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Sit.”
    â€œThank you, Chief.” He was not surprised. I should not have been. I sat.
    â€œWhere is the Okpara report? I’m under pressure.”
    â€œThat’s why I came.”
    â€œIs it? Fine. What do you have?”
    â€œFor now, only suspicions.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œThe security guard and how the bomber gained access.”
    â€œAre you thinking Dr. Puene?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œDr. Puene knows that he would be seen as a suspect. He’s not stupid. Why would he go ahead? It doesn’t make sense.” He frowned, looking at me with those hard eyes.
    â€œMaybe it isn’t a question of sense. Maybe it’s winning at any cost.”
    â€œMaybe he thinks he’s untouchable. He has money, he’s very well connected. There are lots of people who think they can get away with anything in this country so long as they know someone high up and have the money to pay.” He leaned back. “Do you really think the guard was part of the plot to kill Okpara? If it failed, the guard would be the first person Okpara would look at.”
    â€œObviously, no one thought Okpara would be alive to look at anyone.”
    He reclined in his chair, eyeing me as if trying to decide what to do next—and perhaps he was. I felt uncomfortable. Why was he being so sharp? What was wrong? He was silent for a few more moments, and when he did speak, he sounded resigned. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t stir the hornet’s nest. You’re always taking chances. Your fall could well mean others will fall. Remember that.”
    Others.
I respected Chief, but compared to me he was alwaysthe politician, always. That was why he was Chief and I was a detective. He cared about politics, I cared about solving the crime. “I’ll be careful,” I replied slowly.
    He picked up his pen and said, deliberately, “Okay, then,” not meaning it.
    â€œA lead, that’s all it is.”
    â€œIf you must you must. You have my approval. Go and check out your lead. But I want the report on the bombing.”
    â€œFemi is finishing it. I’ll have him send it over. Thanks, Chief.” I stood to leave.
    â€œTomorrow morning, detective.”
    â€œMore likely this afternoon.”
    He waved me away and returned to making notes in a file folder. It made sense he was worried. We were dealing with powerful people, powerful people perhaps trying to kill each other.
    Half an hour later I was driving to the security guard’s house at Marine Base. When I saw it, I knew I had not driven to a palace. Concrete, bare with no fence, the building seemed more like a small school with rows of rooms on either side of a U-shaped pattern, typical of public housing in this part of town. Judging from where they lived, Security Guard Okon Abasi and his family were not living the Nigerian dream.
    A young naked girl of about six ran from behind the building, nearly bumping into me. An older girl, perhaps eleven, wearing only panties, followed her, shouting for her to return to the kitchen and to finish washing the plates.
    I was embarrassed. I was not used to seeing naked or nearly naked girls. Where I grew up, in the townships, such sights were unknown. Usually, township people were rich, but my parents were simply comfortable. I was lucky. Everyone in Nigeria lived in extremes. The security guard and his family lived here, in the slumsof Port Harcourt, while his employer lived in paradise, or as close as modern Nigeria came.
    I called to the older girl.
    â€œGood afternoon, sir,” she said, apparently unaware her half nakedness made me uncomfortable.
    â€œHow are you?” I nodded at her.
    â€œFine, thank you.”
    â€œI’m looking for the Abasis. Do you know where they are?”
    â€œThat’s us.”
    â€œWhere is your father?”
    â€œHe’s gone to work.”
    â€œIs your mother at home?”
    She hesitated—a smart