It Begins with One Murder by Ray Anyasi
Synopsis
In It Begins with One Murder, a seemingly joyous bachelorette party spirals into a chilling murder mystery that unearths long-buried secrets, bitter rivalries, and the dark underbelly of privilege and power. Kaley Attah, a UK-based architect, returns to Nigeria for the first time in nearly a decade to serve as a bridesmaid for her high school classmate, Temi. What begins as a nostalgic reunion quickly turns sinister when Tolani, a male former classmate who attended the party, is found dead the next morning—his body discovered less than a mile from the venue.
Security footage reveals a woman in a red dress driving Tolani’s car out of the compound that night. The problem? Every woman at the party wore the same red dress. With half the attendees harboring motives and alibis as flimsy as chiffon, suspicion spreads like wildfire. Kaley, once an outsider in their elite high school, finds herself at the center of the storm—both as a suspect and as a reluctant investigator.
Tasked by Tolani’s powerful father, Kayode Olode, to spy on the other girls, and unofficially partnered with the ambitious Inspector Jacob Wamako, Kaley must navigate a treacherous web of lies, envy, and manipulation. But as the body count rises and the stakes escalate, Kaley realizes that solving the murder may require her to become just as ruthless as the killer she’s hunting.
1
Kaley Attah woke to the shrill insistence of her phone vibrating against the glass top of the hotel nightstand. The room was still dark, the blackout curtains doing their job too well. Her head throbbed faintly, champagne, dancing, and the emotional whiplash of seeing old classmates after nearly a decade.
She squinted at the screen. Temi Oseni.
She answered on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. “Temi?”
A breathless pause. Then. “Kaley, something’s happened.”
Kaley sat up, heart kicking against her ribs. “What?”
“It’s Tolani. He’s dead.”
The words hung in the air like balloon. Kaley blinked, trying to make sense of them. “Which Tolani?”
“Our Tolani. He was here last night in the hotel.”
“Yes, yes,” Kaley blinked, “I think I remember seeing him in the lobby.”
“He’s dead, Kaley. He’s dead.”
“Dead? What do you mean, how?”
“They found him on the roadside. About a mile from the hotel somewhere around Sawmill. His car’s gone. They think it was a robbery.”
Kaley swung her legs off the bed, the cool tile shocking her awake. “Wait, wait. When? After the party?”
“I don’t know,” Temi whispered. “The police are here. They said he might’ve left early. No one saw him go.”
Kaley’s mind raced. Tolani, always the loudest in the room, the one with the jokes and the expensive watch. “Dead? Just like that?”
“I’m finished, Kaley. Chai.”
“Are they sure it’s him?”
Temi’s voice cracked. “They showed me his ID. It’s him. They’ve also informed his family, and they’ve confirmed his body.”
Kaley stood, the hotel room suddenly too quiet, too sterile. The laughter from last night felt like a cruel echo. “I’ll be down in five.”
She hung up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The bridesmaid’s dress lay crumpled on the chair. Outside, Lagos was waking up. Horns blaring, vendors shouting, the city indifferent to the fact that someone they knew had died in the dark.
And somewhere, someone was driving Tolani’s car.
Kaley didn’t bother to change. She threw on yesterday’s jeans and a hoodie, shoved her feet into sandals, and grabbed her phone and keycard. The hallway outside her room was quiet, the kind of hush that only came after a night of too much music and too many secrets.
The lift took too long. She took the stairs instead, two at a time, her breath sticking in her throat. The lobby was empty save for a sleepy concierge who barely looked up as she pushed through the glass doors into the Lagos morning.
The heat hit her like a rude slap.
She flagged down the first taxi she saw, a battered yellow-and-black cab idling near the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man with a radio murmuring lowlife gossip, looked her over once before unlocking the doors.
“Eko Hotel,” she said, sliding into the back seat. “Fast, please.”
He nodded, pulling into traffic with the weary precision of someone who’d seen too many sunrises from behind the wheel. Kaley stared out the window, her mind racing. She wouldn’t say she didn’t see this coming. But now that things were in motion, it felt like there was never going to be a preparing for it.
The city sped past, hawkers weaving between cars, danfos honking like angry geese, the scent of roasted corn and exhaust thick in the air. Lagos was awake now, indifferent and alive.
Ten minutes later, the cab slowed near the entrance of the hotel where the bachelorette party had been held. Kaley’s stomach dropped.
Two police vans were parked just outside the gates. Uniformed officers stood at the entrance, speaking to hotel staff and waving off curious onlookers. Yellow tape fluttered near the side driveway like a warning.
Kaley paid the driver and stepped out, her legs suddenly unsteady. She pulled her hoodie tighter around her and approached the gate.
One of the officers stepped forward, palm raised. “Ma’am, this area is restricted.”
“I was at the party last night,” Kaley said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’m one of the bridesmaids.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “Name?”
“Kaley Attah.”
He turned to another officer, who checked a sheet of paper, then gave a nod. “Go in. They’re speaking to guests in the lounge.”
Kaley stepped past the tape, her heart pounding. The hotel looked the same, sleek, modern, expensive, but something felt different. The air was heavier. The laughter from last night had curdled into whispers.
And somewhere inside, Temi was waiting.
The hotel lounge had been cleared of guests. The music from last night was gone, replaced by the low hum of air conditioning and the occasional crackle of a police radio. Kaley stepped in and saw them, Temi, Bunmi, Chioma, Kosi, Lucia, clustered around a velvet couch like survivors of a shipwreck.
Everyone looked wrecked.
Temi’s makeup was smudged, her bridal robe still on from the night before. Bunmi clutched a bottle of water like it might anchor her. Chioma had her arms folded tight, eyes darting toward the entrance every few seconds. Kosi and Lucia sat close, whispering in Yoruba, their faces pale.
Kaley joined them, heart thudding. No one spoke for a moment.
Then Temi broke the silence. “They said it was a robbery. His car’s still missing.”
Kaley looked at a policeman walking past them, “So, once they find the car they would know who did it?”
Lucia shook her head. “But why would he leave alone? He was seen hanging about the place half the night.”
Bunmi blinked. “I even had a brief chat with him when I first came in and saw him at the bar entrance. About 3 p.m?”
Chioma frowned. “I saw him near the pool bar after that. He was arguing with someone. I couldn’t see who.”
Temi’s voice was hoarse. “Arguing?”
“Just for a second. Then he walked off.”
Kosi leaned forward. “Did anyone see him leave the hotel?”
No one answered.
Kaley looked around. “We all went to school with him. We know Tolani. He wouldn’t just wander off drunk. Not in Lagos. He’s too self-conscious for that.”
Lucia’s voice was barely a whisper. “Unless he was meeting someone.”
Temi flinched. “What are you saying?”
Kaley’s gaze swept the room. “I’m saying we need to be honest. If anyone saw anything, anything strange, we need to say it now.”
The silence that followed was thick with memory. Old grudges. Shared secrets. The kind of history that didn’t fade, even after ten years.
Outside, a police officer paced past the glass doors. Inside, the women sat in a circle of suspicion, each replaying the night before in their minds.
***
The gates of the Kayode estate in Ikoyi swung open for the third convoy that morning. Black SUVs rolled in, their tinted windows shielding Lagos’s elite from the sun and the press. Inside the mansion, the air was cool, the silence curated.
Mr. Kayode stood in the centre of the sitting room; a man carved from granite. His agbada was crisp, his face unreadable. Around him, the room buzzed with low voices, bank CEOs, oil executives, political fixers. Men and women who moved money and policy with a phone call. Today, they moved with caution.
Tolani’s mother sat beside the dinning, her eyes swollen but dry. A cousin poured her tea she wouldn’t drink. The house smelled of incense and imported lilies, but beneath it all was the metallic scent of grief.
“He was driving a new car,” someone murmured. “A Benz. Just two weeks old.”
“Robbery, they say,” another replied. “But in that area? At that hour?”
Mr. Kayode didn’t speak. He listened. He watched. His son was dead, and the story didn’t add up.
A condolence visitor from Zenith Bank leaned in. “Have the police confirmed anything?”
“They’re still at the hotel,” said a woman from the Ministry of Trade. “Interviewing the bridal party.”
Mr. Kayode’s jaw tightened. “Find out who he spoke to last. I want names. I want timelines.”
A hush fell. No one questioned him.
Outside, journalists hovered beyond the gates, cameras ready. And in the centre of it all, Mr. Kayode stood unmoved. His son was gone. But his power was intact.
For now.
He excused himself from the visitors to find a private corner.
Mr. Kayode stood in his private study, a room lined with mahogany shelves and silent trophies of power. framed photos with presidents, plaques from global banks, a signed oil contract from 1998 that changed everything. But today, none of it mattered.
He jabbed the speakerphone button with a trembling hand.
“Commissioner Adewale,” he barked.
A pause. Then a voice crackled through the line. “Yes, sir. I just received the…”
“Don’t waste my time with condolences,” Kayode snapped. “My son is dead. Murdered. And your men are still fumbling around like market women.”
“Sir, we’re treating it as a robbery…”
“Robbery?” Kayode’s voice rose. “He was beaten and battered. His car is gone. And you think this is petty theft? Do you have any idea what security features are in his new car? The people that did this aren’t your regular robber.”
Adewale hesitated. “We’re reviewing CCTV. The hotel…”
“You have twenty-four hours,” Kayode said, voice low and lethal. “I want names. I want arrests. If I don’t see movement by tomorrow morning, I swear on everything I built, I will dismantle your career brick by brick.”
“Sir…”
“I will call the Inspector General. I will call the Minister. I will call every man who owes me a favor. You think I won’t?”
Silence.
Kayode leaned over the desk, breathing hard. “My son was not some street boy. He was a Kayode. And whoever did this, whoever touched him, will pay.”
He ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Outside the study, the mansion buzzed with quiet dread. Staff moved carefully. Family members whispered. And in the city beyond, the police began to scramble.
***
The girls had barely finished recounting their memories of Tolani when the mood in the lounge shifted. It started with the sound of tyres screeching outside. Then the heavy thud of boots.
Kaley turned toward the glass doors just as a new set of officers, not the ones from earlier, stormed the hotel entrance. These men weren’t in standard uniforms. They wore black tactical gear, no name tags, no insignia. Their faces were hard, their movements precise.
Unmarked vans idled at the curb.
Within seconds, the hotel’s head of security was dragged out by two officers, shouting in protest. Another guard was shoved against the wall, arms twisted behind his back. A third tried to explain something, pointing toward the CCTV room, but was silenced with a slap and hauled toward the vans.
“What the hell is happening?” Chioma whispered.
Temi stood, her voice shaking. “They’re arresting the security team.”
Lucia’s eyes widened. “But why? They were here all night. They didn’t do anything.”
Kaley watched, heart pounding. “This isn’t standard procedure. This is pressure.”
Kosi nodded slowly. “Mr. Kayode. He’s pulling strings.”
Outside, one of the officers barked orders into a walkie-talkie. A hotel manager tried to intervene and was waved off. The girls watched as the last of the guards was shoved into a van and the doors slammed shut.
Then silence.
The vans pulled away, leaving behind a hotel entrance littered with confusion and fear. Guests whispered. Staff stared. And inside the lounge, the women sat frozen.
Kaley exhaled. “They’re not just looking for answers. They’re looking for someone to blame.”
Temi’s voice was barely audible. “And we’re next.”
Kaley’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Has anyone heard from Fiona?”
The question hung in the air. The girls exchanged glances, suddenly alert.
Temi frowned. “She left early, didn’t she?”
“I don’t think so,” Kaley said. “She left at the same time as myself and Bunmi.”
Bunmi leaned in. “I haven’t heard from her.”
Chioma pulled out her phone, scrolling rapidly. “I messaged her this morning. No reply.”
Lucia tried calling. The line rang once, then went dead. “Switched off.”
Kosi’s brow furrowed. “She didn’t come down for breakfast. I thought she was just sleeping in.”
Kaley stood, pacing. “She’s not answering calls. No one saw her leave. I can’t quite remember when I last saw her.”
Temi’s voice dropped. “You think she’s involved?”
“I think we need to find her,” Kaley said. “Before the police do.”
Outside, another van rolled past the hotel gates. The girls sat in a tightening circle of dread. Fiona’s absence wasn’t just strange, it was dangerous.
FLASHBACK – 11 HOURS AGO
The music pulsed like a heartbeat, deep and relentless. Neon lights sliced through the haze, casting the club in shades of violet and gold. It was past midnight, and the energy inside was feral. Lagos at its most alive.
Fiona, Kaley, and Bunmi were in the centre of it all.
The club throbbed with life, basslines vibrating through the floor, strobe lights slicing the dark, and bodies moving like they were trying to outrun the night. Kaley and Bunmi were deep in it, dancing with abandon, drinks in hand, laughter spilling out like confetti.
Fiona lingered near the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed, her silver heels already punishing her. She sipped her cocktail slowly, eyes scanning the crowd, not for anyone in particular, just for a reason to leave.
Kaley twirled past her, grabbing a stranger’s hand mid-spin. “Fi! Come on! You’re wasting that dress!”
“I’m fine,” Fiona called back, forcing a smile. “Just watching.”
Bunmi appeared beside her, breathless and glowing. “You always say that. One dance. Just one.”
Fiona shook her head. “I’m not in the mood.”
Bunmi rolled her eyes and disappeared again, already laughing with a pair of men who looked like they’d stepped out of a luxury showroom. Kaley was now dancing on a low platform, her hair wild, her voice rising with the music.
Fiona checked her bag. Her phone was gone.
She blinked, checked again. Nothing.
“Kaley!” she shouted, pushing through the crowd. “I think I lost my phone!”
Kaley barely heard her. “We’ll find it later! Just dance!”
But Fiona wasn’t dancing. She was retracing her steps, scanning the booth where they’d sat earlier, asking a bartender who shrugged and pointed toward the DJ.
She found Bunmi again, pulled her close. “I want to go.”
“What? Already?”
“I just… I need air.”
Bunmi hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s grab Kaley.”
The music was still pounding when Kaley leaned over the bar, laughing at something the guy beside her had said. Bunmi was already halfway out the door, hand-in-hand with a tall man in a designer shirt who’d been buying her drinks all night. Fiona lingered behind, her silver heels aching, her nerves louder than the bass.
Her guy, Tunde, or maybe Tunji, she couldn’t remember, stood beside her, smiling with the easy confidence of someone used to getting what he wanted. “You ready?” he asked, gesturing toward the exit.
Fiona hesitated. “I don’t know. I should probably head back to the hotel.”
Kaley appeared, flushed and glowing. “Fi, come on. It’s just a ride. We’re all going. Don’t be weird.”
Bunmi turned, already outside. “You said you wanted to loosen up. This is Lagos, babe. Live a little.”
Fiona glanced at the man beside her. He wasn’t threatening, just charming in that Lagos way. But something in her gut twisted. She looked back at Kaley, who was already linking arms with her own guy, ready to disappear into the night.
“I don’t know him,” Fiona said quietly.
Kaley rolled her eyes. “You don’t know half the people you dance with. What’s the difference?”
Bunmi laughed. “We’re not letting you go home alone. Come with us. We’ll stick together.”
Fiona nodded slowly, her voice barely audible. “Okay. Just for a bit.”
They stepped out into the humid night, the club’s neon glow fading behind them. Three girls, three strangers, and a city that never slept.
None of them knew what the morning would bring.
***
