Kwei Quartey - Children of the Street

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Botswe,” Dawson said tautly.

“You’re very welcome, Inspector.”

His hands jammed in his pockets, Dawson walked out feeling ridiculous and deflated. Obi was in the driveway putting two yams, a bag of charcoal, and a small, brand-new charcoal stove into the back of his pickup.

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

“Afternoon, Obi.”

“Please, is everything okay?” Obi said. “You look sad.”

“Oh, not at all,” Dawson said with forced brightness. “I’m doing fine, thank you. Going home?”

“Yes, please,” Obi said, smiling. He gestured at the items in his pickup. “I will be cooking for my family this evening.”

“So I see. Have a nice time, then.”

“Thank you, sir. Good evening.”

Chikata looked inquiringly at Dawson as he got back in the car.

“We’re taking him back home,” Dawson said quietly.

“So you confirmed my alibi, Inspector?” Austin said eagerly from the backseat.

“Yes, I confirmed it.”

“Oh, that is really terrific. Thank you so much.”

As Baidoo started the ignition, Austin said brightly, “On the way home, can I discuss the four murder cases with you for my paper?”

In unison, Dawson and Chikata replied, “No!”

Akosua had given in to necessity. Last night had been her first time as an ashawo at Nkrumah Circle. She had gone to the Beverly Hills Hotel with the client. It took him only about seven minutes to finish. For Akosua, it had been joyless and painful.

But here she was again tonight, soliciting at Nkrumah Circle. She had a kind of numbness of mind, hardly able to believe that this was what she was doing with her life now.

A pickup truck pulled up in front of her, and the driver called out, “Hello, beautiful one.”

She leaned tentatively down to the passenger window.

“What is your name?” he asked her. He was good-looking.

“Jasmine.” That was the name she’d decided on.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you. What is your name too?”

“You can call me Chosen. Because I am.”

“How can I make you happy, Chosen?”

“I want you to come to my house for the whole night.”

“Why not let’s go rather to a nice hotel instead?”

“I give you sixty cedis to come to my house, Jasmine.”

Was he serious? That was an outstanding price.

“Look, if you don’t believe me,” Chosen said, “I give you twenty cedis right now if you get in the car, and the rest when we are finished.”

Akosua got in.

Chosen smiled at her. “Thank you. Here.” He gave her twenty cedis.

They drove off.

“I noticed you because you are so beautiful,” he said.

She smiled shyly.

“Are you from Accra?” he asked.

“No, from Kumasi.”

“You live on the street?”

“Yes. I was staying in my stepfather’s house, but he told me not to come back there without money.”

“Well, I think with the money you make tonight, you’ll be able to go back, not so?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said happily. She could hardly believe her luck.

He was driving on Ring Road West toward Obetsebi-Lamptey Circle.

“Where is your house, Chosen?”

“In Jamestown,” he said.

Dawson was drowsily sprawled across the bed half undressed when Christine came out of the shower.

“Look at you,” she said. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were drunk.”

Dawson grunted. “I’m defeated, not drunk.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle tomorrow. Go and have your shower.”

Dawson rolled over onto his back. “You know those small charcoal stoves with the grate on top and the air inlet on the side?”

“Yes, what about them?”

“Did your mom ever use one of those in addition to her regular stove?”

“No, but my granny did. Why?”

“Today when we were leaving Dr. Botswe’s house, his manservant Obi was loading up some stuff in his pickup and he had one of those stoves he said he was going to use to cook tonight. But later I remembered he had told me Dr. Botswe had bought him a gas stove years ago, so I was wondering why he’d need the charcoal.”

“I have no idea,” Christine said. “Why is it so important?”

“It’s not really. My mind is just wandering.”

“I remember Granny once burned herself with the grate of one of those charcoal stoves,” Christine said. “Branded her skin with a pattern of lines that looked like jail bars.”

Dawson sat up. “Jail bars,” he repeated. What was it about the bars of a jail? He caught his breath. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no.” He leapt to his feet.

“What is it, Dark?”

Dawson pulled on his shoes but left his shirttails flying. “Have to go.” He kissed her. “I love you more than you even know.”

As Dawson moved off in Christine’s car, he called Dr. Botswe with a question. Nobody picked up. Dawson’s next call was to Chikata. No answer.

He was at Obetsebi-Lamptey Circle now. He took Ring Road West toward Jamestown.

Chikata called him back within five minutes.

“Is Baidoo close by with the jeep?” Dawson asked him.

“Yes, he lives in the same barracks as me, and the jeep is parked here.”

“Meet me at Jamestown near the fire station-around where I took Tedamm down.”

“What’s going on?”

“Can’t talk right now. Just come as quickly as possible.”

Dawson slowed as he came to the edge of Jamestown east of the fire station. He pulled over to the side, mounting the curb, and got out his flashlight, although he didn’t switch it on just yet. A nice sea breeze seemed to be directing the smell of the lagoon away from Dawson, which he appreciated. He ran to the second building along the border of the no-building zone. It was the shuttered Woodcrest Services gypsum and acoustic tiling factory. In a tight alley along its right side, Dawson saw a black pickup truck parked. He went to the front door of the factory, which faced the east bank of the lagoon. It was sealed with a strong padlock. No way he could get through that. How do I get into this place?

Dawson pressed his ear against the door but didn’t hear anything. He trotted around to the left side of the building, praying, praying there was an opening somewhere.

He switched on his flashlight now. Thirty meters away, there was an overflow channel built off the lagoon to help reduce flooding in the rainy season. Agbogbloshie was on the other side of the channel.

Dawson turned his attention back to the building, walking along the wall with his flashlight on. Not a single window . But there was a door. It was wooden, shut solid with a dead bolt. He couldn’t do anything with that either.

He jumped as he saw a massive rat appear from nowhere. God, how he hated rats. The creature scampered away. Dawson went a little farther along to see where it had come from. It was an opening in the wall near the ground, a spot where the brick had been damaged a long time ago and never repaired.

He knelt down and put his ear to the opening. He heard a slight whistle of wind, meaning there was cross ventilation. But thin as he was, the aperture was not large enough to get through.

He tugged at the edge of the hole, and some of the brick came away. Encouraged, he pulled and rocked the brick again, and came away with another piece. The hole was higher than wide. If he turned sideways… He got only as far as his hips.

He heard a woman moan. He strained his neck to look around and for the first time detected a faint light coming from a room beyond the one he was halfway into. He wriggled and rocked.

Shit .