him aside and found a folded paper in his pocket.

It had Ibe’s home address written on it.

That was the first visible crack.

The second came when the ACP played part of the recording through a small speaker.

DPO Charles’ own voice filled the station yard.

“Ibe knows that we planned to eliminate him.

We have to use another strategy.

We will send boys to his house and make it look like armed robbery.”

The woman who had come to report her missing phone covered her mouth.

The man on the bench stood up slowly.

Officer Bassey whispered, “Jesus.”

ACP Okoro stopped the audio before it played further.

“DPO Charles,” he said, “do you recognize that voice?”

Charles’ lips trembled.

“Sir, this is a setup.

The boy edited my voice.

He is angry because I corrected him.”

Ibe said nothing.

His silence angered Charles more than any accusation would have.

“Talk!” Charles shouted at him.

“Tell them how you insulted me in front of my men!”

ACP Okoro raised one hand.

“Enough.”

Then he gave the order.

DPO Charles, Nnamdi, Bassey, and the other officers involved were disarmed and placed under arrest pending investigation.

The poisoned food was sent for laboratory analysis under direct supervision from the state command.

By evening, the report confirmed what Ibe’s spirit had warned him about before any human being did.

The wine and cake contained a dangerous substance that could have killed him within a short time after ingestion.

When the news reached the station, even officers who had not been involved sat in silence.

But the matter did not end there.

Under questioning, Bassey broke first.

He claimed DPO Charles had called a private meeting two days before the party.

According to him, Ibe had become a problem because he refused to share bribe money, refused to bury complaints from poor citizens, and had recently written a confidential note about missing exhibit money from the station safe.

DPO Charles denied everything.

Then investigators opened the station records.

They found altered exhibit entries.

They found missing cash from recovered robbery cases.

They found names of suspects who had paid to disappear from files.

And buried inside a drawer in DPO Charles’ office, they found the draft of a false incident report already prepared for Ibe’s death.

It described an armed robbery attack near Ibe’s house.

It was dated for that night.

That document ended Charles’ last lie.

When it was placed before him, he stopped shouting.

For the first time since Ibe had known him, the DPO looked small.

“I only wanted to protect myself,” Charles said.

ACP Okoro stared at him.

“By killing a junior officer?”

Charles had no answer.

The case went beyond internal discipline.

The officers involved were prosecuted for conspiracy, attempted murder, destruction of evidence, and corruption-related offenses.

Those who had played smaller roles tried to bargain against one another.

Each confession opened another door.

Some said they had only followed orders.

Some said they did not know the cake and wine were truly poisoned.

Some cried.

Some begged Ibe’s relatives to plead on their behalf.

Ibe did not visit them.

He spent the first few days under protective watch, sleeping badly, waking often, hearing again the cheerful voice of DPO Charles urging him to eat.

His mother came