Wife of the Gods (31 page)

Isaac sat up frowning. “Yes. That’s a terrible thing.”

“Maybe he couldn’t live any more knowing that he killed Gladys.
Confessing couldn’t take away his shame.”

“But Inspector Fiti beat him,” Isaac said. “If someone beats you
enough, you might confess to anything.”

“I still believe he did it.”

“I wish Darko Dawson saw it the same way. He’s still hunting
me.”

“He thinks
you
are the one?”

“He searched all my rooms yesterday.”

“Ei! This boy.” She sighed. “I love him, but I’m sorry, this
police business does not suit him. Is he worrying you a lot? I can
talk to him, if you like.”

“No, he’ll wonder why you’re defending me like that, and he
might get suspicious.”

“All right.”

He pulled her to him.

“I love you,” she said.

♦

On the road to Kumasi, Dawson counted four serious accidents,
the crushed carcasses of vehicles lying on their sides or
overturned completely. He drove with both care and assertion,
staying clear of speeding drivers, tro-tros packed with people, and
trucks top-heavy with merchandise.

He made it to Kumasi in something over three hours. Alongside
Kejetia, Ghana’s claim to the largest open-air market in West
Africa, traffic crawled, rendering cars prey to kid traders hawking
fruits, cold drinks, ice cream, and worthless trinkets.

Dawson finally escaped the congestion and got to a quieter part
of town, where he managed to find a parking spot between two
rusting minivans.

Taking his tote bag with him, he walked through a maze of small
houses, getting progressively farther from the street until he came
to a cul-de-sac occupied by a neat yellow house. Daniel Armah had
built it from scratch, and second only to his wife, children, and
grandchildren, it was the pride of his life.

The door was open, and Dawson called out to announce he had
arrived. Having got through to Armah by phone earlier in the day,
he was expected, and Armah knew what the topic of conversation was
to be. Before all the developments of the past day, Dawson had
planned only to ask Armah’s advice over the phone on how to
“negotiate” the rural environment, but things had so radically and
abruptly changed that Dawson now had to see him in person.

He heard quick footsteps as Armah approached, and when Dawson
saw him, he felt even more elated than he had expected. Armah was
still trim and compact, and though his hair had gone gray, there
was still plenty of it.

“Darko, you made it!” he said, broad face alive with
delight.

Dawson laughed as they embraced.

“Welcome, welcome,” Armah said. “I’m so glad to see you, so very
glad. Come in, come in. Here, let me take your bag.”

Despite the heat outside, there was a nice cool breeze blowing
through the house. The sitting room was spacious and relaxing.

“How was your trip?” Armah asked. “You must be exhausted.”

“Well, you know how the roads are.”

“Yes, yes. Maude went with the grandkids up to Mampong to stay
with her sister for the weekend, and I insisted my driver take them
because he’s the only one I completely trust. Would you like
something to drink, or would you prefer to freshen up a bit before
you have your Malta Guinness?”

They burst out laughing at the reference.

“Aha, you thought I would forget?” Armah said, winking at him.
“I have a whole refrigerator full of the stuff just for you.”

“Thanks, Armah. I think I’d like to take a shower first.”

“But
of course
. Come along, your room is all ready.”

Dawson was a full-grown man in his own right, but Armah was
still such a paternal figure to him that he caught himself making
sure he didn’t move anything out of place in the bedroom or
bathroom, just like a “good little boy.”

He showered gratefully; running water had never felt so good.
With a change of clothes, he was revived as he rejoined Armah in
the sitting room. Two bottles of ice-cold Malta were ready with a
tall glass.

Armah served himself Star beer, and they drank and talked for a
while about families and friends and the old days, but then it was
time to get to business.

“So I gather you’ve had a rather rough time of it in Ketanu,”
Armah said.

“Yes, I have.”

“I want to hear all about it. Maybe I can be of some help.”

Dawson started at the very beginning and left nothing out. As he
came to Samuel’s suicide, Armah’s face showed regret.

When Dawson was finished with his account, Armah leaned back in
his chair and studied the ceiling.

“So,” he said. “You’ve got all these things happening, all
ingredients in a mixed-up soup. There’s no solution to the murder
yet, we think Adzima is connected to the silver bracelet but it’s
unconfirmed, this poor boy Samuel has killed himself, Queen
Elizabeth is badly hurt, and you’ve been thrown off the case.”

“That about summarizes it, yes,” Dawson said with a bitter
laugh.

“Something struck me,” Armah said, “and I wanted to get it out
of the way. About Samuel. Do we know for sure there wasn’t foul
play? This brute of a constable, Bubo – was that his name? Yes,
him. Couldn’t he have strung Samuel up out of vengeance and made it
look like suicide?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, but Constable Gyamfi’s account of
the sequence of events makes that very unlikely. He took a meal
down to Samuel, and at that time he was alive. Between then and
when I found him, Bubo never went down to the jail cell.”

“And you trust Gyamfi?”

“Completely. He wouldn’t try to protect Bubo.”

“All right, good. That’s a relief.” Armah reflected for a
moment. “You feel very bad about Samuel?”

“I can’t even tell you how terrible I feel.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“Darko, even though I don’t think you’re to blame, if you had
come here defensively telling me it wasn’t your fault the boy died,
I would have been disappointed because it wouldn’t be the Darko
Dawson I know. It would say to me that you had lost a piece of your
humanity. You see what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“I remember when I was about your age, I arrested this boy – he
may have been eighteen or nineteen. I say ‘boy’ because he was so
small in stature, a tiny thing. Anyway, it was a petty crime,
something utterly stupid. He begged me not to put him in a cell
with other prisoners, but I ignored him. One of them beat him up
that same night. He didn’t die, but he was very badly maimed. Do
you know I’ve never forgiven myself for that? I probably never
will, but I’m glad of that, because if a day ever comes that I’m
able to think back on that incident without any pain or guilt, then
I might as well curl up in a hole and die.”

“You may feel glad I haven’t lost my humanity,” Dawson said,
“but I personally feel worthless.”

“Because you’re in the thick of it. I have the luxury of not
being you.”

Dawson laughed and began to feel a little better.

“What do you think I should do now?” he asked Armah.

“Who cares what I think? What do
you
want to do?”

“Solve the case, of course. I’m officially off it, but with
three weeks of suspension to spare, I might as well use the time
fruitfully.” Dawson reflected somberly for a moment. “I owe it not
only to Gladys, but to Samuel as well.”

“There you are then. You think Chikata will cause problems if he
sees you back in Ketanu? Run to Lartey and tell on you?”

“I don’t doubt he will.”

“I’ll put a call in to Chikata’s father, pull some strings, and
make sure his boy keeps his trap shut.”

“I didn’t realize you knew his father.”

“I know a lot of people.”

“That’s true.”

“So what do we have so far on the case?” Armah said. “For
practical purposes we’ve ruled Sowah out. We are not even
considering Samuel, but we still wonder about Isaac Kutu and Togbe
Adzima. I’m just worried we’ve overlooked someone. What about
family? You always look at family.”

“Their alibis all fit. There’s nothing there, motive or
otherwise. I need to pin down Adzima and Kutu.”

“Something doesn’t feel right about Adzima though,” Armah said.
“As both the murderer and the bracelet thief, I mean.”

“How so?”

Armah shrugged. “If he killed her, we say the motive is his fear
and loathing of her, not robbery. So, then, why does he steal her
bracelet?”

“Because he’s a swine?”

“Well, yes, he is,” Armah said quite seriously. “But it still
doesn’t sit comfortably with me. Now, I could see him taking the
bracelet off just as a petty thief with no respect for the
dead.”

“I get what you mean, but it would be a shame not to track him
all the way down.”

“You’re absolutely right, and I shouldn’t have implied it wasn’t
a lead to be followed. Now, to Isaac Kutu. I think he may have had
a motive, but he’s a difficult person to peg. When I was
investigating your mother’s disappearance, I had the strangest
feeling about him, but I was never able to connect any dots that
included him. You remember what I told you about solving
mysteries?”

“That it’s a matter of making a few of the connections and the
rest will fall into place.”

“A-plus. That
is
what solving mysteries is all about.
Now, let’s eat.”

“Oh,” Dawson said brightly. “You cooked?”

“Ha, you’re funny. When have you ever known me to cook? No,
Maude prepared it and left it all ready to be heated up. Which is
about all I know how to do.”

∨
Wife of the Gods
∧

D
awson returned from
Kumasi on Monday morning after breakfast with Armah. He was sorry
he had missed Maude and the grandkids, and he invited Armah and his
family to come to Accra and visit in the near future. Armah’s last
words were “By the way, my best advice is try not to beat so many
people up.” He had said it in a humorous tone, but Dawson knew he
had meant it, and it was advice well taken.

Before he went into Ketanu, he took a detour to the VRA Hospital
to look for Elizabeth. He found the female surgical ward and walked
down the long row of stark metal beds looking for her. He found her
in a vestibule that had been converted to accommodate a hospital
bed, giving her more privacy than the patients in the general ward.
She was propped up on ample pillows, and the bed was covered with a
bright kente spread. He hesitated at the foot of her bed because it
appeared she was sleeping, but she opened one normal and one
swollen eye and said, “Detective Inspector Dawson. Come along, I
won’t bite.”

Her head was bandaged, and her right arm was resting across her
middle in a cast and sling. He sat on the edge of her bed.

“How are you feeling, Auntie Elizabeth?”

“Like I’ve been kicked by a set of donkeys.”

“In a way you have, but I would call them asses. What does the
doctor say?”

“My arm was broken, so Dr. Biney set it, and they had to sew my
head up. I suppose to keep me from losing whatever little is
inside.”

She tried to chuckle but winced as she realized it hurt to do
so. “Ouch. I’ve just been reminded I have two broken ribs.”

“I’m not staying long,” Dawson said. “I just wanted to make sure
you were all right. Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Dawson, thank you. Dorcas and Kofi and Charles were here
earlier, and they made sure I was taken care of.”

“When will the doctor release you?”

“In a day or two,” she said. “I’m so glad to see you, Dawson.
I’ve been thinking over some things – since that’s about all I can
do right now. When I get out, I want to continue what Gladys
started.”

“Specifically?”

“She wanted to set up a shelter for trokosi women – somewhere
they could escape and be protected from their fetish-priest
husbands. I want to build a center to honor Gladys’s memory.”

“You’ll have my complete support,” Dawson said. “As a matter of
fact, here’s what I hope is your first private donation.”

He dug into his pocket and peeled off some bills.

“It’s not much,” he said, “but it’s a start.”

“Thank you. You’re a very good man.”

Dawson was about to leave when Elizabeth said, “I haven’t
forgotten about the trip to Ho to see if we can track down the
bracelet. As soon as I get out.”

“Thanks, but get better first. Don’t worry about me.”

♦

Dawson went to Auntie Osewa and asked if he could stay with them
for a while.

“But of course you can!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up.
“Stay as long as you like.”

He would have to share Alifoe’s room, but he didn’t mind, nor
did he care that the best mattress they had for him was made of
foam as thin as a wafer.

He needed to go into town to look for Constable Gyamfi, but
Osewa wouldn’t allow him to leave without a full lunch of fufu and
palm nut soup. They ate in the courtyard under the shade of a piece
of canvas strung from the wall to a post. Alifoe and Kweku were at
the cocoa farm.

“Auntie, you’re going to make me want to take a long nap this
afternoon,” Dawson said as he ate.

“You should, Darko,” she said firmly. “It would be good for
you.”

“I wish I could, but I have work to do.”

“Are you still trying to find out who killed Gladys?”

“Yes.”

“Samuel was not the one, then?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why do you think not?”

Dawson took a mouthful and closed his eyes for a moment as he
savored the flavor. “What did you say?”

“About Samuel.”

“Oh, yes. There are many reasons why I don’t think he did
it.”

“I see. Well, you know your job…” She paused.

“But what?” he prompted.

“But from what I heard, he was…No, I don’t want to speak ill of
the dead.”

“It doesn’t matter what you heard, Auntie Osewa. He didn’t kill
Gladys Mensah.”