Chapter 6: The Leaked Pictures

After that day, I begin suspect say we get rat for police team.

The thing pain me, because I trust my team—at least, I think so. But for Nigeria, even your shadow fit betray you.

Till dem promote me and carry me go Makurdi, that matter still dey worry me.

Sometimes, as I dey drive through town, I go dey look face of my people, dey wonder who leak those pictures. Conscience dey bite me.

Because somehow, the pictures wey Musa snap leak come out later.

Somebody no just leak am—na like say dem wan destroy Musa by fire by force.

Na so people for town come sabi how the acrobatic girl—Ngozi—face be.

Before that, na only those for front row see her face. The rest just dey imagine.

During the performance, nobody see her face clear.

Even me, I only remember her white cloth, and the way she dey spin. Her real face, na from picture I sabi.

So, for the next twenty years, anytime people say dem see woman in white for night, dem go talk say na Ngozi.

Small pikin go dey cry midnight, say, "Mama, I see that girl for our window!" Everybody for town don carry the fear.

"Ghost really dey?"

Sometimes, for night, I go hear bush shake, heart go beat fast—na only breeze, but mind no gree rest.

The first night after I retire, sleep no gree me.

I dey toss left and right, dey hear echo of old cases for my head. Even my wife complain, "Ike, na which spirit dey chase you for dream?"

As my wife dey sleep, I waka go parlour, on rechargeable lamp.

The light small, but e dey make shadow for wall. My mind begin wander.

I make tea, carry the envelope wey I find for door, begin check am well.

I sip am small small, e dey help me reason deep.

The envelope na kraft paper—the type wey no dey spoil quick, dey strong.

E resemble the one wey government dey use for important document, or when you dey keep old family picture.

But as I touch am, e soft, small sand dey drop as I rub am.

The way sand dey fall, e remind me of when you dey open old Bible for family house—meaning the thing don really old.

E mean say the envelope don old—maybe twenty or thirty years.

Nobody fit keep ordinary letter like that unless e get secret inside.

I carry the ticket wey dey inside; na for one foreign acrobatic show wey go happen next week for Jos.

I check the troupe—na oyibo people full am, no Nigerian join.

As I look the paper, I dey wonder: why Jos, why now? No single Igbo or Hausa name for cast list.

So the ticket just be like invitation, no be clue.

Or maybe na trap, or just person wey dey play with my mind. I no fit trust anybody.

Who drop this letter?

I walk go veranda, dey look compound. Gate lock, no sign say person waka pass. Na wah o.

Make I just siddon dey wait till that day reach?

My police blood no dey let me rest. I dey reason—if I wait, maybe truth go pass me by.

My eye still dey the line for envelope:

"Ifedike, you wan know the real truth from that time?"

That question dey ring for my ear like bell after morning mass.

Na so cold catch me for body.

The cold no be ordinary; na the kain wey dey enter bone, the one wey make you remember old sin.