The Usual Place

She had never followed anyone before, and she was terrible at it.

She hung back too far, then too close. She ran a yellow light and nearly lost him on Awolowo Road. She had a coughing fit at the junction, and her borrowed Corolla stalled twice. By the time the Camry turned onto the Third Mainland Bridge, she was sweating and had bitten her thumbnail to the quick.

"This is mad," she said.

The Camry slowed. It left the bridge at Oworonshoki, wound through a maze of dark side streets, and finally turned into a derelict car park behind a petrol station. She cut her lights, pulled over, and killed the engine.

He got out. He stood by the car, looking about. His shoulders were tense. He checked his watch. He took out the second phone, the black one, and typed something with his thumb.

Folake sank low in her seat. She could barely breathe.

A figure emerged from the shadows. A woman. She was tall, in a dark raincoat, with a scarf over her hair. She crossed the car park quickly, with the stride of someone who had done it many times. She and Dele spoke for a minute. He gestured. She nodded. He handed her something, a thick envelope.

Folake's vision went white.

So that was it. A mistress. A rendezvous. A secret handover of cash. She would be sick. She would scream. She would walk across that car park and slap them both.

She opened the door.

She was halfway out when a hand clamped over her mouth.

"Don't scream," said a voice, low and urgent, in her ear. "Please. I'm a friend."

She struggled. The hand tightened. An arm banded round her ribs, hauling her back into the car. The door closed softly. In the dim glow of the dashboard she saw a face: a young man, thin, bearded, with wide frightened eyes.

"Mrs Bankole," he whispered. "My name is Femi. I work with your husband. Please don't move."

She bit his palm.

"Ow!" He jerked away, shaking his hand. "Ow! That really hurt!"

"Who are you? What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to keep you alive!"

"Why would I be in danger?"

"Because you were about to walk into a trap." He peered through the windscreen. "Do you see the black SUV?"

She looked. In the far corner of the car park, half hidden behind a pillar, a large dark vehicle was parked with its lights off. Two men sat in the front seats, motionless.

"They've been there since seven," whispered Femi. "They're watching K."

"K?"

"The woman with the scarf. She's a federal investigator. Your husband has been feeding her information for eight months."

Folake stared at him.

"What information?"

"About the company. About Ikoyi Capital Partners." He swallowed. "Mrs Bankole, your husband's firm isn't a firm. It's a front. They launder money for politicians, for a syndicate. Forty billion naira in the last three years. Dele found out last spring. He's been collecting evidence ever since."

The words made no sense. They bounced off her like hail on a roof.

"My husband is an accountant."

"Yes."

"He's boring."

"That's what made him perfect."

She laughed, a high, tight, hysterical sound. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Breathe." He put a hand on her back. "Please. We have about two minutes before they realise you're here."

Across the car park, the woman in the raincoat was reading through the envelope. Dele stood beside her, looking small and tired and utterly unlike the man who ate breakfast every morning. He was speaking quickly, urgently. The woman nodded.

"He's telling her about the trial," said Femi. "The one next month. He's agreed to testify."

"Testify?"

"Against his bosses. Against the Senator." His voice dropped. "He didn't tell you because they threatened your life."

The world stopped.

Folake looked at her husband across the dark car park. At the stoop of his shoulders. The fine tremor of his hands. The streak of ink on his thumb that she had noticed at dinner and not understood.

Tears ran down her face.

"He's been carrying this," she whispered. "Alone."

"Yes."

"For eight months."

"Yes."

"And I thought he was cheating."

Femi, to his credit, said nothing.

In the far corner, the SUV's engine turned over.