After police college, his first posting as an assistant superintendent was up north in Hausaland, where a violent band of Chadian rebels, on a sojourn in Nigeria to raise money for their cause, was robbing and killing. Roadblocks were established. Real roadblocks, not the pay-to-pass variety. A car full of Chadians was stopped, and they leapt out and escaped into the bush. Okoro was present when their car was searched. There were cartridges for AK-47s. And bean cakes. And a receipt for a car repair. Okoro went to the mechanic, who told him the men who had brought the car in were picked up by another man on a white scooter. Okoro got a warrant to detain the mechanic and installed him by a window in the police station. He dispatched constables to round up every white scooter they could find and direct the drivers to pass by the window. The mechanic saw and identified the scooter of interest. Its driver was arrested. Under physical interrogation (police justice/injustice), he eventually told where the gang was living, and several of the Chadians were arrested.

Okoro was still a young officer, but he already knew enough not to celebrate. He applied for a transfer. And a visitor came to see him. An emissary from one of the arrested men’s mothers, he said. She was devastated by the arrest of her son, the emissary said. She was sure it was a mistake. She was sure her son and his friends were innocent. She was bereft. In her grief she had sold enough of her cows to raise three million naira, which would be given to Okoro if only he could see his way to weaken the so-called evidence against her son and his friends and get them released.

Okoro declined. Whatever kind of police officer he would turn out to be, he was not the kind to let murderers go free. He sent the emissary away. And checked on the status of his transfer.

When the emissary went to Okoro’s superior, and that man accepted the money, and certain evidence was mislaid, and the prisoners were released, and they came looking for Okoro to get their revenge, he was already on his way to his new post.

By Friday

BY FRIDAY

Stanley Pleski had a problem. It was in a dark gray Tumi suitcase sitting on the floor of his hotel room, next to the minibar. It was $675,000 in cash.