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  “Yes.”

  “My God.”

  “She conspired with Kweku Ponsu and his bodyguards to have your dad attacked and dumped into the river.”

  For a moment, Derek was silent. Then he said, “That’s so sad, so pitiful. I don’t understand it.”

  “Mrs. Akrofi even targeted two other people she considered a menace,” Emma said. “One was assassinated—presidential candidate Evans-Aidoo, while the other, Sana Sana, escaped the attempt. Again, Derek, I can’t tell you just how deeply sorry I am that this has befallen you and your father.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “You told me how you were almost dumped in the river yourself. Was that Mrs. Akrofi’s doing as well?”

  “No. That was just Mr. Ponsu getting tired of me all on his own.”

  “All on his own?” Derek snorted. “Funny way of putting it.”

  He fell quiet again and Emma gave him a moment before asking, “How do you feel?”

  “I suppose I’ll go through different stages,” he said. “Right now, I feel a kind of satisfaction that these people have been caught, but a sense of sadness and futility as well. But above all, I’m grateful to you for keeping your promise and even risking your own life to get to the bottom of this. I’m forever in your debt. Thank you, Emma.”

  “You’re so welcome. Thank you for bringing the case to us.”

  Thelma opened the door of the director-general’s office to let Emma in.

  Andoh was at his desk talking on the phone. At length, he hung up and looked at the two women in front of him. “Yes?”

  “Do you remember me, sir?” Emma asked.

  He frowned. “I don’t think so. Who are you?”

  “Emma Djan is the name. May I sit, sir?”

  Andoh gestured at a chair on the other side of the desk, but instead of sitting there, Emma picked up the chair and brought it next to him. Then she sat down.

  Andoh moved away. “What are you doing?”

  “Remember in January how close we sat at this desk, and how you put your hand on my thigh?”

  Andoh looked at Thelma. “What is going on? This is outrageous.”

  “And then,” Emma said, standing up, “you asked me to follow you here.” She rose and walked to the door of his secret chamber. “We went inside, you told me to sit in the chair in the middle of the room, and then you attempted to rape me.”

  “Nonsense,” Andoh snapped. He looked at Thelma. “Get her out of here.”

  “But what she says is true, sir,” Thelma said. “I’ve worked for you for many years and learned a lot from you. But what prevents me from wholeheartedly respecting you is what I suspected about how you treat young female recruits—what you do to them. It was that night in January when you attempted to rape Miss Djan that I finally had the evidence. I was returning to the office to get something I had left behind when I heard voices and Emma’s screams. I crouched behind your desk as she came running out, and then I followed her to the washroom and talked to her from the other side of the stall door. I know this happened, sir.”

  Speechless, Andoh stared at them.

  “Thelma and I will be spreading this on social media and TV and radio,” Emma said.

  Andoh looked both incredulous and disdainful. “Who will believe you?”

  “A lot of people,” Emma said. “Especially women. And the way President Bannerman is feeling right now, I suspect he will too.”

  “What do you want?” Andoh demanded. “Money? I can give you money.”

  “No, sir,” Emma said. “We want nothing more than a public confession and apology to the women you’ve assaulted.”

  Andoh snorted. “Stupid. Do you think I will submit to this extortion?”

  Emma pulled out her phone and went to her Facebook page. “You see this, sir?” she said, flipping the phone around so he could see the screen. “I’m prepared to send the information out right now.” She took Andoh’s picture. “Thelma will also post. After that, it will only be a matter of time before many other women you’ve assaulted come forward. You have until tomorrow to make your mind up. If Thelma doesn’t hear from you, we’ll post the alert everywhere.”

  Andoh got up abruptly, knocking his executive chair backward. “Get out.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Emma said. “We’ll be listening for your public revelation and apology tomorrow. Thelma can book your TV appearances, I’m quite sure. Good night, sir.”

  GLOSSARY

  Abolo (ah-BO-low): Slightly fermented, slightly sweet, dumpling-like preparation made from rice and corn flour

  Aburokyire (ah-bu-ro-CHEE-RAY): overseas countries, particularly North America, Europe, etc.

  Akwaaba! (ah-KWAH-bah): Welcome! (Twi)

  Asantehene (ah-san-tay-HAY-NAY): king of the Asante people of Ghana

  Awurade (Ay-woo-rah-DAY): God

  Bola (BOW-lah): Trash, rubbish

  Cedi: Ghanaian monetary unit

  Chaley (cha-LAY): bro, dude, pal, buddy. Also, chale.

  Chale-wote (cha-LAY-wo-tay): flip-flops (literally, “Let’s go, buddy,” for the ease with which one slips on this footwear)

  Chop money: euphemism for bribe

  Ete sen? (eh-tih-SENG): How are you? (Twi)

  Ewe (EH-way): language and peoples of coastal southeastern Ghana (Volta Region) and southern Togo

  Fufu (foo-FOO): staple made by pounding cassava, plantain or yam into a soft glutinous mass. Also available pre-made, simply add water

  Ga: People of the Accra Metropolitan Area and several coastal regions

  Grasscutter: Bush rat, the meat of which is used in soups and stews

  Juju: of and relating to magical powers and the occult

  Kelewele (kay-lay-way-lay): Ripe plantain cut into cubes and deep fried with ginger and other spices

  Kenkey (KEN-kay): staple dish of fermented cornmeal dough

  Kente (ken-TAY): Silk and cotton fabric of interwoven colorful cloth strips, native to the Akan peoples of Ghana

  KIA: Kotoka International Airport (Accra)

  Koraa (krah): At all (Twi)

  Kpakpo (pah-POH): Small (Ga)

  Kwasea (quass-ye-AH): Fool, idiot

  Macho man: Thug

  Mallam (MAL-lam): honorific title for an Islamic scholar

  Medaase (mih-daah-sih): Thank you (Twi)

  Mugu (moo-goo): Scam victim (lit. fool)

  Nkontomire (in-cohn-TOE-me-ray): spinach stew

  Nyame adom (nya-may-A-dome): [By] God’s grace, [I am well.]

  Oburoni (obu-ro-NEE): white person or foreigner

  One-man-thousand: tiny anchovies caught and cooked in large amounts

  Paa (pah): a lot, very much

  Papa (pa-PAH): father (respectful)

  Pesewa (peh-say-wah): monetary unit, 1/100th of a cedi

  Sakawa (sah-kah-wah): Internet fraud backed up by supernatural powers

  Shito (she-TAW): chili pepper sauce

  Tatale (tah-tah-lay): Deep-fried ripe plantain batter, appearing similar to pancakes

  Twi (chwee): Predominant Akan language spoken widely in Ghana

  Waakye (wah-chay): Rice and black-eyed peas

  Acknowledgments

  I am greatly indebted to friend and private investigator Yahya Azure in Accra, Ghana, for helping me research the sakawa phenomenon, a core aspect of this novel. He worked diligently to set up meetings with traditional priests and sakawa boys. In that regard, many thanks to Mallam Salisu Raji and Musah Yahya for their assistance.

  Randy Torgerson, PI, in Los Angeles, generously shared his experiences with cases he investigated while in Ghana.

  Finally, to my terrific editors at Soho Press—Juliet Grames and Rachel Kowal—and to Ben LeRoy, who stood in for Juliet while she was away: thanks for your guidance and collaboration in bringing to life a brand
new African female detective.