“It’s not right,” Ebuka whispered for the fifth time that evening. James, tired of the repetition, remained silent.

“The woman is obviously innocent,” Ebuka pressed. He hated being ignored, and James knew it. Sighing, James tore his gaze away from the ongoing police interrogation.

“Ebuka, I know you have a soft heart, but not everyone is like you.”

Ebuka’s jaw tightened. It was a bitter truth, one James could understand. Who could believe Mrs. Alaba had poisoned her husband after all these years?

That morning, their maid had burst out of the house, panicked and incoherent. It had taken twenty minutes to piece together her frantic words: 

Engineer Kingsley Alaba was dead.

Neighbors had rushed in, including James and Ebuka. The police soon followed, filling the cramped living room. At the center of it all, Mrs. Alaba sat quietly, enduring a barrage of questions.

Where was she when the maid raised the alarm?

"Asleep." 

Did she not hear the commotion?

“No. I’m a deep sleeper.”

In truth, she had been nowhere near her husband, who remained slumped at the dining table, face in his food. The entire situation reeked of suspicion.  

By now, they had been there since morning. The digital clock on the wall read 4:36. And still, no answers.  

“She hasn’t protested, hasn’t even defended herself,” Ebuka pointed out. “She’s been calm this whole time.”  

James leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers pressed to his lips.  

“That’s the problem,” he murmured. “She’s too calm.”  

Ebuka frowned. “Isn’t that how innocent people act?”  

James shook his head. “She’s trying too hard.”  

Ebuka turned back to the living room, frustration brewing.

“It’s not right,” he muttered again.

Just then, an officer entered, dragging the maid in tow.

Something shifted. The air thickened, charged with tension. James felt it immediately.

His eyes darted to Mrs. Alaba. Gone was the composed demeanor. Now, she glared daggers at the maid.

The girl trembled, clawing at the officer’s grip, desperate to escape.

“Oga, this girl get something wey she wan talk.”

The maid’s eyes widened in terror as her madam’s gaze bore into her. She shook her head frantically, too afraid to speak.

The chief inspector stepped forward, placing himself between them. His voice was calm, reassuring.

“Don’t be afraid. Just tell me what you told him.”

Maybe it was the chief’s presence, or maybe because she could no longer see the silent threats in Mrs. Alaba’s eyes, but the maid finally exhaled.

Her next words confirmed what James already knew.

“Madam poisoned Oga.”

Those three simple words threw the entire room into chaos. People stood from their seats in horror, their shouts of protest rolling into one another until all you could hear was the angry voices of a tiny mob.

Trying to save the situation and the small woman in the middle, the chief of police slapped handcuffs on her wrist and dragged her out of the building.

A few more minutes and the once friendly neighbors would have ripped her to pieces themselves.

As she passed her frightened maid, James saw Mrs Alaba whisper, “You're finished,”

No one else caught the exchange.

A sinking feeling settled in his gut and James immediately recognized it as a premonition for what was to come.

This was far from over.