I pulled a chair up and sat on it. Titi was sitting directly opposite me, her skirt hitched up just above her knees. I smiled at her as I tried not to fix my gaze on her partially exposed laps. She noticed this and crossed her legs, pulling the herm of the skirt to cover as much as it can go.

I looked away quickly in embarrassment.

“Ok! Tim, hit me with it” she said, forcing me to stare back at her. I grinned ruefully and cleared my throat.

“This is hard for me to say, but I know I have to say it.” I paused to let in air, and then continued. “I have done all the necessary espionage and I found out that your husband is behind all these.” I watched as surprise crept into her face, and then disbelief.

“No!” she said, “I can’t belief this. My husband can’t hurt a fly.”

“Yeah,” I said “I thought so too, but people can change under pressure or intense need for something else.”

“But not Harry” she retorted, still obstinate.

“Titi Am sorry, but I have to let you see the evidence. I reached into my left trouser pocket and brought out a tape recording machine, placed it on the glass centre table and pressed the ‘play’ button.

There was a loud incoherent noise like swoosh of water coming from the cassette for a while, then it died down and her husband’s voice vibrated. It was clear.

“Yeah, go ahead with the plan, Robert, no turning back. My wife won’t know what hit her. There is so much money to gain. You have to kill her. I want her wealth for myself. The bitch ….”

I made to stop the tape, but she held up her hand. Her face was glistening with unshed tears.

“The bitch” the voice continued, “won’t know I did it and so the police won’t suspect I had a hand in it.”

“Ok boss” a second voice answered.

There was another sound and then the tape stopped.

“How …. Could he?” She stammered as long streaks of tears poured down her cheeks.

I brought out a white handkerchief and gave it to her. She took it with shaky hands and mobbed her cheeks tenderly.

“Am sorry” I didn’t recognize my own voice; it had gone husky with pity.

“But I don’t understand ……” her voice trailed off “why would he want to kill me, he couldn’t live without me?”

“Well, one thing is for sure, you are wealthier than your husband, right?” She nodded sheepishly. “He is doing it for the money; you just heard that. He wants to inherit your wealth.” I picked up the tape recorder and put it back in my pocket. “What should I do?” she asked. “Pretence – pretend you know nothing about this, ok?” I answered calmly. “Don’t jitter and don’t confront Harry. You have to behave normal like nothing is amiss.” She nodded. “Thanks Tim, nice job.” She smiled sorrowfully. “Hmm, it’s nice to see you smile again. Put some make up and get rid of those tears marks on your face.” I rose to my feet and pushed back the chair. Five strides took me to the door, but as I was about to yank it upon I remembered something. I turned towards her and asked, “Do you still want me to keep track on your husband?” “Ah …” she stammered, “I think so.”

I am a Nigerian and an avid reader who also take great pleasure in putting pen to paper. I believe that with the right expression of words written with my pen people could change for the better and correct or curb some ills eating deep into our system of government or life in general. Poverty and corruption have always being Africa's most dreaded diseases and Nigeria is no exception. I write fiction and non-fiction and also write articles on any subject, especially that concerning the well-being of the poor masses. I wish to be an acclaimed writer and author and a motivational speaker

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