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Malik turned in a circle in the middle of the officers. They all stared at him.

‘Take me to a bank and I will withdraw the money for you,’ he said. ‘Just shoot him.’ Wherever he turned, he continued pointing at Ibrahim.

Silence.

‘Are you done?’ Ibrahim said. ‘Who were the people on the bridge? I need their names and how to find them.’

‘Shoot him,’ Malik shouted. His smirk vanished.

‘Who were the people shooting from the bridge?’ Ibrahim asked again.

Malik lowered his hand. He looked at the blank faces of the officers staring back at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘Will someone shoot this man and become rich or what?’

‘Fati. Police superintendent Fatima Alao. That is the person who was in Amaka’s car. The person you murdered. Our colleague. Our sister. One of us.’

With his hands behind his back, Hot-Temper stepped into the circle. Malik turned to face him. Turning his back to Malik, Hot-Temper stepped past him and swung around. Malik yelled out, raised his left leg and grabbed it with both hands. Blood seeped through his fingers. He looked at Hot-Temper, searching for the blade that had cut him, but the sergeant’s hands were behind his back.