The jingle was not to be listened to.
It was buried deep down in the old police station at the end of Ajegunle, in a corridor evidence box where nobody opened any more. The station, most of the officers felt was old fashioned, old fans, old stories but the jingle would not lie down.
Kola heard it the first time on a rainy Tuesday evening. They always gave him night duty as he was youngest officer in the station and he does not have any connections. The zinc roof was being stampeded by angry fingers. Electricity had since spoilt again and the station was in the dark interrupted only by a winking lantern.
Then it came.
Jingle… jingle…
Kola froze and his grip on his torch tightened.
It was gentle, metallic and regular as though there were small chains rubbing against one another. He trailed it along the corridor, through smackers and broken notice boards. The sound ceased in the presence of the evidence room.
Kola laughed nervously, “Mice” he said under his breath but mice do not jingle.
Then gently, he unlocked the door. The smell of old paper and damp air rushed out. The sound came again, louder now, coming from a wooden box marked:
CASE FILE 047 – CLOSED
Inside the box was a pair of ankle chains. Old prison chains, heavy and cold with tiny bells attached to them. Kola’s heart skipped, then he remembered the story of Ibrahim.
Ibrahim was a man who was arrested some years back due to armed robbery. Witnesses said that they heard his chains on his ankle jangling as he ran. The court believed them, he was convicted and he died in prison. The case was closed, yet there were elders in the community that said that Ibrahim was not at fault. They claimed that he had a limp and was unable to run, they said that the jingling that evening was in another place.
Kola jingled the chains in his hands once more and fear like flood came as he dropped them.
The following morning Kola could not get it out of the way. He reopened the case file and something was wrong as he read. Times did not match, statements conflicted, one of the witnesses said that a motorcycle was passing in the middle of the jingle.
"A motorcycle with a bell", that statement didn't leave Kola so he started to enquire privately. He made visits to ancient witnesses, one of the women eventually gave way to tears.
I did not say it was Ibrahim, she said “It was my brother. He stole that night, it was his motorcycle bell that sounded but I was too afraid to speak”. Anger and sadness of the revelation burned in the chest of Kola.
The next night the jingle came on again, even more strongly than before, and resounded through the station. Kola moved directly to the evidence room.
“I hear you and I will not ignore you”, he said aloud.
In a matter of weeks, Kola officially opened the case. There was opposition of senior officers but reality was mightier. Records were corrected and the name of Ibrahim was cleared openly. His family cried not with joy but with the relief as of long delay.
On the day of announcement of apology, chains were melted in the evidence room, that night there was no one at the station, no jingle.
Kola later on became a reputable investigator. He learnt to hear, not only to people but to minor things that other people did not even notice.
Note: All pictures were generated on Meta AI
Wonderful. Ibrahim’s soul lingered in the station until justice prevailed. Now you make me wonder what truly goes on in stations. Hehe!
Well done.
Wonderful! Indeed justice must prevail. Chain not only melted... Thanks for the story. I fear Ajegunle boys o