Chapter 11: Demands for Justice

The next problem—how do we return this pile of sausages to Nnenna’s parents?

It was an abomination, really. No one wanted to be the one to hand over such horror.

I brought the station’s best psychologist to break the news. As expected, the moment Nnenna’s mother heard how her daughter died, she screamed and fainted.

She collapsed into the sofa, arms flailing. Neighbours rushed in, fanning her with wrappers, crying out, 'Chukwu aju!'

Nnenna’s father’s eyes turned red as he stared at me. “When will you sentence Baba Tunde to death?”

His voice was low, but the rage in it was like a wound that refused to heal. Every sentence was a threat wrapped in grief.

“As long as the evidence is solid, the court can pass judgment that same day. Once the Supreme Court approves, the execution can be done. The fastest is about seven or eight days.”

I explained the process as gently as I could, but in Nigeria, sometimes even the law is not fast enough for the grieving.

“Good. I trust you. If the law can’t kill that animal, I’ll do it myself.”

The father spat on the ground for emphasis, his fists clenched as if ready to fight right there in my office.