Loko was still in uniform when they found him.
He stood outside the precinct garage, whistling, eating from a foil pack of jollof rice propped on the boot of a patrol SUV. His fork froze mid-air the moment he saw Brian and the B-Team approaching in formation — vests zipped, eyes hard, purpose clear.
His smile vanished. His eyes darted from one face to the other. Then he bolted.
"Loko!" Brian shouted. "Don't—"
But Loko was already diving across the hood of the SUV. The rice crashed to the ground, splattering over the concrete. He ducked behind a column and reached into his waistband.
"Gun!" Akosua yelled.
The first shot rang out, slamming into the door behind Brian. A second bullet whizzed past Selorm's arm. Chaos erupted. Officers inside the precinct scattered. Selorm fired back, aiming for Loko's legs.
The bullet caught him in the thigh. Loko screamed, stumbled, and fell sideways into a stack of bins.
"Move!" Brian barked. "Don't let him reach the side wing!"
Loko crawled, blood trailing behind him, trying to force open the metal side door. He fumbled for his weapon again — but Adjeley's taser cracked like lightning. Loko jerked and collapsed face-down.
Selorm cuffed him, kicking the weapon away.
"You're done," Brian said, standing over him.
Loko spat onto the floor. "You don't know a damn thing."
In Interrogation Room Two, the air was thick with tension.
Loko sat in silence, jaw clenched, bandage wrapped around his bleeding thigh. His uniform shirt had been removed, leaving him in a white undershirt stained with sweat. His eyes were sharp, but cold — the look of a man already expecting the worst.
Brian leaned over the table, calm but firm. "We have footage of you passing packages to street kids. You're caught. But help us now, and we can protect you. Witness protection. Reduced sentence. Whatever it takes."
Loko didn't flinch. Didn't speak.
Brian continued, "This thing you're protecting? It's bigger than you. We know. We're not asking for everything — just a name. Just a direction."
Loko's face remained stone.
"You sold poison to children," Akosua said quietly from the corner. "One of them is dead. If you don't talk, you're going down alone."
Still nothing.
Selorm dropped a file on the table. Inside were printouts: CCTV stills, screenshots from Sister Mercy's chop bar, copies of the recovered packets.
Loko glanced at it once… then looked away.
"Fine," Brian said, stepping back. "You want to play it that way? Let's see what your house says."
The apartment was located behind a drinking spot in Dansoman — bland, dusty, forgettable.
A framed fake family photo greeted them inside. Loko standing beside two strangers, all smiling in painfully artificial poses. The team spread out.
Akosua cracked the laptop first.
No open chats. No transaction logs. Nothing obvious.
But in a folder marked "Backups," she found a hidden video file.
"Got something," she called out.
They watched it on Brian's tablet.
The footage showed Loko meeting someone at night — a sleek black sedan near Makola. Loko handed something through the window. A woman's hand emerged to receive it — red acrylic nails, a gold snake-pattern watch on her wrist. That was all.
"No plates," Kojo muttered. "Professional."
Brian pointed to the time stamp. "This was four days ago."
In the drawer beside the bed, Selorm found a burner phone wrapped in socks. It still had battery.
Akosua turned it on. A handful of text messages appeared. Short. Sharp. Direct.
"Tomorrow. 10:30 PM. Club."
"Use back alley. Door marked X."
"Don't talk. Just deliver."
There was one saved contact in the phone. No number. Just the letter: P.
Brian raised an eyebrow. "That's our lead."
Selorm looked up from the shelf. "Found something else."
He held out a photograph. Loko standing in front of a neon-lit club, two fingers raised in a peace sign.
The club behind him read: CLUB PALMS.
Brian smiled coldly. "Let's go back and talk to him."
Back in Interrogation Room Two, Loko had barely moved.
Brian laid the photograph on the table. "We found your toy phone. We found the footage. We know you've been delivering to someone at Club Palms."
Loko didn't respond.
"We know whoever's behind this calls themselves 'P.' Sound familiar?"
Nothing.
"Loko, this is your chance. We can offer you protection. Full immunity if you testify. You'll walk free. Start over. Maybe even survive this."
Loko leaned back slowly. He stared at the ceiling.
"I'm not saying anything," he finally muttered.
Brian nodded once, the way a man does when disappointed but not surprised. "Then you're on your own."
As he stood to leave, Akosua added, "We'll pass your name to your superiors. See what they do to a traitor wearing the same badge."
They opened the door.
But as they stepped out, a voice called weakly behind them.
"…Brian."
He paused.
Loko didn't meet his gaze. His voice was low. Raspy. But it carried weight.
"I didn't want to be part of this. It started small… and then it swallowed me."
Brian stepped back inside.
"Are you ready to talk?"
Loko looked up, his face pale.
"I'll tell you what I know. But not here. Not in this building."