The Missing American Read online

  Emma went in cautiously and saw it was a small bathroom and changing area in the middle of which was a chair with a cushioned seat and cane back.

  “This is my private chamber,” Andoh said. “Sometimes I need to change into ceremonial clothes for visiting dignitaries.”

  “Yes please,” Emma said. “It’s nice.”

  “Please sit over there.” He pointed to the chair.

  “Sir?”

  “Sit down on the chair.”

  Emma did so uneasily, not clear what was going on. Andoh approached her.

  “You remember how I said you must perform well to my satisfaction?” he said, caressing her face.

  Oh God, she thought. Please, not this.

  He circled around to the back of the chair. “Well, now is the time.”

  She went rigid as his heavy hand slipped into her blouse, fondling one breast, and then the other. His finger wormed into her bra to stroke her nipple back and forth like a windshield wiper.

  “Your skin is so soft and beautiful,” he said, breathing heavily. “If all goes well, you can start in the Homicide Division tomorrow, okay? I’m sure you will work out there very well.”

  Emma let out a whimper. “Please sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “I beg you, sir.”

  He chortled. “Beg me for what? To make love to you?”

  She began to cry.

  “Why are you crying?” he demanded. “What are the tears for? Are you a small girl?” He sounded annoyed. “Stand up. Come on, stand up.”

  Emma covered her face in shame, hyperventilating as Andoh unbuttoned her blouse. His jowls were in her face. He tried to kiss her, but she pulled her head back. He tugged his pants and shorts down to his thighs. She caught a glimpse of his erect penis and turned her head away quickly, utterly mortified and repulsed.

  “Take off your dress,” he ordered.

  She shook her head, pleading with him. “No please. I beg you, sir.”

  “Stop this,” he said, his tone becoming harsh. “Do what I say.”

  He pulled her forcefully to the ground with one hand and began working her dress up with the other. Emma resisted. He leaned on her, his big body suppressing her struggles.

  What was happening? Why was this happening? Her panic rose to a crescendo and she screamed.

  “No one can hear you,” Andoh muttered. “If you try to tell anyone about this, they won’t believe you and you will be disgraced.”

  He was trying to tug her underwear down, but that didn’t work, so he tore it instead. Emma looked away, weeping as he grunted and huffed, moving his big body into position. She remembered what Daddy had said. Go for his eyes, his balls.

  “Let me take off my dress properly for you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can do it for you, sir.”

  Andoh pulled back, appearing surprised at her apparent new willingness. He lifted his weight off her, freeing up her hands. Like a striking cobra, she jabbed her right index finger into his left eye socket hard and quick. He recoiled with a gasp of pain and fell back, his hand pressed over the left side of his face. Emma jumped up, nearly falling as she bolted for the door. The commissioner lay on the floor bellowing like a wounded cow. Run, she told herself. Run.

  Without looking back or shutting the door behind her, Emma exited Andoh’s office into the dim, deserted corridor, along which ran open louver windows and mosquito netting. Outside, darkness had fallen.

  She ran down the stairs. Most everyone had gone home, but one or two people coming up in the opposite direction gave her a curious look. The women’s bathroom on the second floor was open. She went into a stall, locked it, threw up in the bowl, and then leaned weakly against one wall. She was bewildered. Was this real?

  Her hands were shaking as she tried to button up her blouse. She broke down, taking deep whooping breaths between each cycle of sobs.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice said from the other side of the door.

  Emma held her breath to stop crying, but small whimpers still escaped her throat. The woman knocked on the stall door gently. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m, I’m fine,” Emma stammered.

  “What’s wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  Emma struggled to lighten her voice. “No, madam, everything is fine. It’s just . . . well, I’ve received some bad news. A relative has died.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, sounding like she didn’t believe it. “Can I help you somehow? It seems like you’re hurt.”

  “No, no please, I’m all right.”

  The woman was silent for a moment. “All right,” she said finally. “Take care, okay? And I’m sorry for what happened.”

  “Thank you, madam.”

  The woman left. As warm as it was in the uncooled bathroom—none had air conditioning—Emma began to shiver so violently it frightened her.

  Now, she wanted to leave, but she was terrified she might bump into Andoh coming down the stairs. Briefly, she began to cry again, but then she pulled herself together. She had to get out of here. Tiptoeing to the bathroom door, she opened it slightly and listened for a long time. Nothing—no footsteps. The commissioner had likely departed.

  Go now, she told herself.

  She flew down the steps, almost tripping at one point. When she got to the ground floor, she half ran to the security gate, but slowed down as she got there in order to look somewhat normal.

  “Good night,” she said to the sentry with forced cheerfulness.

  He responded with a disinterested nod. The sentries were never particularly friendly.

  Emma stood at the side of Ring Road East feeling paralyzed and unreal. She was barely aware of the rush of evening traffic, the tro-tro mates yelling out, and the buzz of pedestrians making their way home.

  Emma’s ferocious shivering began again. She was in profound shock. Her vision darkened and she felt herself spinning. And then she collapsed.

  NINE

  At almost the same instant Emma hit the ground, she regained consciousness, but she was momentarily confused. What was going on? Why had everyone crowded around her?

  “You fainted,” a woman said. “Are you okay?”

  Emma tried to scramble up, but the woman made her stay down. “Relax, eh? Relax, please.”

  “She should go to the hospital,” a man said.

  “Can you take her?” the woman asked him.

  “Yes,” he said. “My car is just here. I can bring it.”

  “No, no,” Emma protested. “No, I’m fine. Please, I just want to go home. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine,” the woman insisted.

  “It’s, it’s because I didn’t eat the whole day,” Emma offered, grasping for any justification at all. This was embarrassing—all these people staring at her.

  “She can drink this,” someone else said, producing a can of Milo chocolate milk. He popped the top and offered it to her.

  Emma sat up now and took the can. She hated chocolate milk, but she drank it anyway.

  “Better?” the woman asked.

  Emma nodded. “Please, I’d like to get up now.”

  They helped her to her feet. For a moment she felt unsteady, but she recovered quickly. “Where do you live?” the woman asked her.

  “Madina. I’ll take a cab there.”

  “I will get one for you,” the Milo man said. “Just wait, please.”

  He flagged down a cab and opened the rear door. The woman helped Emma in. “Thank you very much, madam,” Emma said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Be careful, eh?” the woman said. “When you get home, eat plenty banku.” They both laughed.

  At home, Emma showered, lathering up several times with her most fragrant soap until she was sure she couldn’t detect the commissioner’s odor on her. But she felt dirty sitting at
the side of her bed, her short, nappy hair still wet. She shuddered. She had no desire to eat banku, as the kind woman had suggested, or anything else for that matter. She didn’t want to eat, sleep, watch TV, or socialize on Instagram. Emma didn’t want to do anything. She sat unmoving in the silent room like a block of wood—lifeless and empty. She was confused. She couldn’t sort out what had occurred. It was as if she were looking at a pile of twisted, knotted ropes that she had no idea how to untangle.

  She lay down, leaving the light on, but the incident began to replay in her head, so she sat up to shake it. After thirty minutes in a kind of suspended, undefined state, Emma tried to sleep again. A couple of hours later, she jerked awake gasping and looking around for the rapist. She cried again, and then went to the kitchen to make some tea, dunking sweet bread in it. When she finished, she folded her arms on the table and rested her head. She woke again and took herself to bed.

  Before five, the nightmare repeated and she rose, grateful the morning was finally here.

  In the tro-tro, Emma felt detached and outside herself. Her hearing seemed muffled, as if her cranium was full of cotton balls—dull and muted. The passenger beside her had to nudge her to make her aware that the mate was holding out his hand for the fare. She alighted on Ring Road East and crossed to the CID building. She didn’t want to look up at the seventh floor. As she went up the steps to the second, she was gripped with apprehension that Commissioner Andoh might be behind her or coming down in the opposite direction.

  When Emma got to her unit, she avoided making eye contact with her coworkers, muttering good morning in a subdued tone quite unlike her. She could feel the curious glances, the double takes, and quite irrationally she felt as though her coworkers might be able to tell that she had been violated. Maybe somehow the whole of CID knew? Tears welled up and she felt humiliation engulf her. She wished she could stay in hiding at home but calling in sick wasn’t an option at the GPS—unless you had an iron-clad doctor’s note to back you up.

  Inspector Kuma came in at 10:30 a.m. In her peripheral vision she watched to see if he was looking at her, but he didn’t seem to be. At 10:45 a.m., when he called her into his office and told her to shut the door and take a seat, Emma knew something bad was about to take place. She kept her eyes down, but she stole a glance at Kuma to find him looking at her with distaste. He knows, she thought.

  “I did everything I could to help you,” Kuma said, “and then you turn around and speak badly of me and DCOP Laryea to Commissioner Andoh.”

  Emma was bewildered. “But please, I didn’t say anything against you. Or the DCOP.”

  “You are a liar,” Kuma said, curling his lip. “I don’t like liars. What a disgrace. We don’t tolerate the likes of you in my department. The DCOP wants to see you in his office right now. He will speak to you, and then as of today, you will no longer be working at CID. Whatever personal belongings you have here, take them with you and get out.”

  Emma left the inspector’s office trying to hold back her tears, but everyone in the unit could tell she was crying. The room was quiet as a church and all eyes followed her first to her desk where she retrieved her backpack, and then to the door as she left with a crushing feeling of shame.

  It seemed a long trek to DCOP Laryea’s office. She knocked and entered at his command. When he saw her tearstained face and puffy eyes, he looked alarmed.

  “Sit down, Djan,” he said, rising from his chair.

  Emma did so and began immediately to weep, her face buried in her palms. Laryea pulled his chair around from behind the desk and sat down about a meter away from her, waiting quietly until she was able to reign in her emotions somewhat.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay.” Laryea leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “But what is going on? The director called me this morning to say you cast aspersions upon me and Inspector Kuma, and that you were in general very disrespectful when you spoke to him yesterday evening. Why did you do that?”

  “But I didn’t, sir!” Emma said, outrage finding its way into her voice for the first time. “Please, I never did.”

  Anger was rising to replace anguish now because she was beginning to see clearly that Andoh was simply taking revenge against her. He had offered her a position in Homicide in return for sex, but she had not complied. In addition, she had injured his eye.

  Laryea studied her. “Then, what happened when you went to see Commissioner Andoh?” he asked quietly.

  Emma hesitated. On no account would she ever reveal the truth, for who would believe her? Even to her, when the incident flashed through her mind, it seemed unreal or impossible. All this morning during eerie moments of self-doubt, she wondered if she was recalling the event accurately. Worst of all, people might say she was a temptress who had deliberately aroused the man. With heavy guilt, she thought about how closely she had sat next to the commissioner at his desk. She should not have done that.

  “I was—” she began, and then rephrased. “Maybe I didn’t show Commissioner Andoh enough respect.”

  Laryea frowned. “How or why would that be the case? If anything, you are beyond respectful. How many ‘sirs’ and ‘pleases’ can you pack in one sentence?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, looking down at her hands as her fingers twisted around one another. Laryea watched her for a few moments. She did not meet his gaze.

  “Something happened,” the DCOP said finally. “I don’t know exactly what and you don’t have to tell me, but something did happen.” He took a breath and heaved a sigh. “Nevertheless, I regret to say that on orders of the director, I have to relieve you of your duties. As of now, you are no longer an employee of the Ghana Police Service and you are disallowed from ever holding a position in the organization. Is that clear?”

  Emma’s eyes were still downcast. “Yes, sir.”

  “You are dismissed.”

  Emma rose slowly and walked to the door with her mind leaden, static, and without direction.

  “Wait a minute,” Laryea said. She turned. The DCOP, his up-pointing right index finger suspended, was pondering.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Something has just occurred to me.” Laryea stared at her intently. “Would you be interested in becoming a private investigator?”

  Emma was unclear. “Please, I don’t quite get you, sir. Private investigator?”

  “I have a friend, Yemo Sowah, who owns a private detective agency in Accra,” Laryea said steadily. “He might be able to employ you. I think you would be good at it.”

  Emma felt a surge of interest—eagerness, even. “Please, what do they do there?”

  “Mostly missing persons, marital infidelity, theft, gathering evidence for lawyers, and so on. Not many homicides, to be honest, but at least you can do detective work.”

  “Yes please,” Emma said with a sudden, big smile.

  “But I’m not guaranteeing you will get a job, Djan,” Laryea said hastily. “I’m just saying maybe. I will call him first, and if he’s interested, he’ll get in touch with you.”

  “Thank you very much, sir.” Emma’s voice shook. “You have really tried to help me. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. God bless you.”

  Laryea brushed it aside. “Not at all. Look, the best of luck to you, wherever your destiny might take you.”

  TEN

  January 9

  Nii delivered Susan’s panties and a lock of her hair to Ponsu in a small, clear plastic bag. The priest nodded approval. The two chickens Nii had brought along were squawking from the inside of an old rice sack. Ponsu looked inside and grabbed one of the fowls—a dirty white hen that lost a few feathers as it struggled to get away. Pressing the hen down on a flat stone, Ponsu quickly cut its head off. The creature’s legs and wings went through a series of violent spasms.

  “Stand there,” he said to Nii, pointing
at a spot in the courtyard, around which several dwellings were built. The occupants looked on with interest.

  Holding the chicken’s neck down, Ponsu made a circle of blood around Nii, finally laying the bird at Nii’s feet.

  The second chicken got different treatment. First, its beak was tied firmly shut with a length of twine. After its decapitation, Ponsu let it run around like a cavorting drunkard until it collapsed in the dirt. He looked at the severed head and then turned to Nii. “Tonight, you come with me to the Awudome Cemetery.”

  They arrived past one o’clock in the morning. The sound of traffic from nearby Ring Road West was soft compared to the daytime tumult. Nii didn’t like cemeteries, and certainly not in the dead of night. He was shivering, not from cold but from fear. Ponsu, leading the way with the anemic beam of a mobile phone, appeared unaffected. He had obviously been to Awudome Cemetery several times. It was a huge expanse of land, but the priest appeared to know where he was going. Nii followed him in lockstep to preclude even the slightest chance that he lose sight of the priest and find himself lost in the dark among the dead. The crosses and headstones were dark shadows and Nii could have sworn he saw some of them moving. Every so often, he stiffened and looked behind him as he thought he heard something or someone moving in the brush.

  At last, Ponsu stopped at the corner of the cemetery closest to Awudome Road. “Dig a hole here for the chicken head,” he instructed Nii, handing him a crudely fashioned wooden trowel.

  Nii went to work. Ponsu’s phone light was fading with its waning battery.

  “It’s okay,” Ponsu said, once Nii had dug deeply enough. “Stand there.”

  Nii went rigid as he saw where Ponsu was pointing. “Please, you want me to stand on the grave?”

  “Yes. The chicken’s beak is tied so that your sakawa victims can never say no to you. They will try, but they won’t be able to resist, no matter how much money you ask them for. So, you must stand on a grave and have no fear.”

  Nii tried not to appear flustered, but his legs were shaking the entire time he stood on that gravestone, and it seemed an eternity before Ponsu allowed him to get down.