42

DAWSON 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.”

“Yes, yes, it’s all right. I believe you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing. Auntie Osewa, I might have to live with you and get fat.”

She laughed, leaned over, and pinched his cheek. “You’re a sweet boy.”

He smiled. Still a boy to her.

Dawson did not have to tackle the police station to find Gyamfi because, as he was on the way into town, the constable called him to say he was headed to Auntie Osewa’s to see Dawson. They met about halfway and found a quiet spot to talk.

“Did you find out anything?” Dawson asked.

“Yes,” Gyamfi said. “The last evening Gladys was seen alive, Adzima had had a quarrel with her-you know that already. Now, after he got angry with his wives and started to beat them up, a cousin of his comes to Bedome and asks him why he’s making so much trouble and tells him to come to Ketanu to drink beer.”

“Who is the cousin? Do you know him?”

“Now I do. The cousin brought him to Jesus My Soul Chop Bar, and they ate chinchinga and drank beer and got drunk.”

Dawson’s heart was sinking again. “He was with the cousin all the time?”

“Yes. And that cousin has some friends who sat and drank with them also, and I found one of them and the stories agree. They drank till late, and then Adzima went back to Bedome drunk.”

Just as with Timothy Sowah, the chance that Adzima had killed Gladys was dwindling quickly.

“What about the bracelet?” Dawson asked, without enthusiasm. It didn’t make much difference at this point.

“That I had a little more trouble with,” Gyamfi said. “I told Togbe that some boys from Ketanu got to the body first after Efia had left, and that when they heard Togbe coming, they ran and hid and saw him steal the bracelet. He denied and denied it until I told him Inspector Fiti and I would take him to Ho Central Prison. Then he confessed.”

“What did he do with the bracelet? Does he still have it?”

“No, he sold it to a trader in Ho. I will try to get it back.”

“Thank you, Gyamfi.”

Dawson clasped the constable’s hands, and their eyes met warmly.

43

AUNTIE OSEWA’S MEAL THAT night was rice and grilled tilapia spiced with ginger and hot pepper, with slivers of ripe plantain fried in palm oil until crispy. They ate outside by lantern light and talked. Alifoe was quite the comedian. As Dawson recovered from a stitch in his side from laughing, Uncle Kweku turned to his wife. “Darko sounds so much like his mother when he laughs,” he said to her.

“Really?” Dawson said. “No one has ever told me that.”

“I always thought the same thing,” Osewa said quietly. “But I didn’t want to say so in case it brought sadness to you, Darko.”

“No,” he said. “On the contrary.”

“What happened to Auntie Beatrice?” Alifoe asked.

“Alifoe,” Osewa said sharply.

“It’s okay,” Dawson said. “No one knows what happened, Alifoe. I was twelve years old, and you were a baby, of course. After you were born, she came twice to visit. The second time, she stayed a few days and then she said she was going back to Accra. She never arrived home.”

“What could have happened? Maybe the tro-tro had an accident?”

Dawson shook his head. “That was checked by the detective assigned to the case. There were no accidents between Ketanu and Accra that day.”

Alifoe looked perplexed. “Then she must have got off somewhere on the way.”

“That we don’t know,” Dawson said. “But why would she do that?”

“Are we even sure she got on?” Alifoe persisted.

“Of course we’re sure,” Auntie Osewa said, sounding irritated. “How many times do I have to tell people that it was me who went with her to the tro-tro stop to see her off?”