Osewa Gedze.

18

CHRISTINE WAS TO HAVE a late day at school because of a staff meeting. She dropped Hosiah off at her mother’s house early in the morning and would pick him back up in the evening. That meant Gifty would have her grandson for the whole day, and she was happy to take him. She started by serving him a breakfast of sugar-frosted flakes and squares of toasted sweet bread spread thick with butter and pineapple preserves. By the time Hosiah was done, his cheeks were gloriously smudged with food.

After that, Hosiah unpacked his red and yellow plastic suitcase of toys and played on the sitting room floor while Granny watched. He was a sweet, sweet boy. She cared about the child every bit as much as Christine and Darko did. It was tearing at her heart that Hosiah’s “sickness” was gaining its strength as it took his. And what were his parents doing? Saving up for surgery. Saving up. How did that help?

There were times when an older, wiser family member must step in. This was the strength of the Ghanaian family-that everyone took care of the children and that the elders advised the young parents. Sometimes it meant taking charge. Gifty felt it was her responsibility, her bounden duty, to help Hosiah. Yes, in the short term it might offend or annoy his mother and father, particularly his father, but in the end it would be for the best. She was convinced she was right on this one. There had been times in her life when she had been uncertain of herself. This was not one of those occasions.

Gifty had considered a couple of alternatives. She could take Hosiah to an herbalist like Augustus Ayitey or she could take him to a “fetish” priest or priestess. Both were types of traditional healers. A fetish priest was a powerful intermediary between mortals and the gods, but Gifty thought Mr. Ayitey, with his wondrous array of healing potions, was a better choice still, and today was a perfect time to see him. She had Hosiah for the entire day, and Dawson and his over-controlling personality were away in the Volta Region. It was now, or never.

“Hosiah?”

Preoccupied with pushing his bulldozer across the floor, he answered without looking up. “Yes, Granny?”

“We are going out to see a nice man.”

“Who is he, Granny?”

“His name is Mr. Ayitey. You know how there’s something wrong with your heart?” She had his full attention now. “Mr. Ayitey can help your heart get well and you’ll feel much better. Would you like that?”

“But Daddy and Mama aren’t here.”

“Hm?”

“Daddy and Mama said they’d be there when the doctor fixes my heart.”

“Oh, that doctor. I see what you mean. But Mr. Ayitey is another kind of doctor who can fix your heart better, and he won’t even have to do an operation on you.”

Hosiah stared at her, trying to figure things out. Then he returned to his toys without further comment.

“We have to go now, or else Mr. Ayitey won’t be there.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Come along.”

“Okay. No, wait, I have to take some toys, Granny.”

“Choose two, sweetie.”

She waited while he made the difficult selection, and then she took his hand and led him outside. There was no need to lock up behind her since her houseboy was there.

Gifty didn’t drive, so she had a taxi waiting for them.

“To Madina,” she told the driver.

Hosiah sat on Gifty’s lap in the rear seat and watched the scenery go by for a while, then he got bored and entertained himself with the intricacies of his action figures. Gifty loved the feeling of his little round head in the hollow of her neck.

They took the pristine, six-lane Kwame Nkrumah Highway out of Accra, past glinting glass office blocks and luminescent hotels that had sprouted like well-watered plants. Yet more new buildings were going up, shadowed by the graceless skeletons of cranes. Accra’s skyline was changing radically by the day.

Madina was twelve kilometers out of Accra, a little beyond the University of Ghana. It was a dense town-tens of thousands of people packed into the place like tinned mackerel. Gifty’s trusty taxi driver already knew their destination. He pumped the horn every few seconds to nudge pedestrians aside as they crossed the street without any regard to vehicular traffic. The pavement was dusty, the markets were teeming, and the sun was scorching.

Small businesses lined the roadside so densely they were on top of one another, sometimes literally: dozens of Internet cafés, the Heavens Motor Driving Academy, Mobile Max’s Phones and Accessories, and the Gowin Natural Health and Computer Clinic, offering instant computer diagnoses and cures for chronic diseases. Gifty’s favorite, the All Shall Pass Beauty Salon, specialized in manicures, hair weaves, and wigs. She had bought quite a few fine wigs there.

They turned off into an unpaved lane and bounced along a few meters, stopping outside a dull green house with AUGUSTUS AYITEY’S HERBAL INSTITUTE AND CLINIC emblazoned on the front in red lettering.

“We’re here, Hosiah,” Gifty said cheerily. “Come along.”

The taxi would wait for as long as it took. Gifty took Hosiah’s hand. “Granny, where are we going?”

“This is where the doctor is,” she explained. “He’s going to make your heart better.”

19

SAMUEL BOATENG HAD CLAIMED Isaac Kutu had seen him talking to Gladys the last evening she was alive and had shooed him away. That story had to be checked, and after that Dawson planned to approach Togbe Adzima.

As he and Inspector Fiti left for Isaac’s place, Dawson tried Christine’s mobile. She answered on the second ring.

“I must be standing right underneath the satellite,” he said.

She laughed. “How are you?”

“Fine. Where’re you?”

“In between classes. We have a staff meeting tonight-what joy.”

Dawson smiled. “Hosiah at Granny’s?”

“Yes. He’s doing fine. How are things going up there?”

“Still feeling my way, tell you more later. I’m off to question a couple people.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. Kiss Hosiah for me.”

His next call was to Chikata. Incredibly it went through smoothly to his desk phone, and even more amazingly, Chikata picked it up.

“Chikata. I need a favor from you. The medical student who was murdered here, name’s Gladys Mensah, she had a room in the women’s hall on the University of Ghana campus. I need it searched. We’re looking in particular for a diary the family says belonged to her.”

“Any description?”

“I was told fifteen by ten centimeters, black or dark blue cover.”

“Okay, I’ll look into it. You owe me one case of Club beer for this, D.I. Dawson.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“If I can’t do the search today, is tomorrow okay?”

“That’ll be all right, but no later than. Clear?”

As they walked to Isaac Kutu’s compound, Dawson felt the awkwardness between him and Fiti, and searched his mind for a neutral topic to help break the ice. He noticed plumes of black smoke rising from the forest in the distance and gratefully latched onto that.

“Do people start many fires here?” he asked. “I see some smoke over there.”

Fiti followed the direction of his gaze.

“They burn the bush so they can get room to farm, or sometimes just before the rain to make the soil rich. It’s against the law, but they still do it.”

Isaac’s compound came into sight. Comparing it with the memory he had, Dawson could see it had been modernized. For one thing, the wall enclosing the compound had been rebuilt with good-quality brick. Outside, a woman with bare shoulders was lifting a bound stack of firewood off her head and transferring it to a pile on the ground. She saw Fiti and Dawson approaching and waited for them, greeting them as they came close. Fiti introduced her to Dawson. She was Tomefa, Isaac’s wife. Dawson recalled Elizabeth mentioning how Isaac had blown up on discovering Tomefa giving Gladys information about his herbal remedies.