front of the house. The inspectors watched in silence, their faces giving nothing away. When the video ended, Inspector Morka simply extended his hand.
"Can you send this to me?"
Amara nodded and quickly sent the video to him after taking down the details of where to send it.
Inspector Morka stood up, a clear sign that the meeting was over. He cleared his throat. "Well then, thank you for your time today. We will leave you be now."
The two officers stood up and left the room, their quiet departure leaving an echoing silence in the living room. The family was left in a state of stunned grief and disbelief.
Outside, the two inspectors got into their police car. Inspector Akin, in the driver's seat, started the engine, but didn't pull away. He stared at the house in his rearview mirror, his eyes narrowed, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.
"What is it?" Inspector Morka asked, his voice low.
"It's weird," Inspector Akin replied, his eyes not leaving the mirror.
"What is?"
He pulled his phone from his pocket and replayed the video Amara had sent. He didn't focus on the shouting women or the flailing body of Amy. He zoomed in on her face, right at the end of the video, just before she turned to run for her car. The blood and tears made it hard to see, but there was a flicker of something there. He watched her eyes. She wasn't looking at the camera. She seemed to be staring past something just out of frame. There was a look of anger on her face, but also a fierce, desperate squint, as if she was trying to get a good look at something....
"Look—her eyes. She was looking at something. Or someone. See how her expression changed from Fear to Anger. It's like she recognized something off-screen."
Inspector Morka leaned closer, frowning. "The camera didn't catch it."
"No," Akin said softly, sucking air through his teeth. "But something is definitely off."
"You mean because of the kidney donation?"
"Not just that. Think about it. Does this woman seem like someone who would parade men into her home? Neighbours said she barely stepped outside. There's only one entrance; they've seen no strange cars, no men coming or going. And yet, on the same day, multiple women show up together to accuse her? Doesn't it feel too rehearsed?"
Morka's jaw tightened as his mind reeled. "And the bank records"
"Exactly," Akin said, nodding. "She had already prepared for the surgery, with no hesitation. Then suddenly the money vanishes. She panics. Call the bank. Calls her husband. Calls repeatedly. Hours later—she's dead."
"But we already checked that. There was nothing suspicious about it. It was a joint account, and the husband funded it. So it's actually legal for him to take the money out without informing his wife first. It was a Legal withdrawal"
"Legal, yes," Akin said, his eyes narrowing. "But moral? That money was for the children. And if she was desperate enough to beg the doctor, why would she just cut her own breaks; mind you, all evidence seems to be safely placed. Wrap her car around a tree?"
Morka leaned back. "So you think…?"
Akin gave a faint, enigmatic smile, starting the car.
Even without speaking, Morka knew what his partner was thinking, so he asked again, "Why didn't you tell them about the account records?"
"Because I wanted to see if they'd tell me the whole story first. You see, sometimes, when one tries to play tricks, they do everything to hide their cards, and when they do that, the more their secrets spill on their own."
He put the car in drive, and they slowly pulled away from the house, leaving behind a family grieving not for a loved one, but for a lost reputation. The case was far from closed.