Chapter 10: Sausage Evidence

About two hours later, my colleague called. He said Baba Tunde’s butcher shop was covered in goat, cow, and ram blood. Finding Nnenna’s blood there would be almost impossible.

Even the most seasoned officers struggled. The forensics team sighed, 'Oga, this one tough. Blood everywhere, like Sallah just passed.'

“All we can do is bring back the hundreds of sausages hanging in his shop for DNA testing. God abeg, I don’t think I can ever eat rice and sausage again.”

We piled the sausages into evidence bags, the smell clinging to our uniforms even after we scrubbed with Dettol. Nobody could look at suya the same way again.

Even though collecting evidence was hard, none of us wanted to see a murderer walk out of the station smiling. All the forensic doctors at the identification centre volunteered to work overtime and managed to pick out thirty-six sausages containing Nnenna’s DNA from hundreds.

One officer ran outside and vomited near the gutter. The rest of us just stared at the meat, stomachs twisting. One doctor, a woman from Akwa Ibom, covered her nose and said, 'I swear, after today, I go become vegetarian.'

When people saw that pile of white sausages, many vomited. Baba Tunde’s wickedness was beyond imagination.

The news spread quickly—by evening, the market was abuzz. Even the agberos at the park refused sausage rolls from street hawkers. 'Abeg, no give me,' they would say, half-joking, half-scared.