Wife of the Gods (21 page)

“You really don’t love me?” he said, kissing the top of her
forehead. “Mm?”

He kissed between her eyes, and she closed them. He kissed the
tip of her nose. When he got to her lips, she didn’t resist. She
wrapped her arms around him.

∨
Wife of the Gods
∧

D
awson could not
sleep that night. At two, he got out of bed and went to check on
Hosiah. He was sleeping peacefully. Dawson went to the kitchen for
a drink of water. He was aware of the battle within – seething over
what Augustus Ayitey had done to Hosiah, but also trying to not let
his anger “drive him,” as Christine had put it.

While she slept like a baby, Dawson silently put on some clothes
and left the house. When he got into the car, he hesitated just an
instant as an internal voice told him to do the right thing –
go
to the police as a regular citizen, report what happened to Hosiah,
and let them handle it
. But he didn’t want to do it that way.
It was too passive. He turned the key in the ignition and started
the engine up.

♦

The sound of the car cut through the silence of the night, and
the headlight beams slashed the dark as Dawson dodged Madina’s
potholes. He knew eventually he would find Ayitey’s place just by
cruising around, but he was lucky to spot a lone night watchman
standing outside the locked gates of a house. In Accra, if you had
some money and any semblance of a luxurious home, two vital
accessories were a private watchman and decorative but functional
bars on all the windows.

“Good evening, sir,” Dawson said.

The watchman had a head shaped like a bullet. “Good
evening.”

“Do you know where Augustus Ayitey lives?”

“The herbalist? Down there.” He pointed. “Take a right turn at
Jesus Is Lord Chop House.”

♦

Dawson stopped the car just after the chophouse, locked up, and
went the rest of the way on foot. The watchman outside Ayitey’s
house saw Dawson approaching and trained a flashlight on him.

“Who goes there?”

“Detective Inspector Dawson.”

“Stop.”

The watchman scanned him up and down with the powerful beam and
then approached warily, armed with a club.

“Show me your ID.”

Dawson held it out, and the watchman examined it.

“Detective Inspector Dawson…Yes, sir, how can I help you,
sir?”

Dawson explained he needed to question Ayitey about a case that
couldn’t wait till morning. The watchman listened carefully,
nodded, and then opened the gate to let Dawson in.

He banged on Ayitey’s front door. A couple of minutes later, a
light came on inside the house.

“Who is it?” Male voice.

“Police.”

There was a pause, and then two locks were released before the
door opened a crack and two eyes peeped out.

“Yes?”

“Detective Inspector Dawson, CID.” He showed his badge. “Are you
Augustus Ayitey?”

“Yes?”

“Open the door, please.”

“What is this about?”

“I need to speak with you. Open up, please.”

Ayitey undid the latch on the door and it opened into a sitting
room furnished with fat leather sofas and armchairs. There was a
washroom and toilet in a short hallway to the right. Ayitey, in ice
blue pajamas, eyed Dawson with wariness and curiosity.

“What is this about, Officer?”

Dawson hated being called “Officer.”

A woman’s voice called out from the next room. “Gussy? What is
going on?”

“Nothing,” he replied over his shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

“Do you know a woman by the name of Gifty and her grandson,
Hosiah?” Dawson kept his voice soft, trying to modulate his anger
like the escape valve on a pressure cooker.

“Yes, I know them,” Ayitey said cautiously. “Why?”

“You recall they came to see you yesterday?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you remember the boy suffered a blow to his head that cut
his scalp open?”

“That’s why you’re here in my house in the middle of the night?”
Ayitey spluttered. “It was just an accident! What, you think I was
trying to hurt the child?”

A middle-aged woman appeared at the bedroom doorway in a
colorful dressing gown. “What on earth is going on, Gussy?”

“This Detective Inspector – Dawson, is it? – says he’s here at
this time of the night because of the minor incident we had
yesterday at the clinic. You know, the boy who bumped his head
while we were washing him.”

The woman came up to Dawson. “Detective Inspector? I’m Penny,
Mr. Ayitey’s wife. What exactly is the problem? Perhaps I can
help.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“We don’t understand what you are doing here, Inspector,” she
said more sharply. “My husband has done nothing wrong, and why in
heaven’s name could this not wait till daylight?”

“Augustus Ayitey, I am Detective Inspector Dawson. I’m arresting
you for assault and battery, abuse of a minor, and fraudulent
medical practice.”

Ayitey gasped.
“What?
”

Dawson touched his arm. “I’m going to be handcuffing you. Turn
around with your hands behind your back, please.”

“Look, I don’t know who in hell you are or what you think you’re
doing here,” Ayitey snapped, “but I’m an upstanding citizen and you
don’t have any authority to come barging into my house in the
middle of the night.”

“Turn around, please.”

“I will not.”

“Gussy, Gussy please,” Penny said hastily. “Mr. Dawson, who is
in charge of your division?”

“Chief Superintendent Lartey.”

“But we know him so well,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps we can go
to him in the morning and discuss the whole problem with him. I’m
sure we can work it out.”

“Turn around, please, Mr. Ayitey. Hands behind your back.”

Penny’s tone changed abruptly. “You are going to get in trouble
for this. We know the chief superintendent, we know members of
Parliament, we even know the president, and so you’d better think
carefully about what you’re doing.”

“I am.” Dawson gritted his teeth. He had been patient, but his
restraint was dwindling like water draining from a kitchen sink.
“Turn around, Mr. Ayitey.”

Penny squeezed her husband’s arm. “It’s okay, Gussy. Don’t fight
it. Just go quietly. I’ll have you out by morning’s light. Mr.
Dawson, you don’t need to handcuff him. He won’t give you any
problem.”

Dawson weighed the options. “You agree to that?” he asked
Ayitey.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Ayitey said, but he was seething. “I need
to put on some proper clothes.”

Dawson had not planned on all this fuss. He should have walked
in, cuffed the man, and marched him out in his pajamas.

“Bring him something to wear,” he said to Penny. “Stay right
here, Mr. Ayitey.”

She brought him a shirt and a pair of trousers.

“I would like to change in there,” Ayitey said, pointing to the
washroom.

Whether Ayitey was stalling for time or just demanding special
treatment, it was getting on Dawson’s nerves.

“No. Change right where you are.”

He watched as Ayitey sullenly put on his clothes over his
pajamas.

“Don’t worry, Gussy,” Penny said. “I’ll take care of everything.
Mr. Dawson will regret he ever stepped into this house.”

“Let’s go,” Dawson said, falling in slightly behind “Gussy.”
What an annoying name. Everything about the man annoyed him.

“Three o’clock in the morning and you come to my house to
disturb me,” Ayitey muttered truculently. “If the stupid child had
just behaved properly, he would not have wounded himself.”

Dawson’s emotional wire, already stretched to its limit,
snapped. He grabbed Ayitey by the neck and kicked his legs out from
under him. The herbalist went down like a felled tree, as heavily
and just as loudly.

Penny let out a shriek. Ayitey was dazed as Dawson rolled him
onto his belly and snatched his hands up behind his back. The cuffs
clicked them in place. He grabbed Ayitey by the collar and dragged
him to the toilet.

“What are you doing?” his wife screamed.
“What are you
doing?
”

“Dose of his own medicine,” Dawson said.

Ayitey began to struggle.

“Kneel in front of the toilet,” Dawson said.

“No, please, I – ”

“I said
kneel
.”

Dawson straddled Ayitey, lifted his shoulders to the rim, and
pushed his head into the bowl until his face touched the water.
Ayitey bellowed like a wildebeest in the jaws of a crocodile, and
Dawson felt a surge of satisfaction.

“You almost drowned my boy,” Dawson said, raising his voice.
“This is what it’s like.”

He flushed the toilet and held Ayitey’s head underwater as he
bucked and kicked like a goat.

Penny ran to the front door and began to scream. “Watchman,
help
!
Watchman!
”

The watchman came running in.

“He’s trying to kill him!” Penny shrieked.

Dawson let Ayitey’s head up for a moment and allowed him to
catch his breath.

The watchman seemed paralyzed.

“Do something, you fool!
” Penny yelled at him
furiously.

“Madam, he’s a policeman,” the watchman said helplessly. “What
can I do at all?”

The water in the toilet reservoir had replenished itself.

“One more time,” Dawson said.

He flushed again as he held Ayitey’s head down in the bowl and
the torrent of water engulfed it to overflowing.

“Okay. Get up now.”

He helped Ayitey up, moaning and choking and staggering while
his wife screamed uncontrollably.

“Let’s go,” Dawson said. “We’ll find some room at the jail for
you.”

As Dawson marched him out the door, Penny ran after them like a
small flying insect.

∨
Wife of the Gods
∧

D
awson came home a
little before five, after booking Ayitey into Madina station.
Christine stirred and asked where he had been.

“Taking care of some loose ends,” he said.

She grunted, muttered something, turned over, and went back to
sleep.

Dawson checked on Hosiah, took a catnap for an hour, and was up
again with the sun. He got dressed and shook Christine gently. She
started awake.

He kissed her. “Have to go, love. Don’t get up.”

She propped herself on an elbow. “Be careful, Dark.”

“I will.”

He stopped by Hosiah’s room and gave him a kiss as well. His
son’s smooth breathing pattern did not alter and he didn’t
stir.

Before Dawson started the car up, he speed-dialed Chikata’s
number, and it rang four times before he answered, voice thick with
sleep.

“Wake up,” Dawson said.

Chikata cursed fluently in Ga.

“Did you have a chance to go to Gladys’s room?” Dawson asked,
ignoring the profanity.

“I’ll do it today Dawson.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of it.”

“Where are you?”

“In Accra, but I’ll be returning to Ketanu later on.”

♦

He headed for the University of Ghana campus at Legon. Since it
was on the way to Madina, he took exactly the same road he’d been
on just a few hours ago. Same road maybe, but Legon was a very
different world from Madina. Oh, that Dawson could afford those
six-bedroom homes in East Legon.

As he approached the arched front entrance of the university
campus, a guard stepped forward and held up his palm. Dawson pulled
up next to him and showed his CID badge.

“Carry on, sah.”

The campus was built on a hill whose pinnacle was topped by the
vice-chancellor’s residence. Dawson drove past the buildings with
their signature orange-tiled roofs. It was the end of March, a few
days before the short Easter break. Students had begun moving to
class, although Dawson imagined a few were still in bed trying to
squeeze in another fifteen minutes of sleep after pulling an
all-night cramming session. He could pick out the first-year
students. Their faces were fresher, more eager and purposeful, and
they walked faster. The third-years sauntered while affecting a
bored look.

The clock in the tower of the pagoda-style Balme Library began
to chime eight, sounding like Big Ben. Past the post office, Dawson
turned right to the women’s hall and parked in front of the steps
leading up to the entrance. At the top of the steps a sign read,
PLEASE STOP AT RECEPTION FIRST
.

A young, well-dressed receptionist was behind the counter. “Good
morning, sir,” she said with a bright smile. “You are welcome. Can
I help you?”

“Good morning. I would like to see the warden, please. Is she
here?”

“I’ll see if she’s available,” she said, picking up the phone
and punching in four digits. “May I tell her who’s calling?”

“My name is Detective Inspector Dawson.”

“Oh,” she said, her expression changing.

Dawson smiled. “Don’t worry. She’s not in trouble.”

“Oh, good.” She looked relieved. “Hello? Good morning, madam.
This is Susan at reception. There’s a gentleman here to see you. A
Detective Inspector Dawson. Yes. Of course. Thank you.” She cradled
the phone. “She’ll be happy to see you. I’ll show you the way. Do
you mind signing in first?”

Dawson scribbled his name, arrival time, destination, and
purpose of visit in the large sign-in book on the desk.

Susan came around to the front and led him into the courtyard of
flowering jacaranda trees, bougainvillea trailing up the walls of
the dormitory buildings, clipped hedges, and neatly potted plants
around a center fountain. It was pretty. So, for that matter, was
Susan. Dawson had not let on, but he had already taken in her small
waist and lovely, ample buttocks, which moved so succulently
underneath her rather short skirt.
Mercy. It should be against
the law to torment souls in this way
.