“Oh? What’s going on there?”
“New case. Don’t know if you ever read about the murder of Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo off Cape Three Points.”
Cairo searched his memory for a moment and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the story?”
Dawson gave him a quick rundown, explaining that the case came to CID via petition.
“Hope it goes well for you,” Cairo said sincerely. “You know we all like to have you right here in Accra. It’s a pity you have to leave Hosiah right now.”
“I know,” Dawson said, shaking his head regretfully. “I hate it myself, but Lartey is in no mood to be messed with, and I’m coming up for promotion soon.”
“Audrey and I will have Christine and the boys over at the house or drop in to see them,” Cairo offered.
“Thank you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”
There was a slight pause.
“I saw Papa yesterday,” Cairo said quietly.
Dawson leaned his cheek against his knuckles and fixed his gaze at the floor. “And?”
“He asked for you.”
Dawson grunted noncommittally, and Cairo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Darko, I know there’ve been hard feelings between the two of you, but he’s getting old now, and he’s not going to live forever. I’m just saying maybe it’s time to not so much forget, but to forgive. He does love you.”
Dawson snorted. “You don’t hit the people you love, and whether Papa used his hand or a cane, he hit me a lot. It was never the same for you, since you were his favorite, so maybe you don’t understand, but I didn’t deserve to be treated that way just because I was attached to Mama and a skinny boy who wasn’t good at sports.”
“I think I do understand, Darko.” Cairo sighed heavily, rubbing the fist of his left hand slowly against the palm of his left as he contemplated this still unresolved family predicament. “Papa had a violent streak and he scapegoated you, that’s for sure, but…”
“But what?”
“Isn’t this something of a case of ‘he who is without sin cast the first stone’?”
Dawson looked at him in surprise. “I have never once hit my wife or my kids, and God strike me down if I ever do.”
“I know that,” Cairo said reassuringly. “I’m not talking about your family. You are a caring husband and father, but you haven’t been without violence in your work. A few years ago, especially up until the time you found out the truth about Mama, you were almost out of control-beating suspects up, losing your temper, remember?”
Dawson nodded reluctantly. It was true, and he wouldn’t deny it.
“So, just give it some thought, little bro,” Cairo said with a smile. “That’s all I’m asking. You’re a better person than years ago, so why not add reconciliation with your father to your achievements?”
Dawson took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you.”
They chatted for a while about less weighty things, and then Dawson stood up to leave. “I have to get going.”
“Okay. I’ll see you out.” Cairo wheeled himself beside his brother to the entrance of the shop, and they embraced one more time.
“Be careful in Takoradi,” Cairo said. “We want you back safely.”
DAWSON RODE BACK to his Kaneshie neighborhood home at No. 10 Nim Tree. Cream-colored with olive trim, the house was very small, but it was far superior to the dilapidated police barracks where even officers above Dawson’s rank stayed because they couldn’t afford housing elsewhere in the city. He and Christine were simply lucky that their landlord was a member of her extended family.
The house was deserted since Christine was still out with Sly. Dawson sat on the sofa of the sitting room that adjoined the kitchen and looked through the docket. He made a couple of notes to keep the record up to the minute. He left the folder on the table as he got up to answer a knock on the door. His neighbor needed help unloading some building materials, so Dawson went next door with him and left the docket on the sitting room table. That would turn out to be a terrible mistake.
Chapter 5
ON TUESDAY MORNING, WHILE Christine went off to get Hosiah from the hospital, Dawson spent a few hours at CID tying up loose ends before he left. He was to take the State Transport bus to Takoradi, and he didn’t want to start out too late. However, it was past noon by the time he was heading home on his motorbike, negotiating the clogged, asphyxiating traffic on Ring Road West.
When he finally got home, Christine’s little red car was parked in front, meaning she had returned with the boys. He was eager to see Hosiah back at home from the hospital, and he could spend a little time with him before leaving, but the day was already getting old. At this rate, he might not reach Takoradi before nightfall on one of State Transportation’s chronically late, lumbering buses.
Once inside the house, he sensed something was wrong. Sly was sitting by himself on the sofa looking forlorn.
“What’s wrong?” Dawson asked. “Where are Mama and Hosiah?”
“In the bedroom,” Sly answered, in barely a whisper.
Dawson put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“She’s angry with me.”
“What happened?”
Sly bowed his head even further and wrung his fingers. It didn’t look like the answer was forthcoming, so Dawson proceeded to the bedroom. On most occasions, these upsets were minor. Maybe not this time, he thought, as he heard Hosiah crying. He stopped in the doorway. Christine was sitting on the bed holding her son close as he whimpered and sniffled against her chest. For a panicky moment, Dawson thought perhaps something had gone wrong with his heart condition, but then they would have kept him in hospital, surely?
Dawson’s appearance apparently unleashed a fresh round of tears from Hosiah. He sat on the bed next to his son, who promptly launched into his arms and held on tight. Dawson raised his eyebrows questioningly at Christine. He wished someone would tell him what was going on.
“On Saturday when you went next door,” Christine told him quietly, “you left your docket on the sitting room table. Apparently Sly opened it and saw the picture, and today he told Hosiah about it and frightened him.”
Dawson drew in his breath sharply and closed his eyes for a moment in the painful realization of what had happened. The cardinal rule was that his sons never see any autopsy or murder photographs.
He rubbed Hosiah’s head gently back and forth. That usually comforted him. “Shh. It’s okay. Are you scared?”
The boy nodded. Dawson shifted him to his knee so they were facing each other.
“Tell Daddy why you’re afraid. You have to stop crying, though. Here, blow your nose.”
He held a hanky to Hosiah’s nose and he made a reasonable effort.
“That’s better,” Dawson said. He kissed him on the forehead. “Now what’s wrong?”
Hosiah spoke haltingly as he fiddled with his father’s fingers. “I don’t want you to go to look for the juju man.”
“What juju man?”
“The one who makes people’s heads come off. Sly told me that’s why you’re going to Takoradi.”
“I see,” Dawson said. “You’re scared that there’s a juju man who might hurt Daddy?”
Hosiah nodded, his face beginning to crumple again.
“No, no,” Dawson said, forestalling another teary performance. “No more crying. Listen to me. What Sly saw isn’t because of juju. You know I catch bad people, right?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Okay, so this bad man is just the same as all the other ones I catch. He’s afraid of me, so he’s not going to try to cut off my head. In fact, you know what he’s going to do when he sees me?”