15
When Dawson returned home, Christine was getting dinner ready. Hosiah was watching TV in the living room. Dawson’s spirits lifted the instant he saw his son. He picked him up high in the air, suspending him there for a few seconds before bringing him down again.
“How’s my boy?”
“I’m fine, Daddy.”
“Hungry?”
“A little bit.”
“Remember what we said about salt in your food makes your breathing harder?”
“Yes, Daddy. I know I can’t have any salt now.”
“Good boy. TV off in five minutes for dinner, all right?”
Once Hosiah was in bed, stress and lack of sleep began to take their toll on Dawson and Christine. They washed the dishes and put them away with energy flagging fast.
Christine sat down heavily at the table. “By the way, what was all that about, having to run off to CID today?”
Dawson took the chair next to hers. “It had to do with the case I told you about-the boy in the lagoon. First we got a preliminary identification on him as a Musa Zakari, and then we found out that a friend called Daramani had been seen with the victim a day before he was found dead. They brought Daramani in for questioning, and it turns out he and I know each other.”
“Who is he?”
“A guy I arrested years ago for stealing. After he’d done time, I kept in touch with him.”
“I don’t remember your talking about him. What was the interest in him about?”
Dawson rested his palm in hers and fiddled with her fingers. He sighed.
“What’s going on, Dark?”
“We don’t talk about this, but I know you know I have a weakness for marijuana.”
“I do.”
“I used to get together with Daramani and smoke it.”
“Used to?”
“I’ve given it up. I haven’t smoked in five months now.”
“Really?” She jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.”
Dawson laughed. “Thank you.”
“Has it been tough for you?”
“Sometimes the desire pops up. Kind of like a quick jab. But I’m making it.”
“Is it when things get tense at work? Is that what makes you want it?”
“I don’t know, quite honestly.” He looked at her. “How do you feel about it? Why don’t you ever say anything?”
She pursed her lips contemplatively, and that made Dawson suddenly want to kiss her. “Maybe I don’t say anything because I find it difficult to deal with and to sort out,” she said. “I mean, I don’t like the idea of your using wee, and something about it just doesn’t go with your personality. But I don’t see that it makes you any less a good person. On the other hand again, it is a drug, which makes you a drug user, and that sounds so ugly.”
“I agree with you. Look, obviously I’m not proud of it, otherwise I would come home in the evening and announce to you and Hosiah that I’ve had a good smoke today. So that’s why I decided to stop.”
She nodded. “I’m glad. I think sometimes I worried that…”
“That what?”
“That it was Hosiah and me making you so stressed you had to smoke for relief.”
He chuckled, pulling her over to him and wrapping his arms around her. “You’re so silly.” He kissed her. “That’s not it at all. I couldn’t live without you and Hosiah. I love both of you more than anything or anyone in the world. You know that, right?”
“News to me,” she said teasingly and then laughed. “Yes, of course I know that. We love you too.”
He kissed her again.
“Look, Dark,” she said, “I want you to kick the habit, and I want to support you. I don’t know if there’s anything in particular I can do, but if there is, will you please tell me?”
“Thank you, Christine. I will.”
“So anyway,” she said after a moment, “back to Daramani. What happened in the end?”
“Lartey didn’t want me interrogating him because of conflict of interest and all that, so he had Chikata do it. He made a mess of it trying to make the case that Daramani killed Musa because he was jealous of him and his girlfriend.”
“Did they release Daramani?”
“You must be joking. He’s in jail right now, and Chikata went and got a search warrant for his place.”
“Do you think they can get a conviction?”
“I doubt it. He didn’t do the deed, that much I know.”
“Are you going to try to intervene?”
“I don’t think I’ll need to. This is not going anywhere. Let’s go to bed.”
It was as they were about to turn in that Chikata called.
“It’s him, Dawson,” he said, his voice flat with finality.
“What are you talking about?”
“Daramani. We found a knife hidden in his room.”
Dawson’s heart faltered a couple beats. “A knife. What kind of knife? Dinner knife, pocketknife, what?”
“A big knife. Eight inches long, and it looks like there’s blood on it. We’ll send it for DNA testing, but I know it will match Musa’s. Daramani tried to get out of it with some crazy story that he killed a chicken a couple weeks ago to make a stew.” Chikata laughed. “He must think we’re stupid.”
“Why is that so difficult to believe?” Dawson asked testily. “It’s still cheaper to buy a live chicken in Accra than a packaged one from a store. Daramani doesn’t buy his food at ShopRite, you know.”
“I know that,” Chikata said dismissively, “but come on, what a story. Chicken blood.”
“Wait for the DNA, that’s what I’d advise you.”
“Dawson, you always brag about your instincts, but when it’s my instinct, you don’t give me any credit.”
Dawson wanted to say “Because you don’t have any instinct” but changed his mind.
“Wait for the DNA, Chikata,” he said. “That’s all I can say. Good night.”
They’ve delivered the scrap metal to the man in Nima, and now they’re heading back toward Daramani’s place. At night, Nima is full of shadows and dark places. Daramani takes Musa through an alley as a shortcut. When they emerge on the other side, Daramani is the only one pushing the cart. The cargo on the cart is wrapped in a tarpaulin. It’s Musa, dead with a knife in his back. No one pays the slightest attention to Daramani as he pushes his cart down the street in the direction of Korle Lagoon.
Dawson sat up in a cold sweat. He looked around in the darkness. Those first few seconds after his nightmares, the brief transition from the dreamworld to the real, were the scariest.
He got up, changed his wet pajama shirt, and sat on the side of the bed. Christine stirred and turned but didn’t wake up.
Dawson thought about the dream, visualizing Daramani pushing a cart with the dead Musa on it. In the middle of the night, it seemed plausible. In the morning it would not. He cupped his chin in his palm. Why was perception always so different at night?
His mind bounced around. Chikata had wrestled the case away from him. Just like that. Dawson felt impotent. What good was an inspector who gave the case away to his sergeant? Maybe he wasn’t really cut out for this work. He sighed. That tiresome existential crisis was back.