Five young Nigerian men kneel in front of police officers at Plateau State CID Headquarters in the city of Jos.
“I killed three people,” admits one youth in the local Hausa language. He looks almost child-like.
But he is referring to the horrific slaughter of at least 100 people in three nearby villages in the latest round in a brutal cycle of violence between Hausa-speaking Muslims and Christians from the Berom community.
“Two men and a woman… I killed them with a stick, with a knife. In the first crisis, they killed most of my brothers.”
But another protests: “I never went there for killing anybody, only to carry my cows.”
He describes fleeing the previous outbreak violence in January, leaving his cattle behind.
His neighbours, he claims, seized them. He wanted them back, and so joined the attack.
“I did not kill. When the fighting started, we ran,” he tells us.
They are clearly nervous – sometimes almost whispering. The detective in charge intervenes, telling them to speak up.
It is impossible to know whether they have been put under any pressure to admit taking part in the killings.
Some 200 young men are under arrest for the killings in the villages of Dogo Nahawa, Zot and Ratsat.
They jostle and fight in dark, filthy cells, reeking of sweat and urine.
“Some were paid to do it, some were volunteers,” says the local Police Commissioner, Ikechukwu Aduba.
“The threat is still there, that is the truth. We divisional police officers, we now sleep in our offices.”
He – and other senior officers – believe there will be more arrests, and that the circle of burning, killing, and revenge is not over.
It is not over for the survivors of Dogo Nahawa, either.
People in the village huddle silently, many gripping Bibles.
There are just three policemen resting in the shade of a tree.
But as we drove into the village, there were no military checkpoints or police on the steep track.
“We are undefended,” one elderly man cried to us. “They can return here any time.”
We set up our TV cameras and radio equipment, reporting the lack of military presence.
Within an hour, over 100 soldiers arrived, swarming the streets.
Astonished aid workers looked on, as several soldiers produced hand-held video cameras to record themselves patrolling.
The officer in charge dismissed questions about why they were there.
Twenty minutes later, he and his men pulled out.
Nigeria’s military has come under fire for their role here.
Plateau State governor Jonah Jang and the Elders Christian Forum group – among others – accuse it of failing to act on early warnings of violence.
The commander of the regional task force here insists that they were only told of the mass killings after they occurred.
Chief Gabriel Chyang, the community leader of Dogo Nahawa, rejects that.
“We do not know how these men got to the village,” he says, gesturing to fresh mounds of red earth that are mass graves.
“We were supposed to be under curfew. How did they attack?
“This community would never like to see a military man again. The youths are angry, because they did not take action in good time.”
Explosions of violence have crackled along Nigeria’s Middle Belt ever since the country was created.
A mosaic of distinct ethnic groups – Tiv, Jukun, Pyem, Kofyar, Berom, the Hausa-Fulani and many more – live along this dividing line between the Muslim north and mostly Christian south.
The region has a history of tin and columbite mining – abandoned mines mark the landscape.
The fertile land and jobs were a powerful draw for migrants seeking work. People travelled to Jos from all over Nigeria.
Those patterns of migration are marked today by sharp divisions in the community.
People here are either classified as indigenes or settlers.
Indigenes are able to prove their ancestry in the state.
Settlers – whose grandparents and great-grandparents settled here – cannot.
Settlers find it difficult to get jobs in local government, or apply for educational scholarships.
Most indigenes are Berom Christians. Most settlers are Hausa Muslims.
Many Christians believe Hausa Muslim settlers seek to seize political control and impose Sharia law. They fear an extremist Islamist agenda and jihad.
Many Muslims believe the Plateau State government wishes to drive them out of certain areas.
The circle of violence, the emergence of vigilante groups and organised militia, the suspicion of the military within the Christian community and the lack of a political framework for talks worries those tasked with security.
“I believe this will last a long time,” frowns Police Commissioner Aduba.
“It is not over. Where are we heading?”