Set me free

The other side of town

In a quiet precinct across town, Detective Ifeanyi Maduka sipped lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug. The newsroom was buzzing, files stacked on his desk like a skyline of unanswered prayers.

He rubbed his temples. Another long night.

“Sir,” a junior officer called out, “they found the girl.”

Ifeanyi didn’t move. “Which girl?”

“The one from Ogidi. Sandra Festus. Seventeen.”

He set the mug down. “Alive?”

The officer hesitated. “No, sir. Body was pulled from the river this morning.”

Ifeanyi stood slowly, anger clenching his jaw. He had followed Sandra’s disappearance for three weeks—visiting her school, questioning her neighbors, pressuring the family for answers they didn’t have. He had hoped she was hiding. That it was all a misunderstanding.

Now, hope was dead.

And so was Sandra.

He walked into the evidence room. A faded pink backpack sat on a table. Her initials were embroidered in one corner. She had packed clothes—small, neat. Like she thought she’d be back.

Ifeanyi clenched his fists.

“Any suspects?” he asked.

The other officer shrugged. “We’re checking her text history. Maybe someone she was chatting with.”

Ifeanyi nodded but said nothing. His mind was already racing. This was the second girl in two months. Both gone silent before vanishing. Both eventually found—too late.

He opened his notebook.

A new name joined the top of his list: “Sandra Emefiele – Case 117”.

And beneath it, he scribbled two chilling words:

Who’s next?

That same afternoon, across town, Amara sat at her favorite restaurant with Zainab and Kamsi. The outdoor seats were shaded by large umbrellas, with highlife music humming softly through the speakers. The girls sipped their beers and picked at a shared plate of barbecued cat-fish

“Tell me why Dami hasn’t posted on w******p since last week,” Kamsi teased. “Guy’s turning into a ghost.”

Amara rolled her eyes. “He said he’s taking a break. Social media overload or whatever.”

“Hmm,” Zainab muttered, stirring her drink slowly.

Amara glanced at her. “What?”

Zainab hesitated. Then looked Amara straight in the eye. “I know someone who knows Damilare.”

Kamsi raised a brow. “Like how?”

“An old classmate of mine. Her cousin lived in the same neighborhood Damilare grew up in. Said there was... talk. Some years back.”

Amara leaned forward, heart fluttering. “What kind of talk?”

Zainab lowered her voice. “Apparently, there was a girl who went missing. Sandra something. Police questioned several people. Damilare was one of them.”

The words dropped like ice.

Kamsi exhaled sharply, then waved it off. “Come on. That doesn’t mean anything. When someone’s missing, they question everyone around. It’s routine. Doesn’t mean he did anything.”

“But why was he even close to the case?” Amara asked, frowning.

Zainab shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m saying be careful.”

Kamsi leaned in. “Zee, you’re connecting dots that aren’t even in the same puzzle. Anyone can be questioned. Doesn’t mean guilt.”

Amara’s chest tightened.

Zainab sighed. “I’m not saying arrest him. I’m saying watch your back. That boy is calm—too calm. Like he’s hiding a storm.”

Amara glanced down at her drink.

He had never hurt her. Never yelled. Always patient.

But still.

Why had he never mentioned it?

Later that night, she would ask herself that again.

And again.

And still, she would not ask him.