Chapter 73

TWO HOURS LATER, I was dining in style with Father Bombata in his office at the Redeemed Church of Christ, a sprawling complex right in the heart of Lagos.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said. “And for all of this. I was hungry.”

We were sharing a meal of kudu, squash, salad, and a South African Zinfandel over the expansive desk in his office. The priest's tiny body was all the more dwarfed by a high-backed chair and the floor-to-ceiling windows looming behind him. Heavy red drapes kept out all but two slits of fading evening light.

“What happened to your face?” he asked me and actually seemed concerned. “Or should I ask, 'What happened to the other man?'”

I'd almost forgotten how I looked. The nose had stopped hurting somewhere around Ghana.

“Shaving accident,” I told him and forced a crooked smile.

I didn't want to give one more person a reason to think I should go home on the next available plane. What I needed were allies, not more advice.

“Father, I've gotten some disturbing information about a killer called the Tiger. Do you think it's possible that there is more than one Tiger? Maybe operating in different locations? Like here and in the US?”

“All things are possible, of course,” he said with a kind smile. “But that is not your real question, is it? Still, I suppose I would have to say yes, it is possible, especially if the government is involved. Or big business. There are a number of employers of killers for hire. It is a common practice.”

“Why the government? Or a corporation?”

The priest rolled his eyes, but then he gave me a straight answer.

“They have the means for controlling information that others might not. And for controlling misinformation as well.”

“Any idea why they would want to do that? Be involved, I mean.”

He stood to pour me some more wine. “I can imagine any number of reasons. But it would be irresponsible of me to suggest that I actually think it's happening. Because, truthfully, I have no idea. The name is symbolism-the Tiger. You realize that there aren't any tigers in Africa. Maybe in a zoo someplace.”

“I know that. In any case, I'm chasing at least one real man here,” I said. “I need to find out where he's gone. He killed my friend and her family. Other families were murdered too.”

If l may?“ He looked at a mahogany clock facing him on the desk. ”From what you've told me, your more immediate need is for somewhere to sleep."

“ I wasn't going to ask.”

“You don't have to, Detective Cross. I can't offer you anything here. It's a risk I would take for myself but not for my congregation. However, I can take you to our men's shelter. There's a five-night maximum, and it's no hotel-”

“I'll take it. Thank you,” I told the priest.