The Funeral That Never Happened

The hospital corridor exploded into chaos.

“What do you mean his body is gone?” Superintendent Hassan barked.

The frightened mortuary attendant held out a clipboard with trembling hands.

“They came with all the correct documents, sir.”

“They had the hospital seal.”

“They even knew the security codes.”

Hassan snatched the papers.

Everything looked genuine.

Official signatures.

Official stamps.

Even the doctor’s approval.

But one thing caught his eye.

The release time.

9:17 a.m.

He frowned.

“Impossible.”

The doctor looked over his shoulder.

“Why?”

Hassan pointed at the time.

“Pastor Gideon was pronounced dead at 9:24.”

The corridor went silent.

Someone had processed the release…

Seven minutes before he died.

Kola looked at Teniola.

“They knew he wouldn’t survive.”

She nodded slowly.

“Or they made sure he wouldn’t.”

The words hung in the air.

Hassan turned sharply to the doctor.

“Who entered his room this morning?”

The doctor’s face changed.

“There was…”

He hesitated.

“A nurse.”

“What nurse?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

Within minutes, CCTV footage from the hospital was playing in the security office.

Everyone watched in silence.

A nurse wearing a face mask walked confidently into Pastor Gideon’s room at 8:56 a.m.

She stayed inside for exactly four minutes.

When she came out, she removed her gloves and dropped them into a medical waste bin.

She never looked at the camera.

Then she disappeared into a staff-only corridor.

The hospital had no record of her employment.

No name.

No ID.

Nothing.

Morenike whispered,

“They planted someone inside.”

Another camera angle appeared.

The mortuary entrance.

Two men in black suits rolled Pastor Gideon’s body away.

One of them briefly looked toward the camera.

Teniola gasped.

“I know him.”

Kola froze.

“So do I.”

It was one of the men from Warehouse 9.

Hassan immediately issued an alert.

“Block every road leading out of Lagos.”

An officer beside him looked uneasy.

“Sir…”

“What?”

“If these people are as connected as we think…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t need to.

Everyone understood.

Roadblocks alone wouldn’t stop them.

Teniola unfolded Pastor Gideon’s letter again.

This time, she read every line carefully.

She noticed something she had missed before.

Certain words were slightly darker than the others.

As if he had pressed the pen harder.

She circled them with her finger.

Faith.

River.

Stone.

Sunday.

Kola leaned closer.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

She kept reading.

Another word stood out.

Beneath.

Her breathing changed.

“This isn’t just a letter.”

“It’s a clue.”

Her mother suddenly spoke.

“There was a place.”

Everyone turned toward her.

“What place?”

She wiped her tears.

“Every first Sunday of the month…”

“Your father would leave home very early.”

“He always carried fresh flowers.”

“I asked him once where he was going.”

“What did he say?”

“He smiled and said…”

“‘I’m keeping an old promise by the river.'”

Kola stood up immediately.

“The river.”

Hassan nodded.

“There are several.”

Teniola closed her eyes.

She remembered something.

Not clearly.

Just a smell.

Wet earth.

Flowing water.

A white stone.

Then…

A little girl’s laughter.

Her eyes flew open.

“I’ve been there.”

Morenike frowned.

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“But I remember white stones.”

By evening, the team arrived at the old riverside on the outskirts of the city.

The place looked abandoned.

Tall grass.

Broken wooden jetty.

An old chapel nearby with peeling paint.

The air smelled of rain.

Pastor Gideon had once preached there years ago before moving to the city.

Teniola walked slowly.

Every step made the memories stronger.

She stopped in front of a large white stone near the riverbank.

Her heart raced.

“This is it.”

Kola knelt beside the stone.

Together, they pushed.

It barely moved.

Superintendent Hassan called two officers.

After several minutes, the stone finally rolled aside.

Underneath…

Was a small rusted metal box.

The brass key fit perfectly.

Click.

The lid opened.

Inside was a waterproof leather pouch.

Everyone held their breath.

Teniola slowly unzipped it.

It wasn’t the ledger.

There were only three things inside.

A photograph.

A cassette tape.

And a sealed envelope.

The photograph showed Evelyn.

Pastor Gideon.

Little Amara.

Little Amaya.

And Daniel.

All smiling.

On the back, someone had written:

“One day, the truth will bring you back together.”

Teniola’s hands shook as she picked up the envelope.

Across the front, written in Evelyn’s handwriting, were the words:

“Open only if Victor finds me first.”

Silence.

Very slowly…

She broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Only one sentence.

She read it aloud.

“If you are reading this…”

“…then I have already been murdered.”

Nobody breathed.

Then Hassan noticed something else inside the envelope.

A memory card.

Tiny.

Almost hidden in the corner.

He held it up.

“This might be everything.”

Before anyone could celebrate…

A gun clicked behind them.

Cold.

Close.

A familiar voice spoke from the darkness.

“Give me the memory card.”

Everyone turned.

Victor Nwosu stood only a few metres away.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

Beside him…

Hands tied behind her back, bruised but alive…

Stood Evelyn Nwosu.

Teniola’s eyes filled with tears.

“Mum…”

Evelyn looked at her daughter.

Then, despite everything, she managed a faint smile.

“I found you.”

To be continued…