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Sergeant Bakare was driving as fast as the police van could go. All the while Ibrahim kept his eyes on the other lane of the dual carriageway, looking out for a red Mercedes ML. He saw his Camry that Amaka had borrowed, and a Prius, both parked on the carriageway. He turned to look at the two abandoned cars as Bakare raced on.

‘Get to the other side,’ Ibrahim said.

They would be driving the wrong way, racing into oncoming traffic, but if they didn’t – if Malik drove past them on the opposite lane – it would be near impossible to catch up with him. Bakare moved to the inside lane, ready to cross at the first opportunity. Like the rest of the officers in the vehicle, he was determined to catch the man who killed Fatima, their colleague.

A shot rang out from the back of the van. Ibrahim ducked and looked through the window in the back. The shot had been fired by Hot-Temper and the sergeant was aiming again. Another shot cracked from his weapon. On the other carriageway, a red Mercedes ML sped past. Two more shots rang out. Bakare stopped the van to give Hot-Temper a steady shot.

‘Hold your fire,’ Ibrahim shouted through the door, but Hot-Temper kept shooting till he had emptied his magazine, then another officer fired off a full volley after the departing ML.

Bakare did a two-point turn, caused oncoming vehicles to swerve to avoid hitting the van, then he levelled the car and screeched off, accelerating into oncoming traffic. Ibrahim braced himself at the sight of cars moving out of their path. ‘Bakare, slow down!’ he shouted, but the sergeant was hunched over the steering wheel, focused on the road. All the officers in the van were bent on revenge.