Death by His Grace Read online

  As they approached the car park, Darko gave a soft whistle. Scores of white buses were carting in the congregation. A parking official guided Darko into an available space, and he alighted with Christine and Gifty.

  At least three thousand people sat under a massive white tent with overflows on each side. Facing them was the stage on which Bishop Howard-Mills would appear. For the moment, a large choir and a female soloist, all dressed in blue-and-white outfits, were performing an ear-piercing song in Twi all about following Jesus.

  About two-thirds of the distance from the back of the crowd, videographers on a mounted stage were filming the show, no doubt to post later to YouTube and Howard-Mills’s podcast. Darko thought of this event as a show rather than a church service. First, the enormity of the gathering was a spectacle in itself; second, the entertainment aspect: the choir’s singing and dancing performances; third, the star quality of the man this crowd had gathered to see with the anticipation of a child on his birthday.

  A female usher in blue with a white sash around her waist guided Gifty, Christine, and Darko to available seats a few rows in from the periphery of the congregation. Darko let the two women go in before him, and he took the chair on the aisle.

  After two performances from the choir, a Reverend Tagoe came to the podium and asked the congregants to stand for a prayer. As they did so, many closed their eyes and raised their palms skyward as they swayed from side to side. Gifty did the same, but Christine only bowed her head. Darko was on the fence about these actions and didn’t participate. Tagoe went on for quite a while and then told the congregation to sit down for his sermon on how to clothe oneself in the armor of the Lord.

  “Satan lurks at every corner of the street, in every room in your home and office,” Tagoe said. “He throws distractions and temptations at you to make you stumble and fall off the path in which God wants you to walk.”

  After another song by the choir, Tagoe introduced Bishop Howard-Mills and welcomed him to the stage amidst thunderous, ecstatic applause from the standing congregation. The bishop took in his ovation, looking back and forth over the crowd, waving in acknowledgment. He wore his trademark long blue top with a thin gold stripe running down the side and a mini-microphone on the collar. He had no swagger, but he was confident and composed, imparting reassurance. Stepping to the lectern, he placed his Bible on it. “Thank you, dearest brothers and sisters in Christ. Father, guide us by your mighty spirit today. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  “Amen!” the congregation chorused.

  “You may be seated.” His voice seemed deeper than Darko remembered from when he had met the bishop at Kate’s crime scene, and the slight echo effect from the sound system rendered his tone Godlike and commanding.

  Darko heard not a whisper or stir as everyone waited for the first word from Howard-Mills. “‘You shall not murder,’” he began. “‘You shall not murder.’ That is what the Sixth Commandment tells us.” He sauntered along the edge of the stage. “Very simple. You shall not murder. And yet, murderers are among us.”

  The crowd shifted uncomfortably.

  “Oh, yes!” the bishop said with a hint of a smile. “I know what’s happening.” He switched to Twi for a moment. “Without moving your lips, you are trying to tell the person next to you that maybe the bishop has gone mad.”

  The congregation burst into collective laughter.

  Christine looked at Darko, who smiled, acknowledging that Howard-Mills knew how to deliver a line.

  “But now, let us be serious,” the bishop continued. “Why do I say murderers sit among us? Do you remember the story of Cain and Abel?”

  The people murmured their assent.

  Howard-Mills returned to the lectern. “Open your Bibles to Genesis, chapter four.”

  Those with Bibles flipped to the page, and a prolonged rustle went through the crowd like cornstalks in the wind.

  The bishop continued. “Genesis chapter four says, ‘The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.’” Howard-Mills looked up. “Yes, Cain was furious. He had rage in his heart. Cain wasn’t just annoyed like when you miss the bus or the line at the bank is too long. He was enraged. And what else was he feeling besides anger?” The bishop’s finger searched the crowd. “Anybody? Yes, you over there. What else was Cain feeling?”

  A young man about halfway back in the tent stood up. “Jealousy!” he called out.

  “Ah, yes!” Howard-Mills pivoted on his feet a quarter circle. “Correct. Give that gentleman a hand.”

  The congregation clapped, some of them smiling at the young man.

  “Anger,” Howard-Mills continued. “Jealousy. These terrible feelings had taken over Cain’s body. They had occupied him like a monster, and now they were devouring him from the inside. But brothers and sisters in Christ, what are anger and jealousy but tools of the devil?” He raised his voice. “Blessed Jesus, descend upon this gathering and banish Satan. Banish him!”

  The congregation leaped to its feet shouting, “Amen!”

  “Verse six,” Howard-Mills continued when everyone had sat down and become quiet again. “‘Then the LORD said to Cain, Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.’ Listen to the Lord, my brothers and sisters! He says, ‘Sin is crouching at your door. It desires to have you.’ Yes, sin—Satan—desires to have you. It wants to jump out at you the moment you leave yourself open. Listen to the Lord, hallelujah!”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “The Lord says, ‘Sin desires to have you, but you must rule over it.’” Howard-Mills growled the last part, and his followers jumped up shouting, cheering, and praising the Lord and his beloved bishop. Darko saw a good few tearful with emotion.

  Howard-Mills looked joyful, even radiant. “You see, before Cain planned to kill his brother, he wasn’t even aware he was going to commit murder. Proverbs 25:28 says, ‘A man without self-control is like a city broken into and left without walls.’ Those walls are supposed to keep Satan out, but now they are broken, and this is how he finds his way into your soul and leads you into temptation and all manner of evil.”

  Howard-Mills came down from the stage, in keeping with his custom of mixing with the congregation. Security guards on each side of the flight of steps kept a wary eye out. Darko supposed the bishop had had his share of fanatic followers throwing themselves at him and getting out of control.

  “All manner of evil,” he repeated, beginning to walk down the aisle one over from where Darko sat. “Like Cain, that evil can even lead to murder. And I have something sorrowful to tell you today as we gather to worship the Lord. Yesterday one of our very own beloved followers of Christ became a victim of murder, and therefore, my heart is heavy. Her name is Katherine Vanderpuye.”

  A gasp went through the congregation. Christine stiffened and sat up. Darko looked at her as if to say, Did you know he was going to mention this? She shook her head.

  Howard-Mills went on. “Many of you knew her for her beautiful smile and her generous soul. We will pray for her today, and I ask you to remember her and her dear family in your prayers this entire week.”

  The bishop took one of the transverse rows to Darko’s aisle, down which he continued to walk away from the stage. “We don’t know who did this terrible thing to our precious Kate,” he said, his tone soft now. “We ask God to guide the police in their investigations and bring this man, this monster who committed this terrible crime, to justice. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Christine’s face clouded, and Darko was afraid she might break down. He took her hand surreptitiously and squeezed it.

  “Proverbs 15:29 says,” Howard-Mills continued, “‘The LORD i
s far from the wicked, but he hears the prayer of the righteous.’ So pray for Kate, and pray for the one who murdered her, that he or she may come forward and confess.”

  Darko heard a stir in the row on the other side of the aisle, and both Darko and Christine glanced over. A man in his late twenties dressed in a dark green shirt and black pants was leaving, and fellow congregants were making way for him, looking a little irritated at why the guy had to depart this minute.

  Darko didn’t give the disturbance much attention, but he noticed Christine was watching the man with a look of shock.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered to her.

  “I saw him opposite Kate’s house yesterday,” she told Darko in his ear. “He stood there staring at me.”

  “Really?” Darko said, looking at the man again. He didn’t remember him. “Are you sure?”

  Christine nodded. “Same clothes.”

  Darko shrugged. “Could be a neighbor.”

  Christine shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  The man left by a side exit. Still distracted, Christine returned to listening to the bishop, who had almost arrived at their spot.

  “Hey!” one of the security guards in the rear shouted. Everyone turned. The strange guy in the dark green had returned and was running up to the bishop with the guard in pursuit. Howard-Mills, unruffled as the man kneeled before him, waved the guard away.

  Members of the congregation stirred, leaned in to the aisle to stare, or stood up in their seats, wondering what was happening. Darko came forward to the edge of his seat.

  The man spoke. “‘Thou shalt not kill,” he said. “But vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’”

  “Please,” Howard-Mills said into the microphone, raising his hand to quiet the crowd. “My brother here says, ‘Thou shalt not kill, but vengeance is mine, “I will repay,” says the Lord.” He was almost soothing as he knelt down beside the man. “My brother, what is troubling you? What have you done?”

  As soon as the man raised a hand toward the bishop’s neck, the security guards leaped forward to grab him. But his grip was powerful, and now it was evident that a struggle had broken out, with Howard-Mills fighting to get away from the man as the guards tried to pull him off. A scream rose from the crowd as people got to their feet and chairs began to scatter. Darko pulled Christine and Gifty into the aisle. “Get out of here!”

  “What’s happening?” Christine cried.

  “I don’t know,” Darko shouted. “Just go!”

  Christine took her mother’s hand, and they made for the exit, looking back repeatedly.

  Darko moved closer to the bishop. The tumult around him had grown. For an instant, a parting between the bishop and his assailant occurred, and Darko caught a glimpse of Howard-Mills. He wore a dazed, shocked expression as people dragged him away to safety. He touched the side of his neck where blood was pouring. He looked at his palm in disbelief. Then as a collective scream of horror rose from the congregation, his legs buckled, and he toppled sideways onto the ground.

  Darko moved, shoving people aside as he made his way forward. He was trying to get to the bishop’s attacker, not Howard-Mills. Ghanaian vigilante justice was about to take place, and if Christine was correct that this man had been present around Kate’s home yesterday, Darko wanted him alive and conscious.

  Someone had wrestled a knife away from the man, and people began to punch and kick him.

  “Stop!” Darko yelled, trying to pull them back. He deflected some punches but took the brunt of others as he managed to get on top of the bishop’s assailant. Confusion and screaming continued as Darko sustained the blows and kicks to his head meant for the man in the green shirt.

  One of the guards managed to take control. “Heh!” he shouted at the crowd. “Get back!”

  The mob pulled away, but the chaos had not subsided yet.

  “Don’t move,” Darko said into the man’s ear. “What’s your name?”

  “Peter Amalba.”

  “Peter Amalba, my name is Chief Inspector Dawson. You are under arrest.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Darko sat on the toilet lid as Christine examined his bruised torso. Hosiah and Sly leaned against the bathroom doorjamb watching.

  “Daddy, your ribs are swollen,” Sly observed with concern.

  “They are,” Christine agreed. “I think they might have broken a couple of them.”

  “I don’t think so,” Darko said lightly. “I can move quite okay.”

  He nonchalantly did a body twist but stopped with a gasp as pain shot through his side.

  “Yes, quite okay, I see,” Christine said. “Be careful! You have to take it easy the next few days.”

  “I’ll just be aware of the pain more if I do that,” Darko said, gingerly touching his puffy right cheek struck during the commotion.

  “Animals!” Christine said. “They could have killed you. Let me do that cut on your face. Be still, Dark!”

  He squirmed as she cleaned the wound.

  Hosiah came closer, putting his hand on his father’s knee. “Sorry, Daddy,” he said, looking pained. “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s not too bad, son. Don’t worry.”

  “Will you put a plaster on it, Mama?” Hosiah asked Christine.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, can I put it on?” Hosiah asked eagerly.

  “Okay, but wash your hands first.”

  Once he had done that, Christine gave him the plaster and showed him how to apply it to his father’s cheek without contaminating the inside surface.

  “Thank you, Hosiah,” Darko said.

  “No, Doctor Hosiah,” he said, laughing.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Doctor.”

  “Can me and Sly go outside to play?”

  “Sly and I,” Darko corrected. “Yes, you may.”

  The two boys disappeared, jostling each other.

  “So what happens next now that you’ve charged Amalba?” Christine asked.

  “I’ll question him first thing in the morning,” Darko said. “But I need to know you’re certain that’s the guy you saw yesterday in front of Kate’s house.”

  “I’ve told you twice—yes, I am. I can’t forget that expression in the guy’s bloodshot eyes. He seemed to be staring right through me.”

  “Did he seem agitated?”

  “No, calm. Or maybe he was agitated inside; I don’t know.”

  “Did you notice any red or brown spots on the man’s skin or clothing—anything that might have been blood?”

  “No, I didn’t. His top and pants were dark.”

  “And to your recollection, have you ever seen him anywhere else?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Darko felt odd questioning her this way. He put his shirt back on, wincing whenever he made a bad move.

  “So then you’re taking the case?” Christine said.

  “I’m not sure,” Darko said irritably

  “You just said you’re going to interrogate the man tomorrow about the murder, didn’t you?”

  He sighed. “Yes, I did say that. Have you finished patching me up?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  They went back to the sitting room, where Gifty was on the sofa checking her phone.

  “Any news on the bishop’s condition?” Christine asked her.

  “I just got a text from a friend. They say the stab wound wasn’t that deep, and he’s now stable at Korle Bu Hospital. Looks like he will be all right, thanks be to God.”

  “Praise Him,” Christine agreed.

  “Are you okay?” Gifty asked Darko.

  “A few broken ribs, that’s all,” he said, easing into a chair.

  “You should see a doctor,” Gifty said. “I know someone who punctured her lungs when her ribs broke after
a fall.”

  “Neither of those things is going to happen,” Darko retorted. “I’m not going to the doctor, and my ribs are not going to puncture my lungs.”

  She grunted and crossed her legs with the message, Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  Christine sat down and put her head back. “What a weekend this has been.”

  Darko agreed. “Something I’ve been wondering. Did either of you know—or guess—Bishop Howard-Mills was going to talk about Kate’s death this morning?”

  “I didn’t,” Christine said. “It took me by surprise.”

  “How did you feel about it?” Darko asked.

  “Conflicted,” she said. “Bishop Howard-Mills was trying to honor her memory, but . . . But it was too soon.”

  “Well, maybe in talking about the murder, he was trying to coax Kate’s killer out of the congregation,” Gifty suggested. “Maybe it worked. The guy who attacked the bishop could be the same one who killed Kate.”

  “But why did he say, ‘thou shalt not kill’?” Christine asked.

  “He’s a madman,” Gifty said with a shrug. “He doesn’t think in the same logical way as you or I would. His thinking is disordered.”

  So is yours, Darko thought.

  Christine looked at Darko. “What’s your opinion?”

  “I don’t have one at this point,” he replied, gazing at the ceiling, where a water spot revealed a leak in the roof. He would have to mend it before the rains came around again. He sat up again. “However, getting back to a question I asked earlier, Mama, did you suggest to the bishop that he should talk about the murder at church?”

  She looked uncomfortable. “I might have mentioned it.”

  “In other words, you did,” Darko said.

  “I didn’t tell him to,” Gifty said. “I suggested it.”

  “When?” Darko asked.

  “After he left Kate’s house yesterday, I called him back, and we had a chat.”

  “You called him back?” Darko said.

  “Pardon?”