Damilare called before nine the next morning.
Temilade was already at her desk, the previous day’s notes open beside her.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
“Eventually.”
“Good.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I’m trying something new.”
“What?”
“Not beginning the day with bad news.”
Temilade smiled.
“How long do you think that will last?”
“Probably until I tell you what Segun found.”
Her smile disappeared.
“What did he find?”
“Another reference to the recording.”
Temilade straightened.
“Where?”
“Come to the office.”
“You’re already there?”
“Segun and I have been here since seven.”
“On my way.”
She ended the call.
By the time Temilade arrived, Segun had spread several documents across the conference table.
Damilare stood at the far end, reading one of them.
Temilade dropped her bag onto a chair.
“Show me.”
Segun pushed a photocopy toward her.
The heading was barely legible.
Below it was a reference number.
Then a short notation.
Cassette — S.A.
Temilade stared at it.
“The same one?”
“The same reference,” Segun said.
“Where did you find it?”
“In an older inventory.”
“Older than the one we saw yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Temilade looked at Damilare.
“So the cassette appears in more than one record.”
“That’s what the documents suggest.”
“Does either record identify S.A.?”
“No.”
“Samuel Adebayo?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Damilare pointed to another line.
“Read that.”
Temilade moved closer.
Hold the pending original file.
Review related movement records.
She read it again.
“What’s the date?”
“1997”.
“Who wrote it?”
“No signature.”
“Who was supposed to review it?”
“Not stated.”
Temilade leaned back.
The absence of names was becoming difficult to ignore.
But difficulty was not proof.
She reminded herself of that.
“What else?”
Segun handed her another document.
“This one came from the correspondence file.”
Temilade read.
Related material received for review.
Underneath, another line.
Original returned.
She looked up.
“Returned to whom?”
“No name.”
“Returned when?”
“Same year.”
“Who received it back?”
“Not recorded.”
Damilare folded his arms.
“There’s more.”
Segun pulled out another page.
“This is from a follow-up correspondence concerning the Yaba transaction.”
Temilade scanned it.
There were references to a property matter, an unresolved administrative issue, and a request for further review.
But no sender was identified clearly.
No recipient was named.
No explanation connected the correspondence directly to the cassette.
Temilade placed the page on the table.
“We’re still missing the bridge.”
Damilare nodded.
“Exactly.”
“Yes.”
“There are references to audio material.”
“Yes.”
“And there are related records connected to the old Yaba matter.”
“Yes.”
“But none of that proves the cassette was the same recording Simi described.”
“Correct.”
Temilade looked at Segun.
“And S.A. doesn’t prove Samuel.”
“Correct.”
She nodded.
For once, nobody seemed disappointed by the uncertainty.
That mattered.
They spent the next hour reconstructing the documentary sequence.
Segun placed the pages in chronological order.
Then another document.
Temilade followed the movement with her finger.
“Something happened here.”
Damilare looked over.
“What?”
“The sequence changes.”
“How?”
“The earlier documents describe the material generally.”
She pointed.
“Then suddenly we have an instruction to hold the pending original file.”
Segun nodded.
“And after that?”
“Review.”
She moved to the next page.
“Then return.”
Damilare pulled another chair closer.
“What’s missing?”
Temilade looked at him.
“The person.”
He nodded.
“Exactly.”
They looked at the documents again.
The records showed movement.
They showed a review.
They showed return.
But the names of the people who handled the material were absent.
Temilade wrote in her notebook:
Movement is documented.
Custody is not.
She stopped.
Then added:
Do not confuse the two.
Segun looked at the note.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“What’s the problem?”
“We keep finding evidence that something happened without finding evidence of who made it happen.”
Temilade closed her pen.
“Then we document exactly that.”
Later that afternoon, Segun found another notation.
He called them back to the table.
“I think this is worth seeing.”
Damilare took the document first.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he handed it to Temilade.
She read it.
Copy retained.
Original returned.
She looked up.
“Retained by whom?”
“No name.”
“Copy of what?”
“Not specified.”
“The cassette?”
Segun shook his head.
“We don’t know.”
Temilade looked at Damilare.
He said nothing.
She understood.
They were approaching the point where the temptation to connect everything would become dangerous.
A copy existed.
An original had been returned.
But the document did not identify what form the copy took.
It could have been a document.
It could have been correspondence.
It could have been another record.
It could have referred to material unrelated to the cassette.
There was no basis yet for saying otherwise.
Temilade wrote another note.
Do not assume the retained copy was the cassette.
She underlined it once.
Then closed the notebook.
Damilare leaned against the table.
“If the cassette still exists, we may eventually hear it.”
Temilade looked at him.
“And if it doesn’t?”
She was quiet.
“Would that be enough?”
“It depends on what the records eventually show.”
Temilade looked at the old pages scattered across the table.
For years, Samuel had existed in her family story as a name surrounded by silence.
Now there were records.
Fragments.
References.
An old cassette.
A movement trail.
None of them gave her the whole story.
But together, they had begun to change the shape of the question.
She looked at Damilare.
“If we hear that recording, everything changes.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think hearing it would give us information.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
Temilade lowered her voice.
“What if he said something about my family?”
Damilare was silent.
“What if he named someone?”
“Then we’d have to verify what he said.”
“What if it changes what I believe about Samuel?”
“Then you’ll have to decide what to do with what you learn.”
She looked away.
For a moment, she was no longer the investigator sitting at a conference table.
She was the daughter who had spent years living with a story that had never been complete.
“I want to hear it,” she said.
Damilare nodded.
“Even if it changes everything?”
Temilade looked back at him.
“Especially then.”
That evening, she returned to her notes.
She wrote the heading carefully.
THE RECORDING
Then she began.
WHAT WE KNOW
Samuel is described by Simi as having made a recording.
Simi remembered an old cassette recorder.
An archive inventory contains an entry for Cassette — S.A.
A later movement record refers to audio material transferred with related records.
A 1997 document refers to related material being received for review.
Another notation states: Original returned.
A later record states: Copy retained.
The documents connect these materials to a broader documentary trail involving the old Yaba matter.
She stopped.
Then continued.
WHAT WE DON’T KNOW
Whether S.A. means Samuel Adebayo.
Whether the cassette is the recording Simi remembered.
Whether the cassette still exists.
Whether the audio material mentioned in the records is the same item as the cassette.
Who reviewed the material?
Why was the original returned?
Who retained the copy?
What form that copy took.
Who had access to the recording?
Whether the recording was connected to the second file.
Whether anyone heard it.
Temilade read the list twice.
There were more questions than answers.
But the questions were becoming narrower.
That was progress.
Her phone vibrated.
A message from Damilare.
We’ve finished the first documentary mapping.
A second message followed.
There is another trail to check.
Temilade stared at the screen.
She typed:
What trail?
His reply came almost immediately.
The movement of the related records.
She looked at the old documents on her desk.
The cassette had started the question.
The documentary trail had given it shape.
Now the related records might show where the material had gone.
She closed her notebook.
The recording remained unheard.
The cassette remained unverified.
The second file remained missing.
But the records had established one thing.
Someone had handled material connected to the old Yaba matter long after the events that had begun the investigation.
The question was no longer simply whether a recording had existed.
It was who had been close enough to that recording to know that it mattered.
And that was a question the next set of records might finally begin to answer.