Jim hurriedly picked up his cellphone and dialed a number. As he did, blood trickled down the left corner of his mouth. He stared at the police officer who had struck him with a look of pure hatred, wishing he could have the chance of injecting him with a lethal substance that would send him to hell.
"Hello, Teni, I have been arrested by the police after an unsuccessful operation. The men are from the State Police Headquarters. Please get in touch with the lawyer now!" Jim quickly relayed the essential information, knowing this might be his only chance to call before getting to the station. He instinctively knew he should have called someone else before Teni. But before he could dial another number, a police officer snatched his cellphone.
A rush of regret came over him. Why hadn't he called the Inspector General of Police first? A direct order for his release...it could have been instantaneous.
Teni yawned, the sleepiness instantly banished by Jim's urgent words. She dropped the cellphone back onto the stool, her mind racing. A jolt of anxiety tightened her temples as she sat up. Like a thief, a headache sneaked in threatening, but she dismissed it. Jim needed her, and that was all that mattered.
Getting down from bed, she quickly removed her pajamas, walked to the wardrobe, and put on jeans and a T-shirt. The shock of the news, the potential danger Jim was in, amplified her deep-seated aversion to professions dealing with life-and-death situations. She really could not imagine someone dying while she tried to save them. The self-guilt in such a situation could be almost impossible to bear, a torment that might never end.
While she still pondered the illogical arrest of a doctor for a patient's death during surgery, she tied her sneakers' laces. A quick glance at the wall clock showed it was 3:30 AM. And a sound from the corner of her bedroom made her turn; Bella was awake. Her movements must have disturbed the dog.
Bella watched Teni prepare to leave the apartment, and Teni could imagine her dog's thoughts: Where is this woman going at such an hour?
A faithful friend, Bella got down from her couch to stand near Teni, wagging her tail, eager to accompany her.
"Bella, go back to bed. I will be back soon," Teni instructed, knowing Bella was prepared to either follow or wait vigilantly for her return.
"Go back to bed!" Teni repeated as she picked up her car keys and cellphone to leave. Like an obedient child, Bella complied, returning to her couch and lying down. She was a well-behaved dog, especially indoors.
Teni smiled at her dog's reluctant obedience. Bella had conceded, but her body language clearly conveyed her displeasure. Blowing her a kiss, Teni left the bedroom, walked briskly through the living room to the door, and locked it behind her.
Leaving Bella home alone was routine, the daily norm when she went to work. She got into her car and then dialed the lawyer's number. After the fifth ring, a sleepy voice answered.
"Hello Teni," the croaky voice said.
"Hi, I'm sorry for waking you up at this hour," Teni apologized. Then, taking her time, she spent the next fifteen minutes discussing the situation with her fiancé's lawyer before driving out of her garage.
Jim's mouth remained swollen as he sat with two other men on the floor of the police cell. It was his first time in police custody, a completely alien experience. One of the other men was a well-dressed young man, about his age, who had the air of a gentleman. His expensive white shirt suggested he, too, had been roughly handled by the police. And, that made Jim wonder why police always resorted to assault when arresting a suspect.
The brown marks on the man's sleeves and polo spoke volumes about his entry into the cell. As Jim considered the stress the well-dressed man must have endured at the hands of the overzealous police, he was also acutely aware of the filthy confinement he now shared.
Lost in thought, Jim noticed the other man observing him as if assessing his demeanor. The young man likely recognized Jim as an educated person, like himself, based on his appearance. And while the gentleman continued to watch Jim, Jim's attention shifted to the other cell-mate. A street gangster, Jim thought. His dreadlocks were unkempt, and his bulging eyeballs were almost crimson. He wore baggy jeans and a basketball shirt, and his dry, dark lips, likely stained from smoking God-knows-what, were cracked as if during harmattan. Although both men appeared calm, the dreadlocked man seemed unpredictable, Jim thought. He had nodded a brief welcome to Jim and had remained with his head between his legs ever since, silent and still.
"What was your offence?" the well-dressed man asked, drawing Jim's gaze back. "By the way, I am Denzel. I am an architect," he quickly added.
"Nice to meet you. I am Jim, a medical doctor." Jim touched his swollen mouth, wincing slightly, and continued, "A patient died during surgery, and I was arrested and treated like a criminal because of it." He massaged his swollen lip with his left thumb, closing his eyes briefly against the sharp pain.
"What a country! How could that be a crime?" Denzel exclaimed.
"That's what I expect them to prove," Jim said, turning to look at the rough-looking young man, who remained in the same hunched position.
"Were you assaulted as well?" Denzel asked, his eyes on the swelling on Jim's face.
"Yes, of course," Jim replied, touching his mouth again, a wave of self-pity blew over him.
"Assault seems to be a common hobby for many policemen, I think," Denzel grinned wryly.
"Why do the police behave so unprofessionally across the globe?" Jim wondered aloud.
"I thought I was the only one who questioned that. Did you see how a non-violent black man was killed last week in the US by the police?" Denzel adjusted his polo shirt, still leaning against the wall.
"It was pathetic. I saw the news on CNN. Floyd, wasn't it?" Jim used the edge of his sleeve to gently touch his mouth again.
"Yes, Floyd," Denzel replied.
Their discussion was interrupted by footsteps approaching in the hallway. Jim guessed there were at least two people.
Within minutes, Teni and a policeman appeared, heading towards Cell number 3, where Jim and the other two men were confined. Jim instantly looked relieved, his expression softening. "Were you able to reach the lawyer?" He sprang to his feet, gripping the iron bars, his eyes eager for her answer.
"Yes. He promised to come by 8 AM to process your bail," Teni replied, moving closer and gently touching his injured mouth.
"They hit you!" she exclaimed, seeing her fiancé's injured for the first time.
"Yes," Jim said with a bitter smile.
"But, why?" Teni's hand remained on his cheek, but Jim turned his head away quickly. Teni's touch triggered the intensity of the pain.
"For asking why they thought they were right to arrest me," Jim said, turning back to look into her eyes. He took her hands and pulled her closer to the bars, then spoke to her quietly. To the surprise of the policeman and the other two in the cell, Teni giggled. How on earth could Jim be joking in a situation like this? she wondered.
He had made a remark about her cleavage peeking out from her unbuttoned T-shirt, something she had forgotten to do in her haste to get to him.
"Be strong," Teni said, smiling. And the lovely dimples on her cheeks instantly eased Jim's pain. He could hardly recall feeling any discomfort at that moment.
"I will be back by 10 AM. I need to go and prepare for work," Teni added, moving closer to kiss him on the cheek through the bars before leaving the police station for home.
…
THE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF had yet to arrive at work, an unusual occurrence for a man known for his punctuality and diligence. Only an unavoidable matter could cause his lateness.
Bola sat opposite Teni in Teni's office, her back to the ticking wall clock as they engaged in casual conversation. Teni's eyes occasionally flickered to the clock. She expected Edward's arrival any minute; the last possible time for resumption was just fifteen minutes away.
Teni needed her superior's permission to return to the police station to see Jim, as it was a personal matter. Official outings for newsgathering required no such approval. As a journalist, she often needed to leave for assignments without prior notice. However, in Jim's case, only if she intended to publish his ordeal would her visit be considered official.
For Jim's sake, she wanted his unlawful arrest to stay out of the news. News of an unsuccessful surgery could negatively impact Jim's hospital, potentially making the public hesitant to seek their services despite the injustice of his arrest. So, she agreed with Bola's advice to keep the situation from the editor-in-chief for now. Edward, she knew, would undoubtedly want the story in the next publication if he knew the arrest was a misuse of power.
"This is one of the things that gives me reservations about the medical profession," Teni said, tilting her chair back and forth, her anxiety about Jim's fate evident.
"It doesn't change the fact that medicine is one of the noblest professions. Remember, it saves lives," Bola pointed out, playfully twisting a pen in her hands.
"Yes, you're right. But when it comes to people dying during surgery, I personally can't stand it. The woman only had fibroids, not a terminal illness," Teni's gaze returned to the wall clock.
"Anything can go wrong during surgery, and it would be unfair to blame doctors for trying to help. Would it be better if there were no doctors at all, just because we don't want people to die during surgeries?" Bola asked sarcastically, defending the medical profession.
"Do you call a surgery paid for by a patient or their family 'help'? What help? Medicine is one of the most well-compensated jobs in the world. Only when a doctor or nurse volunteers their services are they truly 'helping' When you get paid for a job, you're not helping. Do you understand?" Teni's tone grew serious.
"Another thing is, sometimes negligence is a possibility. Don't you think?" Teni adjusted herself in her seat and sat up straight.
Surprised by her friend's last statement, Bola looked at Teni as if she had lost her mind. "Are you suggesting the woman could have died due to your fiancé's negligence? You'd make a fine prosecutor against him in court," Bola said with a shrug and a scornful look.
"Just being factual, my dear friend. I'm not condemning Jim already," Teni retorted with the same look. And at that moment, a knock sounded on the door. It was twenty-six minutes past seven.
The two women knew instantly who it was; no one else knocked four times. It was Edward, the company's editor-in-chief. Some staff members had unique knocking patterns, and Edward's was one of them.
"Come in, Sir," Bola said, sitting up straighter.
"Morning, ladies," the Editor-in-Chief greeted them, standing at the door, looking as sharp as usual. His clean shave gave him a youthful appearance, and the pleasant scent of his cologne preceded him.
"Good morning, Sir," the ladies chorused.
"Teni, see me in my office right now. And you, Bola, let me get the report on the central bank today. Okay?" Edward closed the door and left immediately.
"Okay, Sir," the ladies chorused again, exchanging glances and gestures.
As they often said behind his back, he would have made a brilliant army officer. A General would envy his commanding style.
"What makes the 'good' disappear from your boss's 'Good Morning?" Bola asked, looking serious.
"How about asking him tomorrow when he does the same?" Teni replied sharply, searching her drawer for her audio recorder.
Teni's quick response was unexpected, it made Bola stare at her for a moment before bursting into laughter, and Teni couldn't help but join in.
…
ON THE DESK of the State Commissioner of Police lay two newspapers. The front-page headline of the top one read, "COMMISSIONER OF POLICE'S WIFE IS DEAD." How the news of his wife's death had reached the press so quickly was a mystery. Less than 24 hours without any official announcement, and it was already public.
He hadn't stopped shedding tears whenever he thought of his wife; the devastation was overwhelming. The dark glasses that concealed his emotional state remained on his round, chubby face as he leaned his heavy frame on the leather chair, his fingers tapping almost unconsciously on the table.
Jim was ushered into the CP's office by two policemen, the silver handcuffs on his wrists, making movement difficult. He looked somber, feeling like a criminal simply because of the restraints. He still couldn't fathom what he had done to deserve such treatment. Everything felt like a nightmare.
He was pushed forward, closer to the hefty man behind the desk. The first thing that caught his attention, besides the police boss's size, was the newspaper on the table. He wondered who had leaked the news to the press so quickly after the incident.
"You are the idiot who killed my wife!" the Commissioner of Police said through gritted teeth, his calm, stone-cold tone chillingly reminiscent of the Terminator.
He removed his dark glasses to wipe the tears welling up behind the lenses. A heavy sigh escaped him as the clustered tears tracked down his cheeks.
Jim's heart sank as he watched the man wipe his face. The sorrow in this man's heart is as heavy as his body, Jim thought, pitying him. If only he had voiced this thought, would he have realized how funny it was.
The CP picked up a white handkerchief from his desk and wiped his face again, taking a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes were bloodshot, unpleasant to look at, and filled with anger and sorrow.
"Sir, I am deeply sorry that the surgery had such an outcome. The complication arose because your wife was asthmatic," Jim tried to explain, hoping to make the grieving man understand that complications in medical surgeries were as old as the profession itself. But instead of his words offering comfort, they pierced the bereaved man's wounded heart like the sting of a swarm of bees.
Enraged, the CP stood up abruptly and delivered a heavy slap across Jim's face. Jim's head snapped to the side, and the pain that Teni's lovely dimples had momentarily erased returned with fierce intensity.
"Will you shut the fuck up already! Were you not informed she was asthmatic before you decided to proceed with the surgery? What an excuse!" the Commissioner of Police yelled.
Still reeling from the slap, Jim continued to plead his case as if addressing a judge, twisting his neck to realign his spine, which felt dislocated.
"I did everything I could to save her life, Sir. It was my first unsuccessful surgery ever," Jim wished the bereaved man could believe him. He had never lost a patient on the operating table since he began practicing medicine. The CP's wife was the first. Although his hospital had recorded deaths, they were of patients brought in dead or severely injured in accidents, and a few elderly individuals.
The door to the CP's office opened, and a thin police officer in plain clothes entered, holding a file and wearing a serious expression.
"Sir, his lawyer is here for his bail," the skinny police officer said, dropping the file on his boss's desk as he awaited further instructions.
"Tell him his client will not be granted bail. Manslaughter is not a bailable offense," the CP replied, and the officer left the room immediately.
Turning his gaze back to the two policemen standing with Jim, he ordered, "Take the idiot back to the cell until I decide what to do with him."
The police officers, like robots responding to prompts, immediately carried out the order, dragging Jim away to be locked up again.
"Manslaughter, manslaughter," Jim muttered, as if hearing the word for the first time. When did a patient's death during surgery become manslaughter? he wondered as the two policemen led him away.
Descending the stairs outside Police Headquarters, Jim's lawyer wore a long face, furious at the police decision. He felt it was unlawful and a gross misuse of power to classify a death during surgery as manslaughter without any proof of negligence. He pondered his next steps as he walked down the wide stairs.
Teni, waiting at the bottom, saw the lawyer approaching. She stopped, waiting for him to reach her, noticing he was still unaware of her presence despite being close. The expression on his face was not encouraging.
"How did it go?" Teni asked eagerly.
The man looked up, startled to see Teni directly in front of him. "He was denied bail," he replied, taking the last four steps to reach her.
"On what grounds?" Teni asked, her curiosity intense.
"They claim he's being charged with manslaughter, and that manslaughter is not a bailable offense," the lawyer said, loosening his tie, his eyes searching Teni's. Although he could see a flicker of anger in her eyes, her beauty remained undiminished, confirming his belief that a beautiful woman is beautiful regardless of her mood.
"And is that right? Legally?" Teni asked, despite her conviction that the police were wrong. She wanted confirmation from Jim's lawyer.
"Absolutely wrong, unless there's strong evidence to prove otherwise. Jim is not a criminal until proven so in court, and I see no wrongdoing despite the failed surgery. As long as the Consent Form and the Waiver of Liability form were signed by a family member of the deceased or by the deceased herself before the surgery, Jim cannot be held guilty. Death during medical surgery is not uncommon," the lawyer explained patiently before taking more steps to leave. "I will call you in the evening to inform you of my next course of action," he added, walking away.
Concerned and angry, Teni turned to address the lawyer, who was already a few steps ahead. "I don't want him to spend the night in that cell. You and I know the terrible conditions of the nation's cells and prisons," she said.
Hearing her voice, the lawyer stopped and turned back." There's nothing we can do about it today, Teni. Even if we approach the court for justice now, we can't have him released today," he said, resuming his walk to his car.
"Thanks. I'm going in there to have a brief word with Jim," Teni said, starting to ascend the stairs.
…
SHE STAYED UP late into the night, typing on her laptop. Bella lay peacefully beside her on the sofa, having learned not to disturb Teni when she was working on the computer.
She paused occasionally to think as she composed the article about Jim's unlawful arrest, carefully choosing her words and expressions. The article was for the next day's publication.
Using her power as a journalist to fight injustice was a vow she had made, and she would do even more for someone she loved.
She couldn't contain her fury when she was told at the Police State Headquarters that the Commissioner of Police had ordered that her fiancé not be released on bail, using the excuse that the patient's death was still under investigation. Now that she was bringing the arrest to national attention through the newspaper, she could imagine the impact the story would have on the Police Department's image. She was certain the news would reach the Presidency and the National Police Headquarters in Abuja. Then, she would see if the Inspector General of Police would condone such lawlessness from a junior officer, a Police Commissioner.
Finished typing, she stood up to have dinner and shower before bed. It had been a long day, and she knew she needed to sleep early to wake up refreshed.
On the dining table, awaiting her, was her favorite Nigerian meal: Eba and Egusi soup. Anticipating that she wouldn't have time to cook after getting home, she had stopped by an eatery. She could eat this delicacy three times a day without tiring of it. When Bola asked why she loved it so much, she had explained that it was the first African food she had tasted upon arriving in Africa.