CHAPTER TWO (Corrected)
Silence prevails when time stops. Just like in early African culture, silence is a time of mourning, respect, and connection with ancestors. Even in modern times, silence is still used to honour the dead.
You hear it in auditoriums: "Two minutes of silence for our late brother, sister, or friend." In that moment, time seems to slow down. The ticking of the clock becomes louder. It becomes a shared space for grief and reflection. A moment to connect with emotions, to understand loss.
Silence is powerful — calm, but psychologically intense. A silent man can be a very dangerous man. Beware.
This implies a man who is observing, reading his opponent, watching their moves, knowing their weaknesses, and calculating his next step. Silence gives him a head start in solving any case.
And that was exactly what I was doing — observing the facial expression of the so-called suspect who was seen repeatedly on CCTV outside during the murder.
If someone asked what guilt looks like, I would show them footage from Camera 9 — timestamp 11:46 PM.
The light in the room was annoying. Not just bright — hostile. It buzzed like it was judging me. I swear it flickered every time I asked a bad question.
Then she walked in.
She didn't walk like someone confused or scared. She walked in like she owned the place. Not rude — just that calm, terrifying confidence that makes you wonder who is actually in control.
She didn't even ask where to sit. She simply pulled out the chair and sat down, back straight, hands resting calmly on the table like she had done this before.
Like she had notes.
She didn't speak. Not when I introduced myself. Not when I asked her name. She just sat there, breathing in perfect rhythm with the silence.
It had been twenty-three minutes.
Still nothing.
Her fingers rested on the table — not clenched, not shaking — just steady. Calm.
She hadn't blinked much. Or maybe I was the one blinking too much.
She was pretty. That was distracting.
Focus.
I cleared my throat.
"You were on the footage. Standing there in the middle of the night. That place looked like a junkyard mixed with a war zone. You didn't look confused. You didn't call for help. You just… stared."
Nothing.
No reaction.
Not even a blink.
"You've seen what a decomposing body looks like under fluorescent light and rainwater?"
Still nothing.
She only glanced at me briefly.
Not surprised. Not scared. Just acknowledging my existence.
Then she looked away again — at the blank wall.
I followed her gaze. Nothing was there. Just peeling paint and cracks.
But she stared at it like it was showing her something only she could see.
I leaned forward. The chair creaked again. I hated that chair.
"Why were you there?" I asked again. "Talk to me."
Silence.
No reaction.
No emotion.
Just stillness.
And that silence… started to feel wrong.
Not innocence.
Not guilt.
Something else.
I sighed.
"I'm not saying you did it," I said slowly. "But cooperating now might help you. We just need information."
Still nothing.
She finally turned to look at me.
Her eyes were calm — too calm.
Then she spoke, softly:
"I was only watching what nature gives out in the dark."
That sentence froze me.
For a second, I forgot what I was going to say next.
Or maybe I never had anything prepared.
She looked away again.
Back to the wall.
And I just kept staring.
Because something about her didn't add up.
And I knew one thing for sure…
She wasn't just a witness.