Free Wife of the Gods by Kwei Quartey Page A

approached
Dawson.
    “Good afternoon, Detective Inspector,” he said. “Can I do
anything for you?” His voice was coarse and sticky, like freshly
laid asphalt.
    Now it was Dawson who was puzzled. “I’m here regarding the
murder case? Gladys Mensah?”
    Fiti looked blank. “I was expecting someone from Ho.”
    “I don’t know much about that part,” Dawson said. “All I was
told by my chief super was that the minister of health wanted Accra
CID to be in charge.”
    “Who is your chief superintendent?”
    “Theophilus Lartey.”
    “Oh, yes. I know him.”
    A trim, clean-shaven, baby-faced man had been hovering behind
Fiti in the doorway of the office, but now he approached
Dawson.
    “Welcome, Detective Inspector,” he said, shaking hands. His
voice was gentle but resilient, like the sensation of soft, wet
grass on bare feet, and his inflection hinted at some significant
stay in England. “I’m Timothy Sowah, program director of the Health
Service AIDS program in the Volta Region. Gladys Mensah was doing
volunteer work with us. She was the best. These past three days
have been horrendous.”
    “Excuse me one minute,” Inspector Fiti said brusquely, returning
to his office and shutting the door.
    “He doesn’t seem very happy I’m here,” Dawson said, lowering his
voice.
    Timothy made a face. “No, he doesn’t.”
    Seconds later they could hear Fiti on the phone asking someone
at the Ho station what was going on.
    “Can I have a word with you outside?” Timothy said to
Dawson.
    They stepped out.
    “Don’t let this on to Inspector Fiti,” Timothy said, “but I had
a lot to do with your being here instead of the chap from Ho.”
    Dawson was surprised. “You did?”
    “Yes. Look, I was worried. I wanted to be sure we got someone
really good on the case. I know the CID chap stationed at Ho, and
I’m sorry, I’m not impressed. I couldn’t take the risk. I really
want this murder solved. So I called the minister, and he agreed to
have Accra handle it. So here you are. Trouble is, I’m sure
everyone thought everyone else was going to inform Inspector
Fiti, and so it ended up no one did. I apologize if I’ve caused a
bit of an incident.”
    “It’s all right,” Dawson said. “At least now I’m clear how it
happened.”
    “Let’s go back inside.”
    Inspector Fiti had emerged from his office again. “Accra CID is
always doing this,” he said bitterly. “They think we can’t handle
our own affairs.”
    “I’m sorry to have caught you unawares, Inspector,” Dawson said.
“I’m here to help, that’s all.”
    Fiti heaved a sigh. “Okay. Anyway, you can come into my
office.”
    It was small and jumbled, as untidy as Inspector Fiti himself.
Tilting stacks of papers on the desk were gathering dust, and there
was more chaos on the floor. There were only two chairs, and Fiti
asked Constable Gyamfi to bring in a third. It was hot and airless
in the room despite the whirring ceiling fan. Squashed close to the
other two men with the door shut, Dawson felt suffocated.
    His first order of business was to let Sowah and the inspector
know the latest, and he told them about the autopsy on Gladys.
    “Strangled ,” Timothy said, looking stunned. “Strangled,
my God.”
    “Do you have the autopsy report?” Inspector Fiti asked.
    “Yes, I do,” Dawson said, handing it over to Fiti, who read it
in silence.
    “I see,” he said curtly when he was done. “I would like to make
a copy.”
    “Of course,” Dawson said.
    Fiti got up and removed some papers from the top of a small
photocopy machine.
    “Can you give me your version of the chronology of the events
around Gladys Mensah’s death, Inspector?” Dawson asked as Fiti
began to copy the first page.
    “Chronology,” Fiti said slowly, as if considering the nuances of
the word.
    “When the body was found and so on.”
    “Yes, I know what the word chronology means,” Fiti
said.
    “I apologize, Inspector.”
    “Today is Tuesday. Gladys