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Wanted for murder




Copyright 2016 Ilesanmi Temitope


Published by Ilesanmi Temitope at Shakespir

Copyright 2016 Ilesanmi Temitope

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.


Dedicated to Omolaraeni Grace, for your constant support; and to all my readers who pushed me to keep writing.


I definitely would have gotten nowhere without the support of the Almighty.

I also want to extend my gratitude to all my TSibs at TALKAHOLIC BOOKS, my very first set of readers. Your constant words of motivation has led me this far;
And my sincere appreciation to all those who mailed and texted to make sure I got this book out there

Table of contents:

Copyright page


Table of contents


Chapter One: Arrested

Chapter Two: Freedom

Chapter Three: Always A Detective

Chapter Four: Bounty

Chapter Five: Run, Tiago, Run!

Chapter Six: Catching Up

Chapter Seven: Tick-Tock!

Chapter Eight: The Will

Chapter Nine: Caught!


Other titles by Santiago


I looked around me and despite my circumstances, I couldn’t help but nod to myself in amusement, I agreed that maybe the Nigerian-American treaty did have its benefits after all.

It was my first time riding in one of those computerized express trains and although the circumstances cannot be classified as the best for taking your first ride in a train, I was quite enjoying myself. I am quite sure we were moving at a speed of about 500kmph.

I was being charged with the murder of my best friend’s sister- whom I had taken in as my own sister; and well,, we were on our way to the Supreme Court. There was nothing that could save me. All evidences were simply against me: The murder weapon (an Astra 600 pistol) was found on me, we had quarreled on the day she died and the worst? I was found on the murder scene. So, tell me, what do I have to say? But I swear I’m innocent and there is definitely no way I’m sitting in a jail for the rest of my life while a murderer walks free.

I looked around, my room was more or less a cell, the door was impenetrable and I couldn’t escape through the window- Not that I would like to jump off the window of a train moving at 500kmph anyway. I would’ve picked the lock if I could but it was just impossible- the locks used on these trains would surely give the most professional ‘lock-picker’ of the century a run for his money.

The door to my holding cell opened and a female officer entered. She was detective Rachel, the most brutal of my interrogators. She worked the Nigerian chapter of the FBI, as I later learnt. (The FBI conducted all high-level crime investigations since the treaty was signed in 2018).

I shrank back as she moved closer but she pulled my hand, she unlocked the cuffs and took me outside the room. The train was passing through Ikirun in Osun state. I was being taken from Lagos to the Supreme Court in Abuja.

She gave me a credit card, some cash and a phone. She touched the screen, a window appeared. “The GPS will direct you to where you should go; I’ll contact you when I can”. I wanted to protest but she shut me up.

“I know you’re innocent but there’s no time, you have to run now”

I looked outside; I couldn’t believe she was asking me to jump off the train. I looked back at her face and she reassured me “Go!”I nodded and jumped, rolling into the forest; as soon as I was no longer under the effect of the momentum, I stopped rolling and hid behind a tree till the train passed- Another good thing about the computerized train, it is kind enough to give me time to run. Even if they had seen me, they couldn’t stop, since the whole trip had been pre-programmed. By the time the train stops, I’d be long gone.

I looked at the PHONE, a blue cursor was blinking, indicating my position, another cursor, a green one was a few centimeters above it. I clicked on it and a docked window appeared: ‘Exclusive hotel, Offa, 25 kilometers from current location.’

I jogged towards the main road and stopped a taxi. “Offa, Exclusive hotel.” He waved inside the car and I got in and we zoomed off. Once in the car, I started thinking about what got me into this situation.



The sun was setting; I was jogging along the streets, towards Janet’s house when a bike zoomed past me. AD241ABC – that was the plate number; I had made it a custom to check the number on the plates of every ‘suspicious’ bike I see ever since I was 16 and a motorcycle rider snatched my bag with some valuables in it. The thief could have easily been identified but for lack of evidence. Somehow I felt this bike was suspicious and I know enough to trust my gut.

I heard another car behind me, I started running, I wanted to race the car. We raced for about 100 meters before the car finally overtook me. I felt a little disappointed, but gimme a break, that car was moving at 80km per hour.

Okay I know by now you’re probably wondering who/what am I? Who’s that someone who can run at 75 kmph(21m/s)-faster than a cheetah! Yea that’s me. I know by now you’re probably wondering supernatural, but no, supernaturals aren’t real. My name is Tiago and I am one of the early products of a project MEP (‘MIND ENHANCEMENT PROGRAM’) started by a group of scientists (among whom was my birth Dad) in South Africa about 26 years ago. Okay, I’m actually an incomplete product. My dad extracted me when he realized what they intended to do to the kids.

The purpose of the program was to enhance the brain functions of unborn children to make them into men with exceptional powers to satisfy the selfish wants of those in power. Anyway, the program made me into what I am today. So I get to do stuffs you only see in movies like race cars on an expressway, jump off a building and other cool stuffs. Actually, I would love to do a lot more but my foster dad made me promise to be extraordinarily careful. You guess why…

I turned left and headed for the Thompson estate. As I ran, thoughts of the events of seven hours ago raced through my mind. For the first time, I quarreled with Janet and she told me not to live her life for her. She had wanted to entrust one of her father’s companies – the one over which I was now the executive director according to Mr. Thompson’s will- to a boyfriend she just met. She wanted me to make the guy the managing director. Although the guy was qualified to administrate, forgive me for not trusting her decision, Janet tends to think with her heart and not her head.

I told her she couldn’t make decisions on a whim just like that but she said and I quote “Who are you to tell me how to manage my dad’s empire?” I got angry and I said “Fine, I am nobody and guess what, you can have it all, I no longer want a part of this.” Then I went inside, got out the legal papers and signed over my rights as executive director to her. I called my lawyer to come over and finalize the agreement later. Of course she would first have to present the papers before the board of directors and then have the president of the ‘Thompson Group’ sign the transfer but that wasn’t a problem, she was the president. The papers simply meant I sold my shares to her except I wasn’t going to take a kobo. Okay guess Janet isn’t the only one who makes rash decisions

I didn’t mind leaving, I don’t need the money, but right now, the main issue is I need to apologise for my outburst. I had promised her brother Joseph on his deathbed that I would take care of his sister like she were mine. How do I do that if we were quarreling?

I was a few metres away from the gate when I saw the same motorcycle from earlier before speed past me again in the opposite direction. ‘AD241ABC’I confirmed. I had a sick feeling. I ran through the open gate into the estate and headed straight for Janet’s flat. “Janet! Janet!” I screamed. I opened her door and I found a body on the floor bleeding, clutching a gunshot wound. No doubt it was Janet but she wasn’t dead yet. I ran towards her to carry her but then I felt something heavy hit my head and everything went black.


When I opened my eyes Janet was dead, she had moved though. She was trying to touch my hand. I looked at my right hand and I was shocked. I was holding a gun, I didn’t remember bringing a gun with me. Then I understood, someone was trying to frame me as Janet’s murderer. Then I realized why Janet was trying to touch my hand, she was trying to remove the gun. That showed she still cared. I held her hands and cried. Then I heard the door kicked open “Stay where you are!” several voices barked.

I looked up and saw several policemen, five in all. “Put your hands on your head!” I complied.

“Search him” the squad leader commanded. Someone came to me and searched me; he only found my ID card and debit card on me. He gave them to their squad leader who in turn read out my name and said “Julius Tiago, you are under arrest for the murder of Miss Thompson Janet. You are advised to keep quiet for whatever you say will be used against you…” I stopped concentrating on his voice, that statement sounded a lot better in those movies; well, maybe not. Maybe I just felt that way because it was being read out to me.

The police officers kept their guns trained on me while one of the took out an handkerchief and picked up the gun with it. The squad leader slapped his cuffs on my wrists. I didn’t protest, my spirit was broken; the only person I cared about in the world was dead. I took one last look at Janet and had a feeling she was trying to tell me something (weird huh?). I bent down and kissed her forehead and then I allowed the policemen to lead me outside into the awaiting police car.

A team of forensics arrived as we left, they had come to find pieces of evidence but I knew they would do more of destroying contradicting evidences instead. They had their suspect and they had a murder weapon, they don’t like to muddy the waters.


For two weeks, I was interrogated and every time I had a chance I tried to explain my innocence; but no one would believe me. (Not like it’s their fault, you wouldn’t believe me too if you were my interrogator, would you? A suspect caught on the scene standing over the body with the murder weapon… yeah it was that bad).

I remember detective Rachel, Nigerian FBI detective brought in to investigate the murder case, after making me explain the events of that day for the umpteenth time, she said: “Do you really expect me to believe you? You know, your story fits in perfectly into the shoes of the murderer. First the quarrel earlier in the day following which she was going to take the company from you, and then hours later you were found holding a recently fired pistol over her dead body. So you expect me to believe you just went there to say ‘Hi t’sup, how about a drink?’ and you just found her body there?” she scoffed and continued in a lower more creepy voice: “Say the truth Tiago, the truth might set you free. Then she gave me a really cold stare and stalked off.

That was the first time she didn’t use force on me in her interrogation. She just looked at me like she got convinced of something and that was the last time I saw her – till of course I met her again on the train when I was having my not-so-jolly ride to court which didn’t turn out to be much of a coincidence anyway…

When I was told that the case would be taken to the Supreme Court, I was not disappointed but I lost all hope. My lawyer definitely stood no chance against the best lawyers in the country who would be on the State’s side and the Jury who would definitely not take my flimsy side against the US-Nigerian government.

Oh! Forgive my habits, I didn’t get to formally introduce you to Janet, may I inform you, Janet was the daughter of late Mr. Thompson, formerly the second richest man in Nigeria. His only surviving child, Janet, inherited all those benefits when he died. So I guess her status doesn’t do my situation any good.



I took a deep breath for the first time since I got off the train. I looked out of the window as the houses sped past. The car stopped outside a huge building. I looked up and saw the sign post: “Exclusive Hotel – Home of comfort…”.I paid the driver and as I was about to jump out, a new thought came into my mind and I said: “driver, actually I was going to Abdullahi supermarket, I learnt it was close here” I knew I’d flopped and blow my cover – the driver now is probably suspicious and can lead the police to the hotel I stayed. The supermarket was a last minute attempt at saving face.

The driver nodded and turned left, thirty seconds later, he stopped in front of a rather too large supermarket. I thanked the driver and got down.

I kept my face down as I entered the supermarket, the first thing I bought was a baseball cap, then a pair of dark sunglasses and finally, I got a new pair of clothes before I walked out of the shop. As soon as I walked into the hotel lobby, the phone beeped. I looked at it and saw a message.

Exclusive hotel

Room: 749;

Name: Hammed Mubarak;

Pin: 66704;

I didn’t understand what the name and pin were meant for but I did when I got to the receptionist and told her t b I was going to room 749 and she asked me for the pin.

“66704” I replied.


“Hammed Mubarak”

She looked at me and looked at the picture on her screen then she said: “You booked for the room at 6.30pm yesterday, paid with a debit mastercard and made reservations for five days. Would you like to alter anything, sir?

I nodded, my voice was stuck. I wasn’t following along at all.

“Room 749 is on the twelfth floor” she pointed at the elevator and continued “Enter your pin on the door of the room and it will unlock.”

“Thank you” I said and walked towards the elevator. I wonder how strange I must have seemed to her, I was supposed to have booked five days in such an ‘exclusive’ hotel and yet I come in without even a suitcase. Just a small plastic bag holding some dirty clothes.

When i got to the door to room 749 i was surprised at all the security measures installed on the door. See, actually I’m among many other things a computer programmer (err… PhD computer security). Did that come out like I’m bragging? Cause I’m not. Okay, thing is I used to see myself as the best and most updated computer security expert in the nation but let’s just say what I was looking at looked more hi-tech than, what you would find in an hotel.

A screen on the door displayed the number 749. Another screen with keypads beneath it showed the words: ‘Enter Pin’. I entered the numbers 66704 and the message on the screen changed to ‘Welcome’. Then I heard an automated voice say: “Retina Scan! Please place an eye before the scanner.”

I almost panicked, if the hotel was not booked with my retina, then the retina scan would show the error and an alarm would be sounded. Then I remembered Detective Rachel taking a scan of my eyes the previous day before interrogating me for the last time. When I asked her what it was about, she simply looked into my eyes and said “Protocol”. Now I understood what ‘Protocol’ meant. Women and meticulous planning…

I confidently removed my glasses and looked into the eye scanner. A blue light flashed and the automated voice said again “Security check complete” and the door unlocked. With a sigh of relief, I opened the door and walked into the room.

On the other side of the door, there was only one lock/unlock button which made it easy for anyone inside the room to unlock the door, but once you’re outside, You undergo the rigors.

How do I know if someone is on the other side of the door, (I mean in case of someone who doesn’t like knocking, you know…). I noticed a screen beside the door on which I could observe everything happening on the other side of the door. I wondered why all this security for an hotel, I mean I always thought hotels are meant for one-night-stands. I made it a note to ask Rachel what this place really was. She must have spent a fortune booking five days in this place. Which brings me to the question: Why was she helping me? She didn’t seem like someone nice to me. Save those thoughts for later, right now I need a shower…

Three hours later, the door buzzed. Turned out my first visitor prefers ringing the bell to kicking the door in. I looked at the screen and saw Detective Rachel standing there, smiling. I stood from the sofa on which I was sprawled and pressed unlock from the remote control on the table (Oh! I didn’t tell you about that? My room is that cool). Wait a minute, there’s no bell… The door opened and she stepped in, grinning from ear to ear like she just came in to see her husband. I have a friend who’d say she was blushing.

“Hello Mubarak”

“Do I get an explanation for all this?”I replied.

“Oh! I forgot about your bad manners. Do I owe you an explanation? I saved you from the blind long arm of the law, is all.”

“I’m sorry” I replied, and to diverge I said “Oh wait, you rang the bell, but I didn’t see a doorbell”

She looked at me like I was a fool and said “There’s no bell”

“But you rang the bell…” I protested.

She sighed “It’s automatic. Now are we going to stand here all day discussing about a doorbell that is not present?”

I shook my head and said “I really don’t know how to thank you for all this. But I’m…”

“Fine. I rescued you because I knew you were innocent. Now, you can thank me by telling me the WHOLE truth, from the beginning…” she held up her hand “but not yet. I have to get inside my room and make some arrangements. Your friends are combing everywhere for you. Good thing there were no security cameras on the train, things would have been messier.”

“How much did you spend on all this?” I asked spreading my arms to indicate the room.

“One million naira for both rooms for the five days, why?” she said nonchalantly. I opened my mouth in shock then she said:

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not going bankrupt… yet. I had support.”

This just keeps getting more confusing; someone out there wanted me out of prison. But why? I mean, there’s no one else I know who cares about what happens to me…

The detective caught the confusion in my eyes and said “I also don’t know who it is, I received an untraceable anonymous mail declaring your innocence and then the person sent 5 million naira into an offshore account… BUT that was not why I rescued you, Mr. Anonymous only made the job easier. Guess you have a lot of fans.”

“You said he sent you a mail, maybe I could trace it, find where it came from.”

“Been there, done that. I asked an FBI tech expert to trace it for me and sorry to wound your pride, but I bet he’s better than you. All we got was an empty warehouse in IB city. The computer that was used to send the mail was still there. See, I’ll go change my clothes, then we’ll talk.”


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Wanted for murder

When Santiago is arrested for the murder of his boss, he lost all hope. His situation was bleak, having been arrested on the scene with his prints all over the murder weapon.His worst regret was not being able to get justice and revenge for his late best friend's sister, whin he'd come to adopt as his own, or could he? His luck changes when a cute detective helps him escape prison. With bounty hunters hot on his trail, which of the mysteries would he be able to solve: Janet's murder or the reason why detective Hot is helping him, or both? Find out within the pages of this thriller

  • ISBN: 9781370845385
  • Author: Ilesanmi Temitope (Santiago)
  • Published: 2016-12-08 00:50:10
  • Words: 19224
Wanted for murder Wanted for murder