They shook hands cordially.

“Inspector in?” Dawson asked.

“He’ll be here soon, sir. Please, you can have a seat. Will you have some Malta?”

“Yes, please.”

Gyamfi poked around in a space under the counter and extracted a bottle. He popped open the top and handed the bottle to Dawson.

“Thank you. Cheers,” Dawson said.

He clinked bottles with Gyamfi and then took a swig. It was warm, but no matter. Malta was good whichever way. Dawson let out a satisfied sigh.

Gyamfi smiled at him. “You like it, sir?”

“Very much. Even though I know it’s too sweet.”

Gyamfi laughed. “That’s all right. Do you enjoy beer, sir?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, sir,” Gyamfi said in mock regret. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

It was Dawson’s turn to laugh. He clinked bottles with Gyamfi again. “How’s the prisoner doing?”

“Fine, sir.”

“No need to call me ‘sir,’ Gyamfi. Just call me Dawson.”

“All right, very good, sir. I mean, Mr. Dawson.”

“Did he have something to eat this morning?”

“Yes. He ate some porridge.”

“Good.” Dawson took a sip and savored the taste. “You think he killed Gladys Mensah?”

“Well, you know-whatever Inspector Fiti says…”

Dawson nodded, wondering why he’d asked the question. Gyamfi wouldn’t contradict his boss.

“How long have you worked here, Constable Gyamfi?” he asked.

“Almost two years now. I was in Sekondi before here.”

“What about the other constable?”

“Bubo? He’s been here less than a year.” Gyamfi dropped his voice. “He doesn’t like it.”

Constable Bubo walked in at that very moment.

“Morning, Bubo,” Gyamfi said, self-consciously clearing his throat.

“Morning, Gyamfi. Morning, sir.” His voice was slightly hoarse, like a sharp-edged river reed scraped across the palm. Bubo took a sullen look at a couple of folders on the desk, turned around, and walked out again.

Gyamfi looked at Dawson and shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t like to talk much. He stammers sometimes-maybe that’s why.”

Minutes later they heard Inspector Fiti addressing Bubo outside. “Where are you going?”

There was a not quite audible reply from Bubo, but Dawson detected the stammer.

Fiti loudly objected to the constable’s plans, whatever they were. “No,” he said sharply. “Forget about that. Go and get Samuel Boateng from the jail. We’re going to interrogate him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Constable Bubo returned ahead of Inspector Fiti, who faltered when he saw Dawson. Perhaps he had forgotten the CID inspector was going to be present for the interrogation.

“Morning, Inspector Dawson,” he said heartily, recovering. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you.”

Bubo unhooked a large bunch of keys from his belt and disappeared around the corner and down to the jail.

“Elizabeth and Charles Mensah came to see me this morning,” Dawson told Inspector Fiti.

He looked both surprised and somewhat annoyed. “For what reason?”

“To talk about Gladys. They told me something interesting. She had owned a diary, but they can’t find it among her belongings. She had also had a silver bracelet, and that’s missing too.”

“I see.” Fiti’s brow furrowed. “There was no diary in her briefcase and she didn’t have a bracelet at the scene either. But you know, people lose things. Maybe she lost them.”

“Anything is possible, you’re right, but if she didn’t lose them, their absence could be connected to her murder.”

Fiti nodded soberly. “We will ask Samuel if he knows something. Gyamfi, you will take notes.”

“Yes, sir.”

They heard the cell door clang shut. Bubo returned, guiding Samuel ahead of him. Samuel’s head was bowed, and he looked wretched. He hadn’t been provided any new clothes, so he was still shirtless, and his pants were filthy and almost coming off his lean frame.

The interrogation room was small with splotchy walls, a bare table, and four chairs. Fiti and Dawson sat at one side, opposite Samuel on the other. Gyamfi stayed behind Samuel, closer to the door.

Fiti cleared his throat and began. “Samuel, I’m going to ask you about the killing of Gladys Mensah.”

“I didn’t do anything, sir,” Samuel said, his gaze down.

“The evening before she died, she was walking from Bedome to Ketanu and you were following her, is that not so?”

“I wasn’t following her. I was talking to her. Sir.”

“About what?”

“I asked her what she went to do in Bedome.”

“And what did she say?”

“She told me she has been teaching the people about the AIDS disease. And I asked her if I could walk with her to Ketanu and she said yes. And so we were talking and walking. Like that.”

“Tell me everything you talked about.”

“She asked me if I knew something about AIDS, and I said no, so she told me about it and gave me a paper to read.”

“Where is that paper? What did you do with it?”

Samuel looked uncomfortable. An undulating wave traveled across his brow.

“What did you do with it?” Fiti repeated.

“I looked at it, but later I threw it away in the bush because I felt shame to take it home.”

Fiti took the pack of condoms from his shirt pocket and held it in Samuel’s face. Samuel jumped as if jabbed with a live electric wire.

“But you’re not ashamed to take these home?” Fiti said.

Samuel looked away.

“How many condoms have you used already?” Fiti demanded.

“None, sir. There were only three.”

“Where did you get them?”

“She gave them to me. Gladys, I mean.”

Fiti’s eyes narrowed. “Why would she do that?”

“For protection-”

“You had sex with her?”

Samuel was incredulous. “What do you mean? I didn’t want to have any sex with her-”

“She gave you the condoms and you decided it was your chance and so then you tried to force yourself on her-”

“No.”

“When she wouldn’t allow you, you attacked her and dragged her into the forest. Did you rape her? You put a condom on and then you raped her?”

Samuel’s voice rose. “No!”

“Did you steal a bracelet from her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you steal her diary? A blue diary?”

“I didn’t steal anything, and I didn’t go into the forest with her. Ask Mr. Kutu if you don’t believe me.”

“Ask Mr. Kutu what?” Dawson said quickly.

“He saw us from his compound while Gladys and I were talking,” Samuel said heatedly, “and he came and told me not to be worrying her or he would report me to Inspector Fiti. He acted as if I’m some kind of bad person and told me to get away. I was annoyed with him.”

“And what did you do after he told you that?” Dawson asked.

“I went back to the farms to work.”

“Did you look back to see if Gladys and Mr. Kutu were still there?”

“Yes, they were standing there talking,” Samuel said resentfully.

“Did you see them go into the forest together?”

Samuel shook his head. “No.”

“Was that the last time you saw Gladys?”

“Yes.” His eyes clouded over, and he tried to blink the moisture away.

“Do you remember what time it was?” Dawson asked.

“About five thirty, something like that.”

“But you decided to hide behind a tree and watch Gladys and Mr. Kutu, not so?” Fiti said.

“No, I didn’t hide anywhere. I went back to the farms like I told you.”

“And when they had finished talking, you went back to Gladys and took her into the forest to kill her,” Fiti said.

“No.”

“You’re lying,” Fiti said. “I know a liar when I see one. I can smell a liar. Do you know what a liar smells like?”

Samuel didn’t answer.

“I’m talking to you, Samuel. Do you know what a liar smells like?”

“No, sir,” he whispered.

“Then smell yourself and you’ll find out, because you smell just like one.”

Samuel shrugged brazenly.

“Okay,” Fiti said with a smirk. “You don’t care now, but wait until you start to rot in the jail and we’ll see if you don’t care anymore. Take him back, Gyamfi.”