The bar's cacophony, once a suffocating wave of noise, now felt distant, a muffled backdrop to the quiet confession happening at their table. Dayo's shoulders, once hunched with the weight of five years of running, seemed to have dropped a fraction. The tears on his face had dried, leaving behind a map of raw emotion. Ifeyinwa still held his hand, a silent anchor in his sea of turmoil. She could feel his pulse, a frantic hummingbird beat, but it was no longer a pulse of pure fear. It was a pulse of dawning hope.
"I… I don't know what to say," he said, his voice raspy. He pulled his hand away slowly and wiped his face with the back of his other hand. "Five years. I never thought I'd tell anyone. Never thought anyone would believe me." He looked at her, truly looked at her for the first time, seeing beyond the expensive clothes and the polished demeanor to the fierce determination in her eyes. "You… you're a stranger. Why do you care?"
"Because it's not just your story," she said. "The Omololus built their success on lies. On the lives of people like you. And on the lie that has been a shadow over my family for five years." She explained, in short, concise sentences, the lie her mother had told, the rift it had created, and the way it had poisoned her relationship with Nonso. She didn't have to explain the whispers, the echoes, the constant hum of a truth she couldn't articulate. He understood. He had his own echoes.
"So you're… you're not a ghost," he said, a faint smile on his lips. "You are the city's voice. You're the reason I finally have a chance to not be a ghost myself." The words settled over her. For years, she had seen the echoes as a curse. Now, in the eyes of a man broken by the very conspiracy she was trying to unravel, she saw it as a purpose.
"We can't stay here," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Omololus are powerful. They have eyes everywhere." She looked around the bar. No one was paying them any mind, but the warning from the old mechanic still echoed in her head. "We need to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere we can talk. A place where the walls don't listen."
He nodded, a sudden urgency in his movements. "I know a place." He stood up, his legs a little unsteady. "An old bakery. It's closed down. It's where my wife and I used to go." The mention of his wife brought a new wave of pain to his face, but it was quickly replaced by resolve. "We can talk there."
They left the bar and walked out into the cool evening air. The streets were still teeming with life, the motorbikes zipping by like metallic insects, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness. They took Ifeyinwa's car, a sleek, modern vehicle that felt completely out of place in this part of town. Dayo gave her directions, his voice a low, steady stream of street names and landmarks. They drove for fifteen minutes, past brightly lit markets and dark, quiet alleyways, until they arrived at their destination.
The bakery was a small, unassuming place, its windows covered with dust. The sign above the door was faded, but she could still make out the words: "Mama's Bread." The smell of burnt sugar and old flour still hung in the air, a ghost of a happier time. They went inside, the small space a cavern of shadows and memories. Dayo sat on a dusty crate, his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall where a photograph must have once hung. "This is where they showed me the picture," he said, his voice cracking. "This is where they told me my son would disappear if I didn't do what they wanted." His fear was palpable, a cold, cloying thing that filled the air. He was not a witness; he was a victim. His fear was a new kind of echo she had never felt before. A quiet kind of terror, a slow-burning dread that had eaten away at him for five years.
Ifeyinwa sat across from him. "Tell me everything," she said. "Everything you remember."
He started to talk, his voice a slow, careful narrative. He told her about the day of the murder, about the phone call he had received, about the threats and the fear. He told her about the Omololu brothers, two men he had only seen in the dark, their faces obscured by shadows. He told her about the old truck he was forced to drive, about the frantic, panicked shouts of two men, and the sickening sound of metal on flesh. But then, he remembered a detail she hadn't known. A detail that could be their only lifeline.
"Before they showed me the picture, they took me to a room. It was a dusty room, like this one. There were boxes everywhere. They told me to go through them. They were looking for something." He said that the Omololus wanted him to find a small black book, a ledger. They said that it was a ledger that contained the secrets of all the construction deals and payments. "They said the book had all the information they needed," he said. "They said it would ruin them if it ever saw the light of day. But I didn't find it. I went through the boxes, but I couldn't find the book. They were angry. They told me that if they ever saw me again, they would kill me. They told me they had connections to the police. They showed me the picture, and I knew they weren't lying."
Ifeyinwa's mind raced. A ledger. A book that contained all their secrets. This wasn't just about a murder. It was about a conspiracy that went much deeper than she had ever imagined. The Omololus weren't just powerful; they were ruthless, and they were willing to do anything to keep their secrets buried.
"The book… it's a long shot, but it's our only chance," she said. "It's the only thing that connects them to the crime. It's the only thing that proves they were behind the murder."
"But where is it?" Dayo asked, his voice filled with despair. "I didn't find it. They must have found it. It must be gone."
"Maybe not," Ifeyinwa said, a sudden glimmer of hope in her eyes. "They never found it. They told you they were angry. They told you they would kill you if they ever saw you again. It was a bluff. They must have thought you knew where the book was. They were looking for it too. It must be somewhere."
"But where?"
"The echoes," Ifeyinwa said, her voice a low whisper. "The echoes will tell me. The echoes of the city have a long memory. They will not forget." She promised Dayo that she would not rest until she found the book. She would use the echoes to guide her, to lead her to the truth. She would not be a passive listener anymore. She was a voice, and she was ready to fight.
The conversation ended with a quiet promise, a vow to uncover the truth and bring the Omololus to justice. As Ifeyinwa left the old bakery, she felt a new sense of purpose. She was no longer just a person with a curse. She was an avenging angel, and the city's ghosts were her allies. The race was on. She would find the book before they did.