Wife of the Gods

by Kwei Quartey

  “Everything,” he said gloomily. “Not getting anywhere with this case.”

  “No leads?”

  “I’m either following them wrong or they’re just not the right ones.”

  “Are you and the local police chief or head or whatever he’s called getting along?”

  “No.”

  “Something you think you can smooth over, or has it gone beyond the point of no return?”

  “I don’t know, quite honestly. I was supposed to be here to clear up this case, but I’m beginning to think it’s really me making the blunders.”

  “I wonder if…”

  “If what?”

  “If you might call Detective Armah, see if he has some ideas. After all, he was in Ketanu himself those years back—maybe he has some tips.”

  “You see? This is why I married you. For your brains.”

  “Oh, really. What’s wrong with my looks?”

  They both laughed.

  “You know what I want right now, don’t you,” Dawson said, lowering his voice.

  “I have no idea,” she said airily.

  He groaned. “Christine, I’m dying.”

  “Focus, focus. Don’t you men ever get past adolescence?”

  “Well, obviously I’m not getting any sympathy out of you,” Dawson said in mock resentment.

  Christine giggled. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll be going now. You’ll find me sulking in a corner.”

  Christine let loose a peal of laughter.

  “I’m glad you find it amusing,” Dawson said. “Good-bye, and kiss Hosiah for me.”

  “Yes, of course I will. Be careful, Dark.”

  “I will. Bye, love.”

  After he hung up with Christine, he tried to reach Armah on his mobile, but the circuits were busy. He would try again later on.

  No one was around as Dawson entered the station. The front desk was unattended. He heard an odd, low-pitched thud rather like the impact of a bass loudspeaker. Gyamfi suddenly appeared from somewhere in the back of the building, walking quickly and looking distressed.

  “Gyamfi? What’s wrong?”

  Gyamfi stopped, shoulders slumped, arms limp at his sides, as if all vigor had been flogged out of him.

  “I tried to stop them, sir,” he said. “I swear I tried.”

  Dawson heard another thud and then a muffled scream, and now he realized it was coming from the interrogation room. He moved fast. The door was shut. He shoved it open.

  Bubo was whipping Samuel with a thin bamboo cane frayed at the tip to deliver maximum sting. He drew his hand back to strike again. Samuel, torso naked and trousers almost coming off, leapt away and collided with the wall. The cane hissed through the air and made contact, raising an instant stripe of inflamed flesh. Samuel cried out, lost his balance, and fell.

  Inspector Fiti was watching from a corner of the room. “Are you ready to confess?” he asked Samuel calmly.

  Bubo raised the cane, and Samuel cringed. “I beg you, stop, please. Stop.”

  The cane landed again, and Samuel jumped as if jolted by an electric shock.

  Dawson felt a tidal wave of rage rising and sweeping him along on its deadly crest. He knew the sensation well—the muffling of sounds around him, the crimson heat erupting deep in his chest and spreading quickly up into his neck while the surface of his skin turned cold with a thousand icy pins and needles. He could seriously hurt Bubo this instant. A good choke hold, he could kill him, and he felt a strong impulse to do it.

  He moved in close behind the constable. “Beating him won’t bring your mother back.”

  Bubo swung around like a whirling flywheel.

  “Hey!” Fiti shouted at Dawson. “What are you doing?”

  But Bubo was frozen in place. His eyes had gone wide with distress and astonishment. His eyelids twitched as he began to speak.

  “You s-s-s-say what?”

  “It won’t bring her back.”

  “How do you know about my m-m-mother?”

  “I lost mine too.”

  Bubo jerked his head back, and his eyes narrowed as if an eerie suspicion was slowly dawning.

  “Are you a w-w-wizard?” he whispered.

  “Maybe.”

  Bubo dropped the cane on the floor and scrambled for the exit, giving Dawson as wide a berth as he could in the small space. He pushed past Gyamfi, who was standing in the doorway.

  Fiti gaped at Dawson. “What did you do?”

  Dawson didn’t answer. He went to Samuel, who was on his feet again.

  “Are you all right?” Dawson asked.

  Samuel nodded.

  “Let me see. Turn around.”

  There was a crisscross pattern of welts and bloodied streaks of raised skin all over his back.

  Dawson looked at Fiti. “You see this? You see what you’ve done?”

  Fiti glared back defiantly, and without taking his eyes off Dawson, he said to Gyamfi, “Take the boy back to the cell.”

  “Leave him alone,” Dawson said.

  “I say take him back!” Fiti shouted.

  Samuel’s face contorted with pain, and his body seemed to shrivel like a shrub dying under the scorching sun. “No, I beg you, please. I don’t want to go back—”

  “Then confess and we will send you to a better place to stay in Ho,” Fiti said.

  “Samuel, don’t say anything,” Dawson warned.

  Gyamfi took Samuel by the arm to lead him away, but he crumpled to the ground weeping.

  “I did it,” he moaned. “I did it.”

  “Did what?” Fiti said.

  Dawson crouched on the floor near him. “No, Samuel, stop.”

  Samuel slapped his head repeatedly with both hands. “I killed her, I killed her, I killed her.”

  Fiti knelt beside him. “Killed whom?”

  “Gladys. I killed her.” Samuel’s body shook with sobs.

  Fiti looked at Dawson and stood up with a grim smile. “There. Now you have heard him confess.”

  “Because he doesn’t want to be beaten anymore,” Dawson cried.

  “Look, I know this boy and I know how these people are in Ketanu.”

  “You’re just a bush policeman, Fiti,” Dawson shouted. “You don’t have a clue. All you know about is children stealing chewing gum from the market—”

  Fiti banged his fist on the table in fury. “Get out! Get out!”

  Gyamfi looked pleadingly at Dawson, and at the same time he flicked his head to one side with an oblique glance meaning Meet me outside.

  Dawson leaned close to Samuel. “I’ll do everything I can for you, do you hear? I’m not going to let anyone hurt you anymore. I know you can be strong.”

  As he stood up, Dawson got his phone out, pointed the camera at Samuel’s back, and took three photos in rapid succession.

  “What do you think you are doing, Inspector Dawson?” Fiti said.

  Dawson brought his face within six centimeters of Fiti’s. “I’m reporting you for this, photographs and all. And if you lay one finger on Samuel again, I’ll drag you to jail.”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” Fiti said, without flinching. “You’re a fool. You’re not above me. You think you are smart, but you are nothing but a fool. Now, get out.”

  OUT OF SIGHT AT the side of the station, Dawson waited for Gyamfi. He paced, his pulse still racing from the confrontation and the pain of seeing Samuel being whipped.

  Gyamfi appeared a few minutes later. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure he wasn’t being followed. “I want to make sure you believe me, Dawson. I tried to stop them from beating Samuel, but I couldn’t do anything against them.”

  “I believe you.”

  “But I don’t understand what you said to Bubo. You say he lost his mother? How do you know that? He’s never mentioned such a thing.”

  “It was just a lucky guess. Something about him made me think he might have had some sort of tragedy as a child. And even if I was wrong, it would have been such a strange thing to
say to him he would have stopped to ask me what I was talking about.”

  “You’re right,” Gyamfi said. “And by the way, he still thinks you’re a wizard.”

  They laughed, grateful for a chance to relieve tension.

  “What are you going to do now, Dawson?”

  “I want to work on getting Samuel’s name cleared, but for now I’m going to get him transferred to Ho Central. It’s too dangerous for him to stay here with Inspector Fiti.”

  He pulled out his mobile and called Ho Central Prison. The constable who answered said the commanding officer wasn’t in. After some persuasion, the constable released the commander’s mobile number, which Dawson tried immediately. No answer. He left a message and made a note to himself to call again later.

  When Dawson arrived, Auntie Osewa was outside hanging clothes on a line. “Darko!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly. “How are you? I thought maybe you had forgotten about your poor old aunt again!”

  “No, Auntie,” he said, stooping to kiss her on the cheek. “Not at all. I had to go back to Accra on an emergency.”

  “Oh.” Her expression changed to concern. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, thank you. Took care of it.”

  “Good. Come. Uncle Kweku is inside.”

  He was listening to a news bulletin on a tiny portable radio, but he switched it off as Dawson and Auntie Osewa walked in.

  “How are you, Darko?” he said, smiling broadly. “How is everything? Have a seat.”

  They chatted for a few minutes.

  “So,” Auntie Osewa said, “any news on the investigation?”

  “That’s partly what I came to talk to you about,” Dawson said.

  “Is that so?” she said.

  “Inspector Fiti told me you’ve reported that Samuel went into the forest with Gladys that evening. Is that true?”

  Kweku shot his wife a quizzical look. “You did? He did?”

  She nodded. “I was collecting firewood when I saw them.”

  “You never told me,” Kweku said evenly.

  Osewa shrugged, unperturbed. “I didn’t even think it was important until some of the women collecting water at the pump said they had heard Samuel had been arrested and the police were looking for information about him.”

  “Auntie, do you mind if I ask you a few questions and write down your answers?” Dawson asked.

  “Of course I don’t, Darko. You have to do your job.”

  He fished his notebook from his shirt pocket. “Can you say about what time you first saw Samuel?”

  “Well, I don’t wear a watch,” she said apologetically, “but the sun was soon about to go down.”

  “So maybe around five thirty or five forty-five,” Dawson said. “And where were you exactly when you saw them?”

  “There is a place between Bedome and Ketanu where I get my firewood. I was collecting it when I heard some people talking. I went to see what was happening, and that’s when I saw them.”

  “How far away from you were they?”

  “When you were coming, did you see the two houses before ours?”

  “Yes.”

  “From here to the one farther away from us.”

  “I see.” That was about three hundred meters. “Do you remember the clothes they were wearing?”

  She laughed. “Ei, Darko, you are giving me a tough test. The boy—well, you know his clothes are nothing special. Just some torn khaki trousers and something like a red shirt, or orange, with no sleeves. And Gladys was wearing a blue and white skirt and blouse with Adinkra symbols. Very pretty. She always wore beautiful clothes.”

  “You couldn’t hear what they were talking about?”

  “No, too far away. Do you know the firewood place?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “If you’re walking from Bedome, before you come to Mr. Kutu’s compound you will see it on this side.” Osewa indicated her left.

  “I see. Thank you.”

  “But anyway, after Samuel and Gladys had been conversing for a little while, Isaac Kutu came from his compound and told Samuel to go away and leave her alone.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t hear anything from that distance.”

  “I could hear some of it now that Mr. Kutu and the boy were shouting at each other, and I could see what Mr. Kutu was saying because he was shaking his finger at Samuel like he was warning him. And so the boy went away.”

  “Which way did he go when he left?”

  “In the direction of Bedome.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Mr. Kutu and Gladys conversed for a little while, and then he went back to his compound and she started walking back to Ketanu.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I saw Samuel come out of the bush and accompany her on the path.”

  Dawson’s hand froze. He had picked up a tremor in Auntie’s voice, a ruffling of its smoothness. An eerie sensation came over him like a thousand creeping spiders. This has happened before.

  The scene came flooding back. The evening Mama, Cairo, and Darko had visited Auntie and Uncle.

  The game of oware was nearly over. Auntie Osewa had just come in from outside. Uncle Kweku asked her where she had been. “I went to set the rabbit traps,” she said. Her voice felt so strange to Darko that it jolted him.

  Back then, he had not wanted to think she was lying, and now Dawson had the same disturbing feeling.

  He recovered. He didn’t want Auntie Osewa to sense anything was amiss.

  “And what happened next?” he asked.

  “The boy held Gladys’s hand and tried to put his arms around her, but she didn’t want that. They stood there talking some more, and he was trying to persuade her. She would make as if to walk away, but he would always come around in front of her, begging her not to leave. And after a while, they went into the bush.”

  “He didn’t take her by force?” he asked.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “After they went in, did you see anyone else around?”

  “Not anyone close by that I can remember.”

  “Okay, thank you, Auntie.”

  “Not at all, Dawson. Anything you want to ask, just tell me.”

  “Oh, yes, now that you mention it, there is something else. Do you know if there was anything going on between Isaac Kutu and Gladys?”

  “No, I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I heard that she wanted to steal his medicines from him,” Kweku said.

  “Really?” Dawson said. “Who told you that?”

  “It was just some talk.”

  “I don’t think it’s true,” Osewa said, shaking her head firmly. “She wasn’t like that, Kweku. She was a very good, honest woman. You shouldn’t say anything bad about her now that she’s dead.”

  “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

  Auntie Osewa turned dismissively away from him. “Stay with us and eat, Darko, will you?”

  His salivary glands sprang into action at the thought of Auntie Osewa’s cooking.

  “I’d love to,” he said.

  And for now, he put the worrying questions out of his mind.

  DAWSON LEFT AUNTIE OSEWA around seven that evening after a meal of goat meat stew and rice, and he made his next stop the Mensahs’ house. Lights were on inside. Dawson tapped on the side of the front screen door, which was tightly shut to keep the mosquitoes out.

  “Who is it?” Charles’s voice answered.

  “Inspector Dawson.”

  Charles came to the door and opened it with a smile. “Good evening, Inspector. Come in. You are welcome. We’re having a family meeting. Gladys’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  The front room was packed with people, and it was noisy and stifling with the heat of bodies. Several discussions were going on at once over the funeral preparations—the food and drinks, the drum and dance troupes, where the body would be placed, the seating arrangements, and so on.<
br />
  Elizabeth spotted Dawson and walked over. “How are you?” she said, smiling sweetly.

  “I’m well, Elizabeth. Can I talk in private with you and Charles and his parents?”

  “But of course.”

  Elizabeth extracted Mr. and Mrs. Mensah from the tumult, and they went into a room off to the side.

  “I want you all to know that I’ve found Gladys’s diary,” Dawson told them. “At least for now, I won’t say exactly where I found it, but it’s safe with me and I’ll return it to you as soon as I can. I haven’t located the bracelet yet, but I’m still looking.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth and Charles chorused, and Gladys’s parents echoed them.

  “Please, Inspector Dawson,” Mr. Mensah said, “Inspector Fiti was here earlier on and he told us Samuel has confessed to killing Gladys.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Dawson said.

  “Not sure about what exactly, Inspector Dawson?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I have a problem with how the confession was obtained.”

  “We don’t want the wrong person to be arrested,” Charles said, “but at the same time we want to be able to say who killed my sister, because the longer we don’t know who did it, the more people say bad things.”

  “What kinds of bad things?”

  Charles glanced at his aunt.

  “Why do you have to bring this up?” Elizabeth asked frostily.

  “Because it’s important,” Charles said. “Inspector Dawson, there’s a rumor that Auntie Elizabeth is a witch and that she used her powers to kill Gladys.”

  “It’s all talk,” Elizabeth said with a toss of the head. “They can’t do anything to me. They are jealous of me, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “We’re just saying be careful, Sis,” Mr. Mensah said. “Don’t go anywhere without someone accompanying you, all right?”

  “Come on. I’m not a child, Kofi.”

  Mr. Mensah looked at Dawson and shook his head. “That’s the way she is. Stubborn as a goat.”

  All of a sudden, Mrs. Mensah broke her silence, and it startled Dawson. She looked at him directly with soft but intense eyes.

  “You must go after Isaac Kutu, Mr. Dawson. He is the one who started all these rumors about a witch, and I know he’s doing it because he doesn’t want anyone to be suspicious of him. He’s a dangerous man, a liar who pretends to be as good a healer as his father was. I warned Gladys to stay away from him, but she didn’t and now she’s dead. Samuel did not kill her. He is a harmless, useless boy. They should let him go and lock Isaac Kutu up instead.”