It is Christmas Eve of 2012, and a staggering multiplicity of unascertained deaths transform London into a homicidal puzzler.
When the corpse of a priest is discovered at a Catholic church with his blood used to scribble what seems like gibberish on the wall of his bedroom, decrypting the mumbo jumbo doodled on the wall wasn’t a prerequisite to unmasking a psychopath until another cadaver and another cadaver which appears to have been slain alike turn up at a church hall, in a seminary and in an eldercare.
It is Christmas for others but not the Specialist Crime Directorate of the London Metropolitan Police, and not for Detective Wolé Robert.
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There have been many pioneers and offshoots, but only Success Akpojotor can dauntlessly enunciate his style. From Lagos Island bedchambers to some risqué scavenge on the Lagos mainland; from tinsel shindigs and aphrodisiac poetry slams to motor scooters and the manors of the puissant — Success Akpojotor sets down hidden truth with frisson and disrespect.
Success Akpojotor has been called a “satyr” and a “giddy Levite” by two editors. A poet, playwright, screenwriter, short story writer, and novelist, Success Akpojotor is one avant-garde the world doesn’t see coming. He is known for giving his readers an undiluted inside story about the drop-dead gorgeous and devil-may-care acculturation of the moneybags, sexy, and unsexy.
Success Akpojotor writes about real people and actual situations in disguise. Yes! He writes gratifying, great, gripping mysteries while his characters are brainy and plucky as well as doltish and meek, but in real life, Success Akpojotor is afraid of nukes, guns, and strippers. Although he believes he hails from the Future; when he is sipping smoothie, he believes he is William Shakespeare reincarnated into the 21st century. He loves Canada, especially Celine Dion, and when he is jaded, he stalks Wentworth Miller and Sia Furler.