Death by His Grace Page 7

  “Come on,” Darko said. He helped Christine sit up and swing her feet to the floor. “Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Your mother’s here,” Darko said. “She wanted to see you, but I asked her to let you sleep a little longer.”

  Christine stood up, weary even after several hours of sleep. “Okay, I’m coming,” she said, her voice thick. “Let me wash my face.”

  Darko left her and returned to the sitting room where Gifty, Christine’s mother, sat on the sofa waiting. Earlier on, Hosiah and Sly had gone to stay with her for a couple of hours after soccer practice, but once Gifty had received the awful news about Kate, she had kept the boys with her longer.

  This was another of several occasions in which Gifty being there to take care of the children at short notice had been a welcome solution for Darko and Christine in a pinch. Gifty was eager to participate in the life of the Dawsons and particularly when it came to the children. Sometimes, Darko felt she went too far.

  Earlier in Hosiah’s young life, he had suffered from a congenital heart defect. Without the permission of either Darko or Christine, Gifty took the boy to a traditional healer. During the encounter, Hosiah slipped and cut his scalp on the edge of the pan into which the healer was trying to force the boy as part of the ritual. In addition to being outraged over his son’s injury, Darko was furious with his mother-in-law for what he considered her gross overstepping of boundaries.

  Darko would probably never understand why Gifty often tried to control the lives of her grandchildren, but on a psychological level, perhaps her thinking was, “You took my daughter away from me, and so I’ll take your children in exchange.”

  Or maybe Gifty was on a constant quest to disparage her son-in-law. Darko felt she had never liked him much. Her notion of an ideal marriage for Christine had been one to a lawyer or physician, not the policeman Darko was. Every so often, out of sheer meanness, he thought, Gifty would make a snide comment about Darko’s profession.

  “She’ll be out in a minute,” Darko told her, as he sat down opposite Gifty and noted how attractive she was in a pink and white outfit. Christine got her good looks from Gifty, but certainly not her personality.

  “How is she faring after her rest?” Gifty asked.

  “She hasn’t said much,” Darko said. “I hope she’s feeling better, but the shock is still brutal.”

  Christine emerged from the bedroom. Gifty stood up to embrace her, and they both began to cry. Darko looked away. He had never been comfortable with crying.

  Mother and daughter sat down opposite Darko, hugging and rocking each other for several minutes.

  “All will be well, my love,” Gifty whispered.

  Christine sat back, staring at the floor.

  “Okay?” Gifty asked, squeezing her daughter’s hand.

  Christine nodded and looked up. “Where are the boys?”

  “Playing with the kids down the road,” Darko said. “You need to eat something. I made some jollof rice.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “Who would do that to Kate?” she said. “How is it possible?”

  “I think it was a burglary,” Gifty declared. “He got into the house and tried to steal something; Kate caught him, and he attacked her.”

  “Burglars try to get away as quickly as possible, Mama,” Christine murmured. “They don’t want to stay long enough to butcher you to death. Isn’t that correct, Darko?”

  “More or less,” he said.

  “Are you saying it’s personal? Someone Kate knew?”

  “Could be,” Christine said.

  Gifty looked at Darko. “So the official investigation begins on Monday?”

  “It began when we were at the crime scene,” Darko said.

  “Yes, of course,” Gifty said, recovering. “I meant when you assemble your team and so on.”

  Darko frowned. “How do you mean?”

  Gifty looked surprised. “You’re heading the investigation, aren’t you?”

  “I was in charge at the crime scene only because I outranked the first officers,” he explained, “but the case is still officially with the Dzorwulu police.”

  “Do you think Dzorwulu police even know how to conduct a murder investigation?” Gifty asked with disdain.

  “The detective I met at Kate’s house seemed competent,” Darko said.

  “It’s only if they transfer the case to CID Headquarters that Darko will get it,” Christine explained to her mother.

  Darko cleared his throat. “Even then, it’s not a sure thing that they would assign it to me.”

  “But you will push for it,” Gifty said keenly.

  “It’s really out of my hands.”

  Gifty’s eyes narrowed. “A family member has been murdered, and yet you seem quite unconcerned.”

  “On the contrary, I’m very concerned,” Darko said. “And I’m worried about how impartial I would be investigating the murder of someone in the family.”

  “How so?” Gifty said.

  “For instance,” Darko offered, “how awkward would it be if I found out Kate was having an affair.”

  Gifty raised her eyebrows. “Was she?”

  “No!” Christine said, her voice shaking. “She wasn’t that kind of woman! Why would that even enter your mind, Dark? Are you trying to tarnish her?”

  “It was just an example,” Darko protested. “Okay, sorry; it was a poor choice, but you see my point? You’re upset that I said that, but these kinds of revelations come to light all the time when you’re investigating a murder. Would I be comfortable sharing them with you? Maybe not. And that would get in the way of my asking probing questions.”

  The two women were silent for a moment. Christine seemed irritated she had just helped Darko prove his argument.

  “Well, in any case,” Gifty went on, “ask anyone who was in close contact with her—Reverend Atiemo, the bishop, anyone—and I’m certain they will vouch for Kate’s integrity.”

  “Exactly how much contact did she have with Bishop Howard-Mills?” Darko asked. “His assistant told me about the bussell meetings at Kate’s house. Did the bishop attend those?”

  Christine shook her head. “He assigned the junior ministers to them, but rarely went to them himself. Kate’s close connection with Bishop Howard-Mills—I mean beyond ordinary churchgoing—began around late January this year after Aunty Nana went to him to appeal for his help. By that time, things were getting out of control.”

  “Meaning what?” Darko asked.

  “By then, Solomon was leaving Kate alone for days at a time to stay with his parents,” Christine expounded. “Maude and Georgina even went to see Kate while Solomon was away and said awful things to her face. They accused her of being a witch! And then someone started calling Kate anonymously to say the same thing.

  “So after Aunty Nana consulted the bishop, he held a meeting between the two families and started seeing Kate and Solomon together for counseling. After some time, though, Solomon stopped going, which left Kate to go by herself.”

  “I see,” Darko said, forming a clearer picture of events.

  “Kate took comfort and strength from the bishop,” Gifty said. “Don’t you agree, Chrissy?”

  She nodded. “He’s a caring man, and I must say I was glad to see him this morning.”

  Darko sat up. “I’ve been wondering who called him to inform him Katherine was dead.”

  “It certainly wasn’t me,” Christine said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Could be important.” Darko shrugged. “But maybe not.” He stood up. “I’m going to fetch Hosiah and Sly.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darko crossed diagonally at the junction of Nim Tree Road and Nathan Quao Road. The early evening was warm and clinging with barely a breeze. A tro-tro rattled by with the driver’s mate half hanging out of
the door singing out the destination in a robot-like voice. In the yard of the auto repair shop Darko was passing, four men wrestled with an engine block, while just outside St. Theresa’s Catholic Church, a seller had just begun frying kelewele for the evening. The delicious aroma wafted over to Darko, and he decided he would buy some to take home.

  He approached the house where Hosiah and Sly were practicing soccer moves with their friends in the front yard. The tenants, Mr. and Mrs. Tackie, had three sons around the ages of the Dawson boys. For a moment, Darko stood just out of sight to watch them take turns at being the goalie. Sly wasn’t with them, however.

  “Hi, boys,” Darko said, coming in through the squeaky gate.

  They chorused their greeting.

  “Where is Sly?” Darko asked.

  “I don’t know, Daddy,” Hosiah said. “He went somewhere. Watch me.”

  Darko counted as his son kept the ball in the air kicking from one foot to the other ten successive times before he at last lost it to the ground. “Well done!” Darko praised him. “But where’s Sly? Didn’t you see where he went?”

  “Please, I think he went to buy something at Joy’s,” one of Hosiah’s friends said.

  Joy’s was a small, all-purpose store around the corner. Darko looked up and down the pavement. Seconds later, Sly came into view running up the pavement—not from the direction of Joy’s, however. He arrived panting and sweating. “Hello, Daddy.”

  “Hi. Where did you go?”

  “Just to buy something,” Sly said, heading toward his playmates.

  “Wait,” Darko said, pulling him back and wiping off his forehead with a face towel he kept handy to tackle heavy perspiration—many in Ghana did the same. “To buy what?”

  “Malta.” Sly had developed a fondness for the rich, sweet beverage Darko favored. But it was an expensive item for the boy to buy with the minuscule pocket money Darko gave him.

  “You can’t afford Malta,” Darko said.

  “Yes, that’s why I didn’t buy it,” Sly said with a smile. He had straight, thick eyebrows and warm, deep-set, eyes. He was more athletic than many boys older than him.

  “I thought you went to Joy’s,” Darko said, frowning.

  “Oh, yah—no, I was going to, Daddy, but decided to go to the shop down there.”

  “What shop?”

  “The one near the church.”

  “I see,” Darko said, studying Hosiah’s face. His eyes didn’t quite meet Darko’s. “Anyway, cool down. We’re leaving soon, but let me go inside to greet Mr. Tackie.”

  He knocked on the door, and Tackie, wearing an undershirt that didn’t quite cover his beer belly, came out to the porch. He had been watching TV. A big soccer game was about to begin. Darko chatted with him for a minute as they debated Chelsea versus Manchester City.

  But Darko was troubled that Sly had just lied to him. Darko had synesthesia, which caused his senses to cross. Sometimes, when someone told a lie, and his vocal quality changed, Darko detected it as a sensation in his left palm.

  The instant Sly had said, “Just to buy something,” a quick, short stab radiated in Darko’s palm like the bite of a small, annoying dog.

  He bid Mr. Tackie goodbye and summoned Hosiah and Sly. Outside on the street, Darko stopped and turned to them, resting his hands on their shoulders. “I have some sad news to tell you.”

  “What, Daddy?” Hosiah said, his face laced with anxiety.

  “You remember Aunty Kate was going to move this morning, and Mama went to help her?”

  “Yes?”

  “The police found her dead at home.”

  Hosiah’s eyes widened to twice their normal size.

  Sly’s mouth dropped open. “Daddy, what happened to her?”

  “Someone killed her. We don’t know who.”

  Hosiah’s face clouded. “Why would anyone do that to her, Daddy?”

  “That’s what the police are going to find out.”

  “But you’ll find out, won’t you, Daddy?” Hosiah said.

  “Maybe it will be me, or maybe it will be someone else.”

  Hosiah nodded, his eyes wet.

  Darko pulled him close. “Are you okay?”

  The boy nodded, biting his bottom lip.

  “So Mama is sorrowful today,” Darko said. “I want you to be especially nice to her and help her to cheer up, all right? You know what I was thinking? She loves kelewele, so let’s buy some, and we can all eat it tonight.”

  Hosiah’s mood transformed and he let out a cheer of approval. Kelewele was a favorite of his as well.

  Darko dug into his pocket for his wallet and gave a few cedis to his younger son. “Run down to the corner and buy some. We’ll wait for you here.”

  Money in hand, Hosiah ran in big, happy steps down the street to the vendor and waited his turn behind two other customers.

  Darko looked at Sly and cupped his hand at the back of the boy’s neck. “What’s going on? You told me you had gone to buy something, but I know you didn’t. You went to do something else. What was it?”

  Looking down and tracing a toe in the dirt of the unpaved sidewalk, Sly muttered, “But Daddy, I did go to buy something.”

  “Sly.” Darko brought his face close. “Look at me. I don’t like lies. I’m a detective, so people try to lie to me every day. You went to meet someone. Tell me the truth, now.”

  Sly cleared his throat. “Just some friends.”

  “Which friends? From school?”

  “Yes,” Sly said. “I mean, one of them is. The other two are not.”

  “Do I know any of them?”

  “Yes—the one we call Kiddo. On the school team?”

  “Yes, I remember him,” Darko said. Kiddo was about fifteen and a consummate athlete. He was a showoff, with a bevy of male and female admirers who hung on his every word. “Why did you go to meet him and his friends?”

  “They said . . . they said I should come to . . .”

  Darko glanced down the street. Hosiah had the kelewele in a plastic bag and was paying the seller. “To what? Stop delaying. To what?”

  “To smoke weed.”

  Darko went cold. For a moment his vision left him, and he felt like he was swaying like a palm tree in the wind. “And so you went to smoke weed with them?” he said sharply.

  Sly looked distressed. “They were teasing me that I’ve never smoked, so . . .”

  “So you went there to prove yourself?”

  Sly nodded miserably.

  “Did you smoke any?” he asked Sly.

  “I was going to, but I know you don’t want me to do that, so I told them I had to leave, and I ran away. Daddy, I’m very sorry.”

  Darko nodded. “You did the right thing.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Hosiah was on his way back. “I need you to promise me not to mix with those kind of guys again. Hear me?”

  Sly nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

  Hosiah came running up to Darko’s side, a plastic bag of kelewele in hand. “I got it!”

  “Thank you.” Darko poked his nose into the bag to get a whiff of the heavenly, spicy aroma.

  “Can I have a ride, Daddy?”

  “Okay.” Darko stooped down and his son, beaming with delight, clambered up on his father’s shoulders.

  Darko grunted as he stood up. “Hosiah, you’re not a small boy anymore, you know? You’re getting too heavy for me now.”

  The boy laughed.

  Darko loved having his sons close, but this episode with the older one had been unnerving. Sly had been a street child before Darko and Christine had adopted him. He still had a kernel of attraction to what was a little wild and adventurous. That in itself was fine, but not if it was going to lead him to drugs. Should Darko tell Christine about this? No—not now, anyway. She was already dealing with her cousin’s de
ath. That was enough to handle. And as for Sly, Darko would have to be more watchful of him from now on.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Christine was sluggish when she woke up Sunday morning. Darko joined her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  “How are you doing?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “Numb. It doesn’t seem real.”

  He nodded, rubbing her back.

  Her phone rang, and she looked at the screen. “It’s Mama.” She answered. “Hello, Mama. No, I don’t feel like going to church this morning—”

  Darko caught bits of his mother-in-law coaxing her daughter to go.

  Christine tried to argue, but to no avail. She heaved a sigh. “All right. We’ll meet there, then.”

  “What’s going on?” Darko asked her as she put her phone down.

  “Mama says I should go to Bishop Clem’s sermon this morning; that it will uplift me and give me strength. She says I shouldn’t let the anger fester.”

  “Fester?” Darko said. “You’ve barely had time to grieve, and she’s talking about festering,”

  “Dark,” she said with reproach. “You know what she means.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I never do.”

  “Would you come with me to church?” Christine asked him. “Please? I’ll go if you accompany me.”

  Darko was surprised. He rarely went to church. He hadn’t found one he liked—not that he was looking. Sermons often left him cold, and the amount of money pastors made on the backs of their congregations offended him.

  “I’ll feel better if you’re with me,” she pressed.

  “Okay,” he said. “But first, let me see if Cairo will be home this morning so we can drop Sly off there, and then we’ll take Hosiah to Sunday school.”

  Typically, while Christine was at church and Hosiah at Sunday school, Darko stayed home with Sly, who was Muslim.

  Darko called Cairo, who said he had been thinking of going to church but would forego it for this week to watch Sly.

  Bishop Clem Howard-Mills’s congregation gathered at a large venue in a lovely, still underdeveloped area within view of Weija Lake. Huge Howard-Mills billboards lined the unpaved route to the site.