Chapter 4: The Vanishing Act

But if Nnenna truly didn’t have a phone, she probably couldn’t have gone far. So we started checking nearby CCTV cameras for clues.

We combed through grainy videos, eyes stinging from hours of screen glare, praying for a miracle—a glimpse of her shoes, a familiar scarf, anything.

As expected, after Nnenna left the training camp, she turned onto a commercial street—and never came out again.

That street, lined with kiosks and pepper sellers, swallowed her whole. People were bustling, hawking gala and FanIce. Not a single soul seemed to notice a girl disappear.

There were over twenty shops on that street, most with CCTV—except for three: Mama Halima’s cake shop, Mr. Lawal’s noodle joint, and Baba Tunde’s butcher shop.

I remember my partner jotting the names, frowning. 'Abeg, why na the butchers and food people no get camera?'

Considering Nnenna was a young girl in her prime, if something bad happened to her, it was unlikely to be for money—lust was more likely.

This is the hard, ugly truth we learn in the force. When a young woman disappears, money is rarely the first motive. I felt my stomach knot.

Mama Halima was a single mother; Mr. Lawal had a wife and daughter. Only Baba Tunde was a middle-aged, single man—so he was the most suspicious.

Baba Tunde’s meat shop had always given me a strange feeling. People joked about his size and his booming laugh, but I never liked the way he sharpened his knives at the entrance, whistling Fuji songs.