by Kwei Quartey
“Not terrible,” he said to Dawson and Christine, “but not good either. I think if we admit him and diurese him overnight, he should be fine by tomorrow.”
Hosiah looked up apprehensively at his parents. Dawson instinctively put a reassuring hand on his head.
“Daddy, I don’t want to stay here,” he said.
Dawson leaned forward, speaking softly to him. “I know you don’t, Hosiah, but it’s so we can get you better. Both Mammy and I will be right here with you.” He wiped away his son’s tears. “And tomorrow we’ll go back home, okay?”
Hosiah nodded, trying not to cry.
Asem dashed off admission orders in completely illegible handwriting and put the note in Hosiah’s chart. “Take this with you to the Emergency Department to get the IV started, and then he’ll go up to the general medical ward on the second floor. Okay?” He smiled at Hosiah. “You’ll be okay. You’re not afraid, are you?”
“No,” Hosiah said defiantly. “Not even of needles. My daddy is, though.”
Dr. Asem laughed. “Is that true?” he asked Dawson.
“I’m afraid so,” he said sheepishly.
As they stood to leave, Dawson softly told Christine, “Go on ahead with Hosiah, I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
Once his wife and son had left, Dawson turned to Dr. Asem. “In your honest opinion, is Hosiah’s condition getting worse?”
Asem inclined his head left to right as he considered the question. “Might be a little bit. On the other hand, maybe his sodium balance is just off. You have to be really careful with that salt.”
“We will,” Dawson promised.
“Is surgery on the horizon?” Asem asked.
“As soon as we find a way to pay for it.”
“I pray that it will be soon. Remember that if Hosiah ever develops the complication of pulmonary hypertension, it’s too late for surgery.”
Dawson bit his bottom lip. The warning was harsh but true.
“Thank you for your help, Dr. Asem.”
There were twenty-eight beds in total on the general medical ward, infants on one side of the floor, children on the other. Dawson, Christine, and Hosiah were all too familiar with the large, common room shared by all the patients. That was the way it had been for a long time at Korle Bu, and with the exception of a new private wing for people with a lot of money, that was the way it would be for some time to come.
As the diuretic began to take effect, Christine and Dawson helped Hosiah with the urinal just as other parents did their own children.
Night came. By 2:00 A.M., Hosiah had settled down, sleeping without much trouble. His pulse oximetry reading was up to 95 percent. Christine had been dozing off and on with her head resting on the edge of the bed. Dawson allowed his eyes to drift closed for short periods, but he was still on constant watch over his son.
“Christine,” he whispered. “Why not go home and get a few hours? He seems to be doing fine.”
She rubbed her eyes. “You’ll be okay?”
“Yes, we’ll be fine. Are you going to work tomorrow?”
“I’ll go in for half a day. Hopefully he can come home in the afternoon.”
“He should be able to.”
She nodded and stood up. “Okay. But call me if … you know, if anything comes up.”
“Of course.”
She kissed him on the cheek and softly kissed Hosiah as well, and then she was gone.
12
Friday morning, Detective Sergeant Chikata was enjoying being “in charge” while Dawson was temporarily away. He went up to his uncle’s air-conditioned office to spend some time with him. Chief Supol Theophilus Lartey was a small man with large aspirations and good connections. He was undoubtedly on his way up to deputy commissioner of police, and ultimately commissioner.
In turn, Chikata was eyeing inspector rank, where Dawson was now. As he chatted with his uncle, Chikata asked him about the prospects for promotion.
“I also want to see you move up, Philip,” Lartey reassured him. “Very much so. One thing you have to remember, however, is that, although I have influence, I’m not the only one who has a say in your promotion. You understand me?”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Lartey put his fingertips together, making a steeple. “What senior officers my rank and higher are looking for in a junior officer is exemplary”—he emphasized each syllable—“performance, something I can turn to them and say, Look how well this young chap is doing. This is someone we need to push up the ladder. You see?”
Chikata nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”
“Now,” Lartey continued, “you are doing well, but let’s see you standing out, excelling above the average officer. I think you get what I’m trying to say, not so?”
“Yes, Uncle. I understand what you mean.”
“What’s new on the lagoon case?” Lartey asked.
“We have one possible lead.”
Chikata told his uncle about Daramani. “Dawson went to Nima on Wednesday to find him, but he wasn’t there. If Dawson comes back this afternoon, then maybe we can go to Nima again.”
“You didn’t accompany Dawson to Nima on Wednesday?” Uncle Theo asked with a frown. “Why not?”
“That’s the same question I asked him. He told me to stay behind and do paperwork, but I didn’t understand why. We always have paperwork.”
Lartey shook his head. “Dawson can be a little strange at times. But here is an example of where you could have shown your initiative. You knew Dawson was going to be away yesterday afternoon and you knew he wasn’t able to find this fellow Daramani on Wednesday. So why not say to Inspector Dawson, ‘Please, in your absence, let me go again to Nima to look for the man?’ Do you see how that creates a good image for you?”
“Yes, Uncle, I do see that.”
Lartey smiled at him. “Good man. I think everything is going to go well.” He looked at his watch. “Shall we go to lunch?”
Hosiah had responded well to the treatment at Korle Bu, and by midmorning, after the doctors’ teaching rounds, he was ready for discharge. Gladly, Dawson took his son home. Christine would be back from school by noon or so.
Hospitals were exhausting. Dawson and Hosiah fell asleep together on the sofa. Only Dawson opened his eyes when Christine came in.
“How is he?” she whispered.
“Much better,” Dawson said. “Just tired.”
He gently repositioned Hosiah on the sofa by himself and got up.
“You must be tired too,” Christine said. “Are you going into work?”
“No, I’m calling it a day.”
“Do you want some lunch? I bought something from Awo’s.”
“Oh, perfect.”
Awo’s Tilapia Joint, directly across the street, was a favorite of theirs. It made Dawson think of his tilapia promise to Jason Allotey in the DNA lab. Hopefully, he was making progress with Musa’s tooth.
Lartey treated his nephew to lunch at the Dynasty Chinese Restaurant on Oxford Street. As Chikata dug into his kung pao chicken, his mobile rang. On the line was a sergeant in the CID Charge Office.
“Do you know some woman called Akosua Prempeh?” he asked Chikata.
“Yes, why?”
“She’s been calling here over and over again,” the sergeant said, obviously irritated. “I don’t even know how she got our number, but she says she has to speak urgently to you or Inspector Dawson. Please, can you call her?”
“No problem. What’s her number?”
A minute later he reached Akosua.
“Please, Mr. Chikata,” she said, voice breathless and shaky, “I’m at Nima Market and I have seen Daramani.”
Chikata sat up at attention. “You can see him right now?”
“Yes, please. He is buying some tomatoes.”
“Has he spotted you?”
“No, please.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can. Try not to lose him, but be careful. I will call you back in five minutes.”
&nbs
p; Chikata pocketed his phone. “Uncle Theo, I’m very sorry, but I have to go. Akosua has spotted Daramani. I’m going to try to accost him.”
“Good job, Philip. This is exactly the kind of thing I want to see from you.”
Dawson checked his phone and realized he had forgotten to switch his mobile from vibration back to normal mode on his return from Korle Bu. To his dismay, he saw he had missed two calls from Akosua while fast asleep on the sofa. He quickly called her number. No response. Dawson wondered what she could have been calling about. He speed-dialed Chikata, who didn’t respond either. He’d try both of them after lunch. For now, he forgot about them as he dug into a luscious plate of baked tilapia smothered in Awo’s mouthwatering tomato and onion sauce.
It was after lunch that Chikata phoned.
“I tried calling you earlier,” Dawson said.
“Yes, I see that,” Chikata said. “Sorry I couldn’t take it. I was questioning that guy, Daramani.”
Dawson sat bolt upright. “Daramani?”
“Akosua spotted him at the Nima Market earlier on today. She tried to call you but didn’t get you, so she got in touch with me through CID. At that time she had kept Daramani within sight, so I told her to follow him if she could while I was on my way there. We stayed in contact on the phone, and by the time I got to Nima, he had gone into the public WC—the one on Alata Street. So I just waited for him to come out.”
Dawson swallowed. “Where are you now?”
“At CID. I brought Daramani back with me so we could interview him.”
Dawson’s heart began to race. “Has he said much to you so far?”
“He says he knows you. In fact, he says you’re his friend.”
Dawson’s mouth went dry.
“At first I thought he was bluffing,” Chikata continued, “but then he told me he knew your wife’s name is Christine and your son is Hosiah.”
A sheen of cold sweat burst out over Dawson’s forehead. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
When he got to CID, neither Chikata nor Daramani was in the detectives’ room. Instead, one of the corporals had a message that Dawson was to report to the chief supol. His heart sank. This was getting worse by the minute. He went down to the second floor with the sick feeling of a pupil going to the headmaster’s office.
“Sit down,” Lartey said as Dawson came in. “Philip picked up this man Daramani, who I understand knew the Korle Lagoon victim.”
“Yes, sir,” Dawson said. “That’s what the victim’s former girlfriend told us.”
“Mm-hm, yes. Now, when Philip was questioning him, Daramani claimed he’s a good friend of yours, and even named your wife and son correctly. Is it true he’s your friend?”
“He knows me, I know him,” Dawson said. “Maybe you call that a friend, I don’t know, sir. I arrested him years ago, and after he had served time, he acted as an informant for a while. After that, I kept an eye on him to make sure he stayed out of trouble.”
“That’s laudable, I suppose, but why the interest in him in particular?”
Dawson shrugged. “Sometimes I see potential in the unlikeliest people.”
“You brought him in on marijuana possession, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you seen any, em, potential—as you call it—realized in this gentleman?”
“Well, he’s stayed out of trouble, learned better English. And now he has a better job.”
Lartey tapped the end of his pen on his desk, looking skeptical. “I see. And the marijuana? Tell me about that.”
Dawson had to be careful. Was this a trap? What had Daramani told them?
“He knows all too well it’s against the law,” Dawson said.
“Has he stopped using it?”
“If not, he could be arrested all over again.”
“So if you were to catch him smoking marijuana, you would of course arrest him.”
“Use, possession, and sale of marijuana is against the law,” Dawson said firmly. “He knows that and I know that.”
“Yes.” Lartey stared at him for a moment without blinking. “Do you understand how your relationship with Daramani is a conflict of interest in this investigation?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Did you not realize on Wednesday that you knew Daramani when the young lady showed you his place of residence in Nima?”
“Since he wasn’t there, I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure it was the same person. People move around.”
“But you planned to make it known as soon as you discovered it to be true.”
“Not doing that would jeopardize the investigation.”
“Correct.” Lartey leaned back. “In that regard, I won’t have you interrogate this man, nor do I advise you have any further contact with him while we are investigating him. Is that understood?”
“Of course, sir. Who will do the interrogation, then?”
“Chikata will.”
13
There is only one official interrogation room at CID Headquarters. It is reserved for “cases of national significance.” The murder of a presumably unimportant teenager in the slum of Agbogbloshie did not make the grade. Normally, Daramani would have been interviewed in the detectives’ room like everyone else, but Lartey had decided to use an assistant superintendent’s room that was empty for the moment while the ASP was on assignment in Tamale. Even though Lartey was going to “sit in” on the interrogation, it was Chikata who would be doing the talking.
Dawson didn’t think that was a good idea. Chikata was too inexperienced, and he didn’t have the skills. But Dawson knew what was happening. The detective sergeant wanted to “prove himself,” and his uncle was going to let him have a good try.
They proceeded to the ASP’s room down the hallway. Dawson followed them, but as they reached the door, the chief supol turned to him and said, “So as not to bias the suspect’s answers, it would be better if you’re not present in the room.”
So Daramani is officially now a suspect?
“All right, sir.”
Uncle and nephew entered the room. There were two tables, one piled with papers. Daramani, tall and lean in his chair, sat at the other with his back to the louvered windows where Dawson stood observing.
Chikata sat down opposite Daramani, Lartey stayed out of sight, sitting behind Daramani.
“Your full name is Daramani Gushegu?” Chikata began in Twi.
“Yes, please.”
“And you live in Nima?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you know one Musa Zakari?”
“Please, yes, I know him.”
“How do you know him?”
“He is a truck pusher, and I met him one time at Nima side.”
“How long ago?”
“Maybe … some six months, something like that.”
“Do you know where he is right now?”
“No, please.”
“Do you know that a man resembling Musa was found dead in Korle Lagoon?”
Daramani drew back. “No. Serious? When?”
“It will be two weeks ago this Sunday. You never saw it in the newspapers?”
“No, please. But is he the one in the lagoon for sure?”
“Do you know his girlfriend, Akosua Prempeh?”
“Yes, please. I know her.”
“When was the last time you saw Musa?”
“Please, I saw him … two weeks ago.”
“What day?”
“Hmm.” Daramani thought back. “Friday. No, Saturday.”
“Where did you see him?”
“Nima Market.”
“Was he by himself?”
“No, please. He was with Akosua.”
“What time was that?”
“Evening time. Like six o’clock.”
“And then what happened?”
“He asked me to help him to take metal pieces to one man in Maamobi, so I said okay I can help you.”
“How did you take t
he metal scraps there?”
“With a cart from my friend in Nima.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Yaw.”
“After you used his cart to take the stuff to the man, what did you do?”
“We went to my house.”
“You and Musa?”
“Yes, please.”
“What did you do at your house?”
“We were just talking.”
“And smoking marijuana?”
“Please, no. I don’t smoke that.”
Chikata grunted, looking skeptical. “Okay, we’ll see when we search your house. How long did Musa stay with you?”
“Maybe … two hours.”
“And then?”
“Then he left.”
“To go where?”
“Please, I don’t know. Sometimes he goes to Agbogbloshie side.”
“Do you like Akosua?”
“Eh?” Daramani was caught off guard.
“Akosua. Do you like her?”
“Yes, please, I like her.”
Careful, Daramani.
“In what way do you like her?”
“She’s a nice girl.”
“Would you like her as a girlfriend now that Musa is gone?”
“But please, are you sure he’s dead?”
“If he was dead, would you like to take Akosua for your girlfriend?”
“Please.” Daramani shook his head. “She’s his girlfriend, not mine.”
“Akosua already told me how you used to look at her, that you wanted her.”
“Me?” Daramani said, pointing at himself. “Not at all.”
“Look, don’t be afraid. If you were jealous of Musa because of Akosua, you can tell me. It’s okay.”
Daramani stared blankly at him.
“I know you northern men always want to get Ashanti girls, but it’s hard to get them,” Chikata said.
“Eh?”
“Accra women and Ashanti girls,” Chikata persisted. “That’s what you northerners like.”
What a ridiculous statement.
“Please, as for me,” Daramani said, “I like girls from the north.”
Chikata kept a steady gaze on Daramani. “We’re going to search your house. If we find anything bad, even if we find a little bit of marijuana, you’re going to jail, and the more lies you tell, the longer you’ll be in jail. Do you understand?”