Inside was a makeshift studio. Reel-to-reel tapes lined the walls. And in the center, on a vintage Revox machine, spooled “The Ebony Coal.” But the Albino Marmoset was there. She was not a ghost. She was a pale, gaunt woman in a raincoat, her monkey mask resting beside her as she spliced tape.
"You never drew the culprit's face," she noted. "Why?" enugu tintin
"Tintin!" Phono wheezed. "Pocket didn't take the tape. He was hired muscle. The real thief is a ghost. A white woman. They call her 'The Albino Marmoset.' She wears a mask of a laughing monkey. She moves through the city's underground drainage tunnels." Inside was a makeshift studio
Before dawn, Tintin descended into the concrete bowels of Enugu—the storm drains that run beneath the old coal railway. He lit a kerosene lantern. The walls dripped with rust-colored water. After an hour of wading through sludge, he found a hidden door: a steel bulkhead painted with a faded highlife record label. She was not a ghost
It began on a Tuesday, during a torrential downpour that turned Ogui Road into a red river. Tintin was nursing a warm Star Lager at the "Coal Camp Buka" when a woman in a dripping, expensive agbada collapsed into the chair opposite him.
The woman paled further. "That wasn't me. That was Pocket, acting on his own. He wanted the bronze artifacts to melt down for foreign buyers."