Before you read, I just want to express how grateful this writer is. Thanks for the support and kind gestures. I love you all.

Cynthia heard the repeated knock, the sound came each the more forceful than before. She literally jumped from her bed and ran from the door. She opened, yawning as she admitted Grace into the room, "what's the fuss?" She asked, her voice comically widened by the yawn which she tried to civilize by cupping her widening lips between her hands.

Grace's eyes were wide, apprehension was boldly written on her livid face. "You need to come see this," she said in one hysteric breath, "Quick," she said, grabbing Cynthia's arm, and pulling like the house was actually on fire. Cynthia's mind went reeling from one happenstance to the other. She inwardly hoped that it wasn't Caleb having a convulsion spell, but she thought he was past that, beside he hasn't shown any sign of fever. She followed steadying herself with the hard wood banister as they sprinted downstairs.

"There, Look." Grace was saying as she stumbled into the living room almost knocking down a flower vase. Grace's instructions were needless; the TV had already caught Cynthia's attention. The faces were right there on the screen, and the caption, boldly displayed, 'WANTED'.

"The Metropolitan Police wishes to declare to the general public that these two men are wanted. We have reasons to believe that they work both as spy and suppliers for the insurgence. If seen, please contact the following numbers..." The monotonous voice called some phone numbers and repeated the entire information time and time again.

Cynthia stood frozen, hardly aware of the time that flew by or Grace's pacing up and down the room head bent in thought like she had the day before at the park. The announcement was repeated again, Bello's photograph and that of another man were still there for the whole world to see. And she knew that other man, or thought she did—it must be the second man that approached Bello's car at Kris and Joyce, Yes, the man had the same peculiar look—she recalled—that made him worth a curious second glance that night.

Cynthia was momentarily lost in thought and the repeated announcement was as irritating to her ears as the commotion emitted by the fabricated grinding mill they work at WES workshops. The sort that screech and shriek like an insane banshee only to resolve to clip-clops and muffled protests when filled with food items for grinding. She snapped out of her trance, picked the remote control device lying on the centre table, she clicked the switch and the screen went off. Grace's expression spoke of indifference to her actions, "What do you think?" she finally asked after a heavily pregnant silence.

"You are asking me?" Cynthia asked, still skittish. She sat on the arm rest of a chair with her arms wrapped around her torso, "I don't know what to think." Her honest reply felt like the admission of a wrong. Had she been so blind or what?

Grace ran a hand through her hair, still pacing the floor, "I don't get this? Did you ever suspect anything like this?" she asked again, "I mean, this is so..." she slapped her extended hand on her thigh, not completing the statement. She sat on the sofa, plopping to the edge with obvious agitation. "What sense can any sane person make of this?" she asked the heavy air.

Cynthia took time to compose her thoughts, Yes, she'd been suspicious about the man's life and occupation, at first, but in recent times... had she resorted to blind trust? No, she shook her head, it wasn't blind trust, and she only took him as he was—and she had evidences: his business card, countless trips, and what else? The conversation at Kris and Joyce played in her mind again.

"...What were you doing at the hospital?"

"Oh that, a friend of mine was having some issues, he came to see a doctor and I drove him there."

"And what are you doing in Abuja?"

"There's this contract that many companies are vying for, I decided to follow the GSK interest in person, you know, a tweak here, a pull there... ...that's the Nigerian way."

"I won't judge."

Those were months before, and according to Bello, he had more contracts to pursue for his company, which was his explanation for his to and fro shift between Lagos and Abuja. Now it was lies... all lies? Cynthia did not know what to believe yet she knew something was wrong when she checked his facebook profile, something felt off then but she didn't want to voice it. Cynthia looked up at Grace after another considerably long silence, "I don't know what to think." She said the second time. "But it just doesn't add up. I don't get this," she added, suddenly feeling the morning energy draining out of her.

"What if it is true?" Grace slowly asked, her bright brown eyes that Cynthia had come to associate with intelligence were on her—X-raying whatever truth she might want to hide. There was nothing to hide, Thankfully.

"What if it isn't?" Cynthia almost shouted, "You don't want to tell me that you believe everything they say over the news these days?"

"Where is my phone?" Cynthia asked, her hope spiking up with countless positive vibes. At least she gets to hear the truth from him though she doubted if she for any reason deserves it.

Grace shook his head, "No, we can't. What if his phone is currently being tapped? We call and security agents traces the call to this house, what then? Beside I doubt if he'd leave his phone on..."

Cynthia reached for her phone nevertheless, "we can risk that, as it is, they may already know that we are associated with him anyway." Bello's phone could not be reached, "switched off," She stated, at the moment that was followed with the expression of i-told-you-so boldly encrypted on Grace's arced brow. Cynthia sighed her frustration.

The brilliant Sunday sunshine peered through the louvers, golden filigree slowly creeping into her living room, but it held no promise like she'd known, she felt so blue it could as well be stormy and rainy at the front porch. Bello would be caught, or be on the run, but what really was happening and how could the authorities be so certain to make the notice public without stealthily looking for him? Was he caught already? She plopped on the chair, her face in her hands.

"I'm just saying that," Cynthia cautiously began her point again, "This could be just an attempt to stake some innocent people just to convince the public that they are in control of the situation. Right?" She asked the later, feeling her own statement give way before her thought. There was nothing to believe.

"Do you really think so?"

It was few moments later when she was more composed that she wondered why the news had troubled her so, her only response was that she was agitated because Bello was a friend. Deep within Cynthia though, she knew what she felt and is still feeling, her heart is yearning for a place she might never reach but still hopes to know. And despite all she had heard, all the confusion she was feeling, she inwardly believed in Bello and she wasn't going to let go till Bello tell her the truth himself. He couldn't be a terrorist, it just doesn't fits his personality. Once again, she asked herself what she truly knew about the man. Next to nothing. She either never cared or never wanted to show that she did care.

At the moment, she felt confusion—the sort she had never felt for a very long time, the sort that she felt when she shove through the crowds, pushed down a police woman and sprinted for the mangled corpse of her husband in the body bag, on the day he died and many days after when she had to contend both with the loss of a dear husband and the anger of few nefarious in-laws; the sort she felt when her first pregnancy turned out to be ectopic and she had to lose the hope of motherhood to save her life, the same ilk she felt when Nnamdi tried to explain how there was no choice left, that the ligation of her womb was to save her life. There it was, a complex monstrous nexus of stormy white and black: Confusion.

Few hours into the day, a navy-blue Toyota camry pulled up before the house, and soon two men and a man in police uniform stepped towards the bungalow. Grace was at the door before they knocked, "Good morning officers," she said, one of the men replied in a muffled bass voice, "how may I help you?" Grace asked further.

"We are looking for one Mrs Cynthia Nnamdi." He said, sizing Grace up.

"And who may you be?" Cynthia responded, regardless of the presence of the man in uniform.

The three were of close height, the one that spoke was clean shaving with a stern looking hazel deep set eyes, his chiselled jaw relaxed a bit at the sight of her, He smiled. "Good morning, I am Sergeant Richard, and with me is Sergent Craig," he said pointing to the stout dark complexioned man beside him, "we are from the Zone B area command." He said, looking quite smug shoving his ID from his breast pocket for both ladies to see.

"Come in," Cynthia proposed, quite convinced about their mission, she offered a seat, only sergeant Richard sat, the man from the CID was standing by the door and looking up the entire vicinity. The skinny man in uniform stood rigid by him.

The sergeant spoke first, "We are here to invite you to our station for questioning about Mr Bello Danjuma. I believe you know that he has been declared wanted by the state security?"

Cynthia felt like asking if he has been found, but from the words of the man, she deduced that Bello must have run for it. "Of course I do," she replied, "Must I follow you now?" she asked.

The man silently nodded gauging her reaction from beneath his light brown brows.

She excused herself and made for her room, she could hear Caleb reciting five letter words with his nanny. The clank of heels on the stairs told her the Grace was following. "Whatever you do, don't let Caleb know where I've gone." She told her as she entered the room, and began to run a comb through her hair, she turned to meet silent Grace, who folded her hands with a retrospective scowl on her face.

"Are you kidding me, you have every right to tell them that you can come yourself. Besides, there's nothing they can pin you on." She said, and sat on the bed. "You know how nasty they can be."

"That's the more reason I don't want to make this whole mess any more complicated than it has to be. They want to interview me? Fine." She said, wearing a thong sandal. Cynthia quirked her eyes at her hasty getups and concluded that a simple long black T-shirt wasn't bad on grey leggings. She picked an off-white cardigan, which she shrugged into as she reached for the door knob.

She opened the door, to the study room, Joyce, Caleb's nanny had a pensive look on her face that told Cynthia that she must have seen the unusual guest. She called her aside, while Caleb bounced on the sofa to the theme song of his favourite cartoon. ...spectacular, spectacular spiderman...

"I won't be long. But don't tell him where I've gone. Please." She told the older woman who nodded, and return to join the boy. Cynthia sighed as she slowly closed the door behind, one problem less, she was facing Grace who shook the car keys before her face before sauntering off to the lot.

She was escorted to the navy blue car and sat on the passenger seat. Through the side mirror as the car moved through the busy Lindsvale Street, she could see Grace who had pulled on a sunglasses driving behind them. The look on Sergeant Richard's face confirmed that he noticed and his silence affirmed that there was nothing he could do.

It was few minutes ride to the Precinct. She was led through the throng of officers and civilians at the receptionist, past a marble counter board, up a winding stair to a large office. Curious eyes regarded her from behind their computers as she followed the company to an empty desk where Richard sat opposite her.

A woman in black suit, entered through the door, holding a brown file in her carelessly swaying arms. She pranced to Richard, with a confident predatory look on her pretty face and the only regard she gave Cynthia's presence was a slight nod. She blankly stared back at her scrutinizing gaze before she allowed her eyes to wander across the table. The new lady dropped her file on the desk and flipped the cover page open. Cynthia could not miss the redolence of a perfume she couldn't place, it oozed from her.

"And I'm Amanda, CID." She said in a surprising basso profundo flashing her ID with an air of superiority before crossing her legs. She picked a pen from his breast pocket and began. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Her words flowed fluently quite practiced without a hint of an accent she could place, she was still staring straight at her, observing her every move.

"Can we get past the meaninglessness of courtesy and go straight to the point detective?" She replied.

The young woman stared blank for a few moment, then turn her stare to the man that sat by her with a notepad on his hand on which he kept writing. She nodded silently at his partner who passed his clasped hands on the table making a soft dent on the cushioned surface. "I understand that this must be very inconvenient, but we just need you to me all you know about Mr Bello Danjuma." He said, as the woman fished a photograph from her file and handed it over to Cynthia.

Cynthia felt her jaw tempting to give way, It was photograph, a recent one, there she was hand in hand with Bello, beside the lake. She had such revulsion for the whole situation that she felt like tearing the photographs and throwing it right on their faces. Angst rose the more when she remembered the couple with a camera the day before! She kept her emotions in check though, It was no use, she told herself. Acting hostile will only make them suspicious the more and she wanted more than anything to get cleared off, it wouldn't be healthy for Caleb to find out that his friend is a criminal and that his own mother is under state security scrutiny. For Caleb.

"He works for GSK, which I learnt is a company in Lagos. He comes over here on business assignment." Cynthia shrugged, "that's about all I know aside the fact that he loves to visit the park every weekend which in agreement with your evidence is why I was with him when your secret agents took the liberty to exploit a moment." She glared at the woman who pursued her heavily painted lips with a hint of nefarious mirth.

Amanda smiled superiorly and again began in her uninflected, monotonous English, "Thank you very much, but if I may ask, what's your relationship with him?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Amanda clenched her jaw, her small eyes rolled as she cocked her head towards the man who came to the rescue. "You see, Mr Bello and his accomplice are not really the outgoing type. The only contact with the outside world we could pin on Bello was with you and on a few occasions with a couple that now lives close to your house." Cynthia frowned at the sound of the word few it did seem that there was more to the relationship Bello had with the couple than she knew, she tried to keep his reaction in check, but the knowing smile on the Amanda's face as he continued talking proved that she noticed. "...so, you should understand why the question is important."

"He rescued me from an armed robber attack at a parking lot, since then, he was what I can call a friend."

"Where did this happen?" Amanda asked in her usual annoying clipped tone.

She answered. The man went further to ask about the cloth Bello wore that day, her overall impression of him and any other possible link she thinks that he might have. Since the police already know about the couple and few more other things than she knew, she simply kept quiet and watched the telepathic communication that passed between the two officers who alternate between staring at her, themselves, and writing pitiless tons on the paper before them.

At the end of the long interview, she finally gave them Bello's business card. The man gave a beady smile from his hazel eyes that gave him a sick look, the lines on his forehead more accentuated in the disappointing look she gave his partner, Amanda looked bored to death by the conversation though, she most certainly knew they were going nowhere and though Cynthia hated to admit it, a nasty part of her was quite glad that she had nothing more to offer. Amanda silently stood up, and the receding clap of her stiletto on tiles announced her exit. Richard gave a heavy sigh and told Cynthia that she was free to leave.

*******

If there was something off about Cynthia's new neighbour, it wasn't something she could pinpoint other than the fact than they knew Bello more than they admitted. Deep within, she had that same feeling she had when Nnamdi left for the celebration that October, that same premonition, suspicion. But she dismissed it to be due to Bello's issue and as she drank homemade juice with Mrs Blake, she concluded that there was nothing to worry about.

Mrs Blake came alone that evening, telling that her husband had some family issues to attend to. From her look, she was of a woman of high social standing, at least financially. Today, the woman was dressed in something as simple as a white off shoulder dress that accentuated her hourglass figure; her lace frontal curl weave-on was worn so wide Cynthia fancied that the woman could be spotted from deep space. Mrs Blake went on talking about her children living outside the country and whatnots.

It was later along the line, after she'd taken her time to place comments from the flat-screen TV, the flower vase she almost topple over earlier that day, to the china tea pot before she finally asked, "I heard the news it was so awful," Mrs Blake said, almost sounding like some soloist singing a dolorous falsetto as she set the cup on the table and stared squarely at Cynthia.

"I'm shocked if you ask me?" Cynthia replied dismissively, "I just hope that this gets cleared out."

"So you don't think he did it?"

"Well," she shrugged, "what do you think, you knowing him to me, was quite a proof that he was human." she added, trying to get at the woman in a roundabout sort of way.

Mrs Blake was quiet for a while, Message received. She finally said, "well, I just met him in a meeting, gentleman he was, didn't strike me as a criminal." Cynthia raised a brow and was quite sure that Mrs Blake saw that because she added, "Oh well, we just have to leave the law enforcement agents to their work I guess," that said, her long painted fingers reached across the glass centre table as her svelte hand leisurely grasp the glass and lifted its content to her full lips. There was a knowing, self conceited gaze peculiar to those pair of eyes that stared back at her, Cynthia couldn't miss that.

Mrs. Blake didn't say a single word about her interview with the police. And Cynthia mentioned nothing about it. Whatever game they were playing, she felt so sick about it, she didn't want to know.

The day wore on, and she was quite glad to be finally rid of the woman. Thankfully, no one was around to witness the awkward moments of her cultured hostility to her guest.

As she lay sleepless on her bed that night, she wondered how everything could change within a day; She couldn't tell when the tears began to fall but Cynthia was glad to have some tranquilizer ready, she slept, troubled by dreams of Bello being chased by the police.