Temilade read the statement again.
She had read it twice already.
The words had not changed.
But the meaning seemed to shift each time she returned to them.
Mrs.
Akinwale had not claimed to know what happened to Samuel.
She had not claimed to know the identity of the man.
She had simply described what she remembered seeing.
Samuel had left the property.
A man had followed him.
That was all.
And yet it was enough to change the shape of the investigation.
Temilade lowered the document.
Damilare was sitting across from her.
“You’ve read it three times,” he said.
“I’m trying to make sure I’m not reading something that isn’t there.”
“That’s a good habit.”
She looked at the statement again.
“The wording is careful.”
“It should be.”
“Mrs. Akinwale says she saw Samuel leave.”
“Yes.”
“And then she saw another man follow him.”
“Yes.”
“Not that the man attacked him.”
“No.”
“Not that he forced him to go anywhere.”
“No.”
“Not that she knew him.”
“No.”
Temilade nodded slowly.
“So all we actually have is movement.”
“Movement,” Damilare said, “and timing.”
She looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“She places another man behind Samuel shortly after he left the property.”
“That matters.”
“It does.”
“But it doesn’t tell us what happened next.”
“No.”
Temilade looked down at the statement again.
There was something frustrating about it.
It gave them enough to ask another question but not enough to answer the one they already had.
She turned the page.
“Was this statement made at the time?”
Damilare checked the accompanying record.
“The archive doesn’t make that completely clear.”
“So we don’t know exactly when she gave it?”
“We know when it was retained and reviewed. That’s not necessarily the same thing as when it was originally made.”
Temilade nodded.
Another distinction.
Another gap.
She had begun to understand that the old records were full of them.
A date could belong to the filing of a document rather than the event described in it.
A reference could belong to a later administrative action.
A signature could establish that someone handled a record without proving that person knew everything inside it.
And a statement could preserve a memory without proving everything that memory seemed to suggest.
She placed the document on the desk.
“Let’s start with what Mrs. Akinwale actually gives us.”
Damilare nodded.
Temilade opened her notebook.
“She saw Samuel leave.”
She wrote it.
“She saw another man follow him.”
She wrote that too.
“The identity of the man is unknown.”
Another line.
“She didn’t say she knew why he followed him.”
Another.
“She didn’t say what happened after they left her sight.”
Another.
She looked up.
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
Temilade frowned.
“For now.”
Damilare leaned forward.
“That’s important.”
“Why?”
“Because if we add things that aren’t in the statement, we start creating a story instead of investigating one.”
She looked at him for a moment.
“You really don’t like easy answers.”
“I don’t like answers that arrive before the evidence.”
She smiled faintly.
“Fair enough.”
She returned to the document.
There was another notation near the bottom.
Temilade leaned closer.
“What’s this?”
Damilare looked at it.
“Which part?”
She pointed.
“Here.”
He read the faded line.
“Related witness statements are retained separately.”
Temilade sat back.
“Witness statements.”
“Yes.”
“Plural.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“So Mrs. Akinwale wasn’t necessarily the only person interviewed.”
“That’s what the notation suggests.”
“Suggests?”
“Again.”
She smiled.
“Right.”
He pointed to the document.
“We need to be careful. The note doesn’t tell us who the other witnesses were, what they said, or whether their statements were about Samuel.”
“But it tells us they may exist.”
“Yes.”
Temilade wrote that down.
Related witness statements are retained separately.
Then beneath it:
Need to identify and trace the separate records.
She closed her notebook.
“What about the 1997 material?”
Damilare looked at the documents Segun had left behind. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“What about it?”
“If there were records still moving through the system in 1997, then someone was still dealing with the matter.”
“Possibly.”
“And if witness statements were retained separately, could they have been connected to that later correspondence?”
“They could.”
“But we don’t know.”
“Correct.”
Temilade sighed.
“You really enjoy that word.”
“No. The records keep requiring it.”
She almost laughed.
Then she became serious again.
“What does the archive say about the statement?”
Damilare picked up the page.
“There is a review notation.”
“By whom?”
“The name isn’t clear.”
“Not clear?”
“Part of the entry is faded.”
Temilade took the document.
She studied the writing.
There was a short handwritten note beneath the statement.
Statement reviewed.
Copy retained.
She read it twice.
“Copy retained.”
“Yes.”
“Where is the original?”
Damilare looked at her.
“That is the question.”
Temilade felt a familiar tension settle in her chest.
Another document.
Another missing piece.
Another record that seemed to point somewhere else.
“Can the archive tell us whether the original was transferred?”
“We need the movement record.”
“Of the statement?”
“Yes.”
“And the related witness statements?”
“If they are in the same record series, we can trace them.”
Temilade nodded.
“What about Mrs. Akinwale herself?”
“What about her?”
“Could she still remember the man?”
Damilare paused.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“The statement is old. We don’t know how much she remembers now.”
“But she could still be useful.”
“She could.”
Temilade looked down at the statement.
There was something different about this lead.
The documents had given them names, dates, references and transactions.
This was different.
This was a person who had seen something.
Not the whole event.
Not the ending.
Just one moment.
A man following another man.
Sometimes one moment was all an investigation had.
She stood.
“I want to find out whether anyone else saw them.”
Damilare nodded.
“That should be the next step.”
“And if there were other witnesses?”
“We read what they actually said.”
“Not what we hope they said.”
“Exactly.”
She gathered the papers.
Then stopped.
“There’s something else.”
Damilare looked at her.
“The man.”
“What about him?”
“If he followed Samuel from the property, then he may have known Samuel was leaving.”
“That’s possible.”
“Which means he may have been watching the property.”
“Possible.”
“Or he may simply have been going in the same direction.”
“Yes.”
Temilade looked at him.
“You really had to say that.”
“I did.”
She shook her head.
“Because it matters.”
“Because it matters.”
She sat again.
The possibility that the man had been watching Samuel was tempting.
It connected neatly with everything else.
The missing second file.
The disputed figures.
The private settlement.
Samuel’s disappearance.
The later correspondence.
It was almost too neat.
And that was precisely why Temilade did not trust it.
She wrote in her notebook:
Possible connection — not established.
Underneath:
Do not identify the man without evidence.
Damilare noticed.
“Good.”
She looked up.
“I’m learning.”
He smiled.
“So you are.”
A knock came at the door.
Segun entered.
“I checked the archive movement notes.”
Temilade straightened.
“And?”
He carried a thin folder.
“There are several movements.”
“Of the statement?”
“Of the statement and related material.”
Damilare held out his hand.
Segun gave him the folder.
Damilare opened it.
Temilade moved closer.
“The statement was copied and retained.”
“We already know that.”
“There is another note.”
He pointed to a line near the bottom of the movement record.
“Related witness material retained separately.”
Temilade looked at him.
“Same wording?”
“Almost.”
“Does it identify the witness?”
“No.”
“Does it identify the material?”
“Not specifically.”
She exhaled.
“Of course.”
Segun continued.
“But there is a reference number.”
Damilare looked up.
“Where does it lead?”
“I haven’t traced it yet.”
Temilade looked at him.
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
Segun nodded.
Before he turned away, Temilade asked:
“Segun.”
He stopped.
“Does the movement record mention the man?”
He checked the page again.
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing identifying him.”
“Any description?”
“No.”
“Any name?”
“No.”
Temilade nodded.
“Thank you.”
Segun left.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Temilade looked at the folder.
The man was still a blank space.
But the statement had changed something.
Before, they had known that Samuel disappeared.
Now they had a documented indication that another person was with him—or at least behind him—when he left the property.
That did not explain the disappearance.
But it narrowed the question.
Not:
Who made Samuel disappear?
Not yet.
The better question was:
Who was the man who followed him?
Temilade wrote it down.
She stared at the sentence.
Then she added:
And why was he there?
Damilare looked over her shoulder.
“That’s the right question.”
She closed the notebook.
“What if we find his name?”
“Then we verify it.”
“And if we find someone who claims to know him?”
“We verify that too.”
“And if the records contradict each other?”
“We don’t choose the version we like.”
She looked at him.
“Only the version supported by the evidence.”
“Exactly.”
Outside, the city was moving into the afternoon.
The traffic had thickened.
A bus conductor shouted for passengers.
A motorcycle passed somewhere beyond the building.
Life continued around them.
But inside the office, the past had become more specific.
It now had a movement.
A witness.
A statement.
And a man without a name.
Temilade looked once more at Mrs.
Akinwale’s words.
Samuel had left the property.
A man had followed him.
Nothing in the statement said what happened afterward.
Nothing identified the man.
Nothing proved that he was responsible for Samuel’s disappearance.
But the fact remained.
Someone had been there.
And someone had followed.
Temilade placed the statement back in the folder.
“Trace the related witness records,” she said.
Damilare nodded.
“And the movement records.”
“Yes.”
“And the man?”
“We don’t guess.”
She looked at him.
“No.”
“We follow the records.”
She nodded.
That was becoming the rule.
One reference at a time.
One statement at a time.
One unanswered question at a time.
The man who followed Samuel was still unknown.
But for the first time, they knew where to look for the next piece.
Not in the conclusion.
In the record.
And somewhere inside those separate witness statements, there might be another fragment of the same afternoon.
A detail someone had remembered.
A name someone had written down.
Or a description that had survived where the name had not.
Temilade picked up her notebook.
The investigation moved again.
Not toward an answer.
Toward the next piece of evidence.
A slower one.
A harder one.
But perhaps a more reliable one.