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kid, wondering who I was and what I wanted. Before she could ask another question, I told her that I was a friend of her father’s. I said I had a message for her mother. She stared at me suspiciously. I looked like a cop. My guess was Mom and Dad did not have many friends with the police.
    â€œShe’s sleeping inside. Let me call her for you.” She disappeared into the building, the second room on the left row, calling Mommy as she ran in, looking once over her shoulder at me.
    I waited outside. Moments later, a young woman came out with the girl in tow. Both of them looked at me suspiciously. Mother and daughter for sure. “Yes? What can I do for you?” The mother was of average height and heavily built, with a dark complexion.
    â€œMrs. Abasi?”
    â€œWho are you?” She revealed nothing more than she had to. Maybe her daughter told her I was police; maybe, like her daughter, she saw the law in me.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    â€œWhat do you want?”
    â€œPolice.”
    That was all I had to say—to some people. She did not bother to ask for my badge, stepping slightly to the left, allowing me just enough space to squeeze past her into the building. I found myself in a small room, a combined sitting room and bedroom. Through an open door, I saw another room with a smaller bed. Kitchenware was set up in the corner of the room. No TV, just a six-battery radio on top of the wooden room divider, along with books and some prized possessions (earrings).
    The chairs were all rickety. I sat in one. Carefully.
    She probably guessed why I was there. There was no point being coy. “I’m investigating the bomb blast at Okpara’s. Where your husband works.” Her facial expression did not change—a mix of suspicion and feigned lack of interest. “Has Okon told you about the blast?”
    â€œYes, the news’s all over.”
    â€œWho wanted your husband’s employer dead?”
    â€œPapa Iniobong don’t tell me much. Okon was lucky to be at the gate when it happened or . . .”—she gestured to the sky with her open palms—“I would have been a widow. Just like that. I told him to leave that place. All those big men and their big troubles, just leave it. But he won’t hear.”
    â€œHe didn’t tell you anything else? Did anyone threaten his boss before the explosion?”
    â€œI don’t understand, sir.” Now the suspicion was obvious—and the fear.
    â€œThe question is simple enough. Has anyone threatened to kill his employer?”
    â€œHow can I know about such things? Am I a big man?”
    â€œSo your husband never told you of any plot to kill Okpara?”
    â€œGod forbid!”
    â€œDid you see him bring any strange objects home in the past few days?”
    â€œNo.” The walls were completely up now; they were thick, tall, and had broken glass on top.
    â€œHas he been behaving unusually lately?”
    â€œNo. Papa Iniobong is very, very normal.”
    â€œAre you positive?”
    â€œI answered your question.”
    â€œHe wasn’t under pressure lately?”
    â€œNo.”
    She was giving me less and less. There was not much point continuing. “Okay. And he didn’t bring home any large sums of money lately?”
    She grinned, exposing perfect teeth.
    â€œNo?”
    The grin stayed. I was the one expected to leave. She either was stupid or smart, maybe both. Certainly, I saw nothing to indicate she had come into a lot of money recently. But I could have her watched, have her bank records checked. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Abasi.”
    â€œIt’s Matilda. And you’re welcome, as long as you leave and don’t come back.” Same smile.
    â€œMatilda, then. Thank you. Have a nice day.”
    She followed me to my car, perhaps to make sure I was leaving, and watched as I drove off. I saw her in the rearview mirror, arms folded over her