In Broad Daylight

By Nneoma Michelle Egeonu

Terror grips the metropolitan city of Onitsha when four women are murdered in cold blood.

Inspector Kachi Obi is the lead detective in the Homicide Department of Onitsha Police Area Command assigned to solve the case that has made people cry out for justice.

More women wind up dead, killed in broad daylight. It looks

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ifeadigo Publishing Company Limited
• Release date: Apr 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9789787963760

Nneoma Michelle Egeonu

Nneoma Michelle Egeonu is an Amazon bestselling author, a poet and a graduate of Applied Microbiology and Brewing from Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, Nigeria. In addition to fiction writing, she writes thought-provoking, non-fiction and poems. Nneoma's stories cut across genres such as crime fiction, historical fiction and literary fiction. Her works have been published on notable literary magazines and websites such as Fiery Scribe Review, Medium and the Sixth Chinua Achebe Poetry/Essay Anthology. Her poem won an award as one of the most outstanding entries. Nneoma's debut work, an anthology of short stories titled "NIGHTMARE IN SICILY" is enjoyed by readers across the globe and was officially included in a post-graduate exam scheme at Imo State University, Nigeria. Furthermore, NIGHTMARE IN SICILY was a FINALIST for the ABUBAKAR GIMBA PRIZE FOR SHORT STORIES organised by the Association of Nigerian Authors. Nneoma is currently doing her Masters in the United Kingdom. When she is not writing and reading, she enjoys dancing, singing, travelling as well as watching thriller TV shows.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I WOULD LIKE TO extend my deepest gratitude to God for providing me with the inspiration, determination, and strength to write my book, IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.

I would also love to appreciate my parents for their wonderful encouragement and for giving me space and an environment that helped me blossom into who I am today.

I believe in giving honour to whom it is due. Therefore, I would also like to express my thanks to Stanley Umezulike, an award-winning author and influential publisher who has helped writers around the world to achieve their potential. Stanley’s encouragement and support played a crucial role in the creation of my book. Therefore, my heart is full of thanks.

His profound encouragement helped me convert my social media (Facebook) posts into short stories, and today it has birthed a crime-psychological thriller novel.

Thank you so much, Stanley.

I am also grateful to the Public Relations Officer of the State Criminal Investigation Department, Amawbia, Anambra State, DSP Ikenganyia Tochukwu, for his assistance during my research. I appreciate him for the wonderful reception when I visited the police department. The warm welcome I received gave me a fresh and positive outlook on the Nigerian Police Force.

I would also like to extend my gratitude to Anaesthetist Paul Onyeanusi for his assistance during my medical research and Dr Okani Okani, a histopathology expert at Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu University Teaching Hospital, Amawbia, Anambra State. Dr Okani provided invaluable medical insights and suggestions that helped me create realistic medical scenes.

Furthermore, I am also grateful for the hard work and dedication of my editors, Leila Kirkconnell, Author of The Lies She Told, Sadiq Mustapha, the Editor-in-Chief at Sparkle Edits, and Elisha Oluyemi, the Editor-in-Chief at ContentScribe Studio, for their hard work and dedication in shaping my manuscript into a polished final product.

Special thanks to my beta-readers, Stanley Umezulike, Leila Kirkconnell, and Elisha Oluyemi, for taking the time to review my manuscript and provide valuable feedback.

May God bless you all for your efforts.

A special thank you to my accountability partner, Godsplan Ugwuja (Pendullum), who helped me stick to my writing schedule at the earliest stages of working on my first draft.

I also wish to thank the entire team at Ifeadigo publishing company for their collective efforts, including Louis Akwaeze, for his encouragement. My thanks also go to Ifeadigo graphic designers for producing an outstanding graphic design for my book cover, which mirrored my thoughts and expectations for Kachi Obi.

Finally, I would like to thank the staff at Onitsha Library for providing a serene environment during the crucial moments of creating In Broad Daylight. The fresh breeze wafting into the top floor enabled me to crystallise my thoughts and bring this book to fruition.

Thank you all for your support and contributions to this project

DEDICATION

TO MY BELOVED READERS:

As I pen the words of this dedication, I am filled with a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation for every one of you. Your unwavering support and encouragement have been the driving force behind my writing and my passion for storytelling.

Therefore, it is with great pleasure that I present the first book in the Kachi Obi series, ‘IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.’

This book is the culmination of countless hours of research, writing, and editing, and it is my sincerest hope that it will bring you as much joy and entertainment as it has brought me.

As you embark on this journey with me, I urge you to stay the course, keep an open mind, and immerse yourself fully in the world of Kachi Obi. I promise you that it will be a journey worth taking.

Without you, this book and the entire series would not be possible.

I hereby dedicate this book to you, my readers, for your constant companionship on this journey. I hope that with each turn of the page you find yourself transported to the world of Kachi Obi and his adventures. I hope you laugh, cry, and feel every emotion right alongside him. And I also hope that you will continue to stay the course with me as the series unfolds and we continue to share the magic of storytelling.

Thank you for your love and support.

Thank you for spending your precious time with my words and entrusting me with your imagination. I cannot wait to share the next chapter of Kachi Obi’s story with you and continue this journey together.

With the deepest appreciation,

Nneoma Michelle Egeonu

PRAISE FOR IN BROAD DAYLIGHT

SOME MEMORIES ARE HARD to take out of our minds, others almost impossible to forget, but when a memory haunts to the point of driving one crazy, one is forced to go back to the order of things in an attempt to puzzle out questionable scenarios. Detective Kachi Obi had tried without success to shove out of his mind an unpleasant memory that had the coat of guilt. When the memory became a constant nightmare, it was all he could do to start asking questions. But first, he had to attend to some bizarre, mysterious, almost occultic murders. Murders in the style of Jack the Ripper, only worse: females tortured, mutilated and disembowelled. Teaming up with Detective James, a no-nonsense, cut-to-the-chase man, Detective Lucy, a ravishing beauty with brains; Detective Lucas, a nice guy who knew his way and his job, Nelly, a jovial computer whizz, and Dr Femi, a medical examiner with the brains of Einstein, Detective Kachi thought the murders were as good as solved. As the team worked to unravel the gruesome murders, brand-new surprises and dead ends hauled themselves at them; and just when the mysteries came close to being solved, the detectives found themselves unprepared for what was coming. Now it was the detectives against a powerful, notorious cabal and a deranged psychopath; then Detective Kachi’s unpleasant memory. There couldn't have been a better word than hydra for Detective Kachi in particular.

Set in Onitsha, In Broad Daylight is a thriller you don't want to take to bed, except of course if you don't want to sleep. The twists and cliffhangers will raise the hairs on the back of your neck. When you have read to the last word of the book, you will find yourself hating and loving and crying for the characters at the same time—that feeling you can't shake off when you have read a thriller that really thrills. The writer, in the word of a critic, is a badass writer who knows her stuff.

-Sadiq Mustapha,

Editor-In-Chief, Sparkle Edits

In Broad Daylight, the gripping crime thriller by Nneoma Michelle Egeonu catapults the reader into the heart of the metropolitan city of Onitsha where a serial killer is on the loose and no one is safe.

The moment I started reading the story, I felt the tension in the air.

The plot is well-researched and masterfully crafted, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat with every turn of the page.

The story is filled with twists and turns that kept me captivated and guessing until the very end.

The lead detective, Inspector Kachi Obi, is a complex and relatable character who must navigate personal trauma and corruption in order to solve the murders. The suspense is palpable, with each chapter building on the tension, leading to a satisfying conclusion.

Nneoma Michelle Egeonu is a skillful storyteller whose writing talent shined throughout the story especially when she explored the dark sides of a killer without conscience.

In Broad Daylight is an intriguing novel that will leave you breathless. I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys crime thrillers, mystery, and suspense.

-Stanley Umezulike, award-winning Nigerian author and the creator of Ray Okon series.

There are books—but not all books suck you in. Not all books pull at your heartstrings, digging up humanity's sooty mess and smashing them in your face. The ones which do are a few, especially in the genre fiction category—but this is where it becomes fascinating. And this is where Nneoma has pitched her tent: In Broad Daylight.

The crime series starts with a kill, the first of many deaths, many senseless murders, bloodcurdling twists and turns and triggers of grief—all in broad daylight, mirroring the awful state of Nigerian security, reminding us of the iciness of fate, and punctuating the extent a true cop will go to stamp out crime. The novel, In Broad Daylight, is a crime-psychological thriller that will challenge genre storytelling in Nigeria. And in Africa. 

In Nneoma's calculated plot, Inspector Kachi Obi is transferred to Onitsha Police Department as the supervisor of its homicide department; but deep down, Kachi knows this is an invitation to the burial site of his loved ones. The witching hour strikes, easing his destiny down the dark alley. Now, he must weed out the killers of his father and little brother, then appease the souls of the deceased. But he first needs to embark on the spookiest mission of his career, the deadliest plot point the author has manipulated: bringing down a sadomasochistic killer, the first of the species in the African powerhouse.

The more clues Kachi finds, the deeper the baneful flute of fate lulls him in. He meets Inspector Lucy, a childhood friend with whom he's shared a peculiar bond, and together, they investigate both murder files while reliving and creating fond memories. 

Both killers are actively running amok, more people winding up dead, the clues forcing Kachi and his team members around a circle. However, it remains paramount, that everything, good or bad, will have an end. And, in In Broad Daylight, the end is a crossroad, and Kachi stands in the middle. 

Now, bearing the burden of a traumatic past and the painful test of endurance, Kachi must reach his breaking point in order to tame the beasts. But he's forgotten that evil lurks in the most unexpected of places. Therefore, just like Kachi, Nneoma's readers will never be prepared for the pangs that she has calculatedly woven into the coming revelations. It's like a mother waiting to retrieve her kidnapped child, only to find the kid approaching her, grinning with a bag of explosives strapped to their chest.

The author provides one of the most memorable thriller novel endings I've ever seen—so are the inciting and middle and falling actions. In Broad Daylight will break you and stroke your tear ducts, the way it did mine. And if you're a Nigerian, it will inspire in you a bigger faith in the Nigerian security system.

In Broad Daylight is a consistent and intricately woven plot, a labyrinth of blood and soot. Of betrayals and errors. A game of fate. Of internal wars. A cauldron of delusions, peripeteia, madness. A train of realistic characters who are as vivid as our friends, our enemies, even the reflections of our inner selves. 

As a debut novelist, Nneoma Michelle has done so much with In Broad Daylight—yes, enough to make me say, if you enjoyed the mystery and psychological battles in Tess Gerritsen's The Surgeon, The Apprentice, and Mephisto Club, you will undoubtedly love her debut work. In Broad Daylight is a well-researched, well-developed, and carefully written crime novel. A writer like her will easily cement her place as one of Nigeria's finest crime novelists. She is exciting to look out for, now, and in the coming years. 

Should you need to read a memorable crime debut or a fresh exciting voice in the market, In Broad Daylight will not disappoint. Come hither, let's form the IBDL fandom.

-Elisha Oluyemi

Editor-In-Chief, Fiery Scribe Review

BLURB

A city under siege. A psychotic killer on the loose...

TERROR GRIPS THE METROPOLITAN city of Onitsha when four women are murdered in cold blood.

Inspector Kachi Obi is the lead detective in the Homicide Department of Onitsha Police Area Command assigned to solve the case that has made people cry out for justice.

More women wind up dead, killed in broad daylight. It looks to be the handiwork of a serial killer: the victims’ hearts and kidneys are missing, and they have strange marks on their bodies.

Inspector Kachi has to unravel a case that sparks more questions than answers while confronting personal trauma.

As Kachi and his team race against time to piece together the mysteries surrounding the case, a deadly secret explodes, plunging them headlong into a web of corruption and lies. To protect a city they love, they must put their lives on the line to stop the sinister plot of a vicious enemy.

PROLOGUE

SOMETHING CRASHED AGAIN, THE sound of a metal door slamming shut. Felix Obi jerked awake and sat upright, panting. Beads of sweat dropped on the sheets and trickled down his chest. He wasn’t dreaming, he knew. His house was under attack.

He sprang up from the bed, tiptoed towards the door, groped for the light switch, and flicked it on. His gaze drifted to the wall clock. 2 a.m.

Felix whipped a glance towards his sons, six-year-old Ekene and eight-year-old Kachi, who lay next to each other on the bed, fast asleep, oblivious to the danger lurking around.

Panting, he tapped and shook the boys awake. ‘Ekene. Kachi. Wake up, boys! Get up and hide under the bed.’ He placed his forefinger on his lips. ‘Shh... Make no sound.’

Felix crept back towards the door and pressed his ear to it, listening for sounds. Then, he returned to check his boys, who sat still on the bed, their eyes heavy with sleep.

He rubbed their heads and grabbed their shoulders, whispering firmly, ‘Hide and don’t come out, okay? I’ll come for you later.’ He shoved them under the bed and reached for a pocket Bible underneath his pillow. ‘Here. Take this. It will keep you safe. I’ll be right back.’

He scooped up a large padlock and chain by the bedframe, flicked off the switch, and slipped out of the room. Silently, he shut the door behind him, ran the chain through the metal loops on it, and drove home the padlock. Pulse racing, he crept across the long corridor into the adjacent room.

No. Not here.

He crept out of the room into another room at the far end of the corridor.

The machete. Thought I kept it here. Where could it be?

‘Think, Felix. Think,’ he muttered.

Looking to his side, he tiptoed across the hallway, took a bend, and landed on the veranda. Felix bolted the door and scanned the area. The machete was nowhere in sight. He bit his lower lip and frowned.

He could hear the sounds all too clearly now: the shattering of glass windows, the tea mug tumbling over, the thumping of shoes on the staircase, and the unknown voices. What the hell is happening?

He could hear someone unlocking the entrance to the first floor. ‘Damn!’ he swore under his breath. How did they get the keys?

Shoes thudded in the hallway, drawing closer. Felix’s heart crashed against his chest.

A loud bang came on the door.

‘Open up, Felix! We know you’re in there!’

Felix responded with gasps. Whoever the invaders were, they didn’t sound like thieves. He palmed his chest, trying to calm down. His eyes raked through the poorly lit veranda, then he saw it: a metal bar.

Thank God.

He crept to the end of the veranda, picked up the object, and hunched behind a wooden table. Okay, bastards! Get ready for me!

The door splintered open. Three figures sauntered in with darkness for cover. Felix could barely see their faces.

He launched at the last man, swiping the metal bar. But the man was faster. He ducked, lashed out with his gun, and struck Felix in the belly.

The metal bar slipped off Felix’s grip and fell with a clang so that he tumbled over what felt like a toy. Writhing in pain, he tried to get up. Someone kicked his arm, sending him crashing back to the ground. All three men huddled over him, kicking and stomping him.

Cold metal kissed Felix’s forehead; he shivered. Before he could mutter a word, one who looked like the leader batted his head backward with the gun, bellowing, ‘Where’s the rest of the family?’

‘Nobody is here. I’m home alone!’ Felix growled, his body sore.

A kick smote his stomach. He crumpled up in agony and spat out blood, his hands clenching his stomach.

‘Blade, go check the rooms,’ the leader commanded, his baritone voice muffled by his mask.

Oh, no. God, please protect my boys.

Felix heard the crashing of doors.

‘Well, well, well. Look who we have here. Daddy’s little boy. Found him sitting pretty put on the bed.’ Blade dragged in Ekene, the little boy struggling in vain to fight free.

Felix’s heart sank. He struggled, wiggling himself in the grip of a burly man. ‘Please take whatever you want. Just spare him, please. He’s just a boy.’

‘Shut up! I call the shots here,’ the leader thundered, head-butting Felix and forcing a trickle of blood down his jaw.

Felix grunted and fell silent, egressing blood. Through blurred vision, he saw Ekene, who squirmed free and charged at the leader of the gang, crying, ‘Leave my dad alone,’ then bit the man’s thigh.

The leader growled in pain, seized the boy’s arms, hefted him, and sent him crashing against the wall.

Felix forced a rise, a bellyful of grunts. ‘Just leave my boy alone,’ he bellowed, lunging at the leader, only to be restrained with a kick in the face.

Palming his own face, he yelled, ‘Stop hurting him!’

‘Watch me,’ the leader threatened, rushing forward to yank the little boy off the floor.

The rogue hefted the helpless boy again and hurled him against the wall, breathing a prolonged growl. The boy sprawled on the floor, head crushed, painting the picture of a crushed beast.

Felix grunted, huffed, and roared, forcing a rise from the ground with his heels digging into the floor, fingers balled into fists. But they charged at him again, kicking and booting, while he called his son’s name, ‘Ekene. No, Ekene.’

Light shone from a neighbour’s house, the beam splashing across the gunmen’s faces. A chill ran through Felix. He recognised the large birthmark on the neck of one of the gunmen. It was unmistakable.

‘Y-you? Of all people?’ Felix stuttered.

The whole setup made sense now. The keys to the first floor. The way he had said ‘family’, his voice familiar even with the mask on.

‘How could you do this—’

But that was as far as Felix could go.

A bang went off, and everything faded before his eyes.

CHAPTER 1

Police Area Command,

Onitsha

INSPECTOR KACHI’S MUSCLES TWITCHED as he alighted from his black Range Rover. He glanced around, drinking in the environment. It had been twenty years since he left Onitsha, and a lot had already changed. He straightened his starched blue shirt and started towards the entrance of the police station. Vehicles honked in the mild traffic nearby. A few shops were strewn opposite the building, and traders gleefully sold their wares to customers.

Inspector Kachi paused at the entrance and turned to take in his surroundings. He had a chestnut complexion, short hair, a physique similar to that of Jason Statham but slightly more muscular—like a typical martial artist—and he stood at five foot eleven. He also had a pencil moustache and dashing good looks.

Now he tried to picture the environment in the past years. The whitewashed walls of the police station, the bustling streets with traders rushing to markets, and the impatient bikers. The large open area where shops now stood was once filled with bushes and tall grasses—he had often picked sticks from the bushes with his friends on their way to school.

Before coming here, he had always wondered what it would feel like to return to Onitsha—the city where he was born. Now he had arrived, but things didn’t look fine. Onitsha doesn’t deserve this recent spate of crime, he thought, recalling the statements the Lagos Police Commissioner made a few days ago:

‘A string of unexplained murders has hit Onitsha. Your experience is highly needed there; therefore, you are being transferred to Onitsha Area Command as the new supervisor of the Homicide Unit.’

Kachi should have been excited about this promotion since it gave him the golden opportunity to return to Onitsha, where he had spent his childhood, but he couldn’t tell how he really felt. He had got used to working in the Homicide Unit in Lagos and didn’t feel like leaving, or perhaps he wasn’t ready yet to confront his past.

He turned to enter the station. Two masquerade trees were dancing in the harmattan breeze. Kachi edged through the light-blue gate, met a constable there who showed him his teeth, and went past two pillars that supported the police signboard painted in blue, yellow, and green. Three flagpoles stood like sentinels in the front of the station. Police vans and SUVs spread across the compound. Kachi smiled, absorbing all the changes.

The dusty wind of the harmattan invaded his nostrils as he strolled towards the reception. The one-storey, cream-coloured building housed detention cells on the ground floor and administrative offices on the first floor.

‘Officer, abeg, I no do am,’ a bow-legged man pleaded as a police officer dragged him towards the detention cells.

‘You are highly welcome, sir,’ a voice called behind Kachi.

Kachi turned to behold a slim, dark, good-looking man in his late thirties. The man had a beautiful smile plastered on his face.

‘I’m Inspector James, Homicide.’ He held out his hand.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Inspector.’ Kachi shook the man’s hand.

‘The pleasure is mine. Please follow me.’

Inspector Kachi glanced around as he strode past the busy offices. The first floor was large, with a wide array of desks. Police officers of different units manned their stations. The loud chatter of some officers permeated the air. Kachi sniffed and clenched his jaw, a rush of resentment whirling in him. He was eight when he first accompanied his mother to this same police station to make a report on his father’s death.

***

Kachi latched onto his mother’s hand, flitting timid glances at everyone in the police station. He stumbled once, then shot his eyes down. Everyone appeared to be a predator as if they would wrench him up and wring the life out of his eight-year-old body. He clutched his mother’s hand tighter as they sat on a broken bench in the dirty police reception, waiting their turn for several hours.

A police officer eventually gestured them over, and as Kachi’s mother stood up, another desk officer palmed the table, his face scowling in irritation. ‘Don’t waste our time, woman!’

Kachi’s mother rubbed Kachi’s back as they walked to the front desk. The boy got the cue: he needed to be strong.

His mother bowed to the officers and began to speak; her voice was shaky and hoarse, but compelling. ‘Those who killed my husband and son, you must help me find them.’

The officers exchanged glances, their faces wrinkling with scorn.

‘Madam, there are a lot of robberies and deaths we have yet to solve,’ one of them shot back. ‘If you are looking for a quick solution to your husband’s and son’s deaths, then I suggest you take a walk.’

Kachi squeezed his mother’s arm, easing a sullen gaze up her face. That seemed to be his first memory of helplessness. And he shared it with his mother, vowing silently to take over the positions of these police officers and bring down the killers of his father and brother.

***

‘Here’s your office, sir.’

Kachi blinked back that painful memory, turning to nod at Inspector James, whose face was now across his, gesturing at a glass door. The inscription ‘SUPERVISOR OF HOMICIDE’ graced the doorplate taped to the door.

‘Please make yourself comfortable,’ Inspector James said with an animated look. ‘The team is expected to have a briefing at twelve, and I’ll bring you up to speed about the case later in the day,’

‘Thank you, Inspector.’ Kachi forced a smile. The forty-five-minute flight and the delay at the airport had sapped his strength.

Inspector James handed him the keys to his office and sauntered away.

Kachi inhaled the white-painted office’s delicate fragrance. The office was spacious and had a green, flower-patterned carpet, an oak desk, a computer, and a cupboard. A stack of case files lay on a cupboard standing close to the door, a split-unit air conditioner buzzing in the background.

Not bad, Kachi thought.

He picked up a letter on top of the case files. The name INSPECTOR CHARLES was inscribed on it. Who is Charles?

He pried it open. Inspector Charles was the former Homicide Supervisor, Kachi figured out. Lots of case files you got here, sir. I wonder how many are unsolved.

Kachi sat and smiled as he pivoted in his swivel chair. Supervisor of Homicide isn’t a bad reality, he thought—this position brought him closer to his goal.

A tap came on the door, and he hunched forward, becoming serious.

The door creaked open. A man in his fifties, standing at about six feet tall, strode in. His broad brow, deep-set eyes, and receding hairline gave him the air of stoicism.

‘You’re welcome, Inspector,’ the visitor greeted, extending his hand. ‘I’m Stephen Ojemba, the Assistant Commissioner of Police.’

Kachi stood and shook hands and smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. It’s a pleasure meeting you.’

‘I was informed you’ll be coming in from Lagos. Inspector James told me of your arrival, so I’ve only come to welcome you.’

‘Thanks, once again, sir. It feels great to be part of the team.’

Stephen grunted. ‘I have an appointment with the governor. See you soon, Inspector.’ Stephen left, brushing past James, who was about to make an entrance.

Inspector Kachi glanced at his watch. 12 p.m.

‘We are ready, James said, making a brief salute.

***

The squad room of the Homicide Unit housed a few desks and chairs. An L-shaped desk sat before a large television. Pictures of cold and unsolved crimes and missing persons were pinned to boards, and bright lights lined the ceiling. The unit exuded an imposing aura—of course, fitting for a place where officers worked day and night to unravel crimes and murder mysteries.

Transports of joy welled up in Kachi. A feeling in him told him he was at home there.

‘Welcome, Detective. We’ve been expecting you. My name’s Lucas.’ A dull-eyed, auburn-skinned, gangly man came forward and offered his hand.

‘One of us named Lucy had an emergency to attend to. Should be back any moment,’ Inspector James said.

‘Seems we’ll be needing more hands in Homicide. It’s raining bodies out there.’ Inspector Lucas laughed.

‘Bring me up to speed on the murder cases,’ Inspector Kachi said, settling behind the L-shaped desk.

Inspector James pressed a remote, and the large TV flicked on.

Kachi frowned on seeing a collaged image pop up on the screen. He studied it carefully: a topless woman in a blood-soaked skirt lying on a concrete floor, her neck lined with caked blood. The abdominal region was slashed open, spilling entrails, and the chest was so gored it looked like a bloody sinkhole. Her face remained squeezed in death, highlighting what must have been a harrowing exit.

Inspector James pressed the remote, and a full-sized image of the victim slid into view. She lay sprawled by the roadside, close to a rubbish heap, a nasty gash on her nape. ‘Case Number 111,’ he revealed. ‘The victim’s name is Stella Madu. She’s a trader at Main Market, Onitsha. Her body was found eight months ago by a passer-by on St John’s Street.’

Two other images floated in: one was of a stout woman who seemed to be in her thirties, legs spread wide, stomach cut open, a chunk of her intestines strewn across