She straddled him so he felt the heat and softness of her crotch against his rigidity.
She unbuttoned her blouse and unsnapped her bra, exposing her round breasts, succulent yet firm with large, dark areolas that were in shocking contrast with her fair skin. She was unforgivably lovely. Maybe he touched her breasts, maybe he didn’t, but he turned his head away and covered his eyes as she opened undid his belt, and unzipped him. He felt like he was watching himself in a dream from a perch high up on the wall. His head was swirling. She tucked her fingertips in his waistband and gave a gentle tug. He lifted his hips slowly, and she eased his trousers and briefs down. She wrapped her fingers around his stiff shaft and gently stroked up to the tip. It responded, surging up to strike her palm and bouncing back to his belly with a soft thud.
Dawson opened his eyes with a vision of Christine standing across the room.
He gasped. What am I doing?
“No.”
Pushing Fiona off to the side, he scrambled up frantically, hastily stuffing himself back in and zipping his trousers.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry. I can’t.”
She was lying on the floor, staring up at him in bewilderment.
“I can’t,” he stammered. “Sorry. Please go, Doctor. Sorry.”
He left her, went into the bedroom, and shut the door. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head between his hands. He was hyperventilating and his chest was tight. What are you doing? A wave of nausea went through him.
He held his breath, listening for her. Was she still there? For a terrifying instant, he was afraid she would come into the bedroom. Finally, he heard the front door close as she left.
Had he touched her? He might have, but only her breasts. She had made him hard, and he had let her. Was that adultery?
You don’t get involved with anyone in a murder case.
He sprang up with a sudden desire to take a shower, but as he began to remove his clothes, he heard knocking on the door. No, he thought. Was she back? He stood where he was, paralyzed. His phone rang. It was Chikata.
“Dawson, are you there? I’m outside your door.”
What a relief. “Okay, I’m coming.”
He opened up the kitchen door and Chikata came in. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I just saw a woman leaving in tears.”
“Oh,” Dawson said, avoiding Chikata’s eye. “That’s Dr. Smith-Aidoo. We were talking about the case, and she got sad thinking about her aunt and uncle.”
“I see,” Chikata said, regarding him with some curiosity. “She’s beautiful.”
Dawson’s face was burning as he turned away abruptly. “Let’s talk about the case.”
“Sure, but first, how was the underwater training?”
Dawson laughed with relief. “I passed.”
He gave a blow-by-blow account to exclamations of amazement from Chikata.
“So you’re now qualified to visit the rig?”
“Yes,” Dawson said. “I’ll be going in a couple of days.”
They occupied their usual spots at the sitting room table.
“First,” Chikata said, “I went to Axim with Baah to meet this Quashie Quarshie. It took us almost two hours to find him. How this guy could have anything physically to do with the Smith-Aidoos’ murder is hard to imagine. He’s a very small man who had polio as a child. One leg is much shorter than the other, and sometimes he has to use a wheelchair because he’s in pain.”
“What about his personality?”
“He’s very passionate about the organization’s mission statement of sustainable living and protecting the coast from oil pollution and all that, and he says he’s also a pacifist.”
“What about his associates?”
“I thought it was a big organization, but it’s only him and his wife and a part-time accountant, and they work out of a very small office. Quarshie says money is hard to come by these days. The wife was there, but not the accountant. I have his phone number, so I can get in touch with him. They meet once a month-sometimes it’s well attended by fishermen and environmentalists, but other times they have only a few people coming in.”
“Could any of the fishermen or the other attendees have a motive to kill the Smith-Aidoos?” Dawson asked.
“I asked Quarshie that question-I phrased it a little differently-and he said he’s witnessed a lot of anger from some fishermen, but he had contact information for only a few. I can try to track them down tomorrow.”
“Okay, good work. Did you get to Kweku Bonsa, the fetish priest?”
“Yes, but I didn’t talk to him. He was having one of his ceremonies-dancing to the beat of drums, spinning around in a trance while his assistants were sprinkling him with chalk powder. It was going on for hours, and I was told that Bonsa would be too weak afterward to talk to me. They told me to come back tomorrow.”
AFTER A LITTLE more discussion, Chikata left and Dawson hurried to the bathroom to finish what he had been about to do before the interruption. He pulled off his clothes and took a shower. He lathered and rinsed three times, trying to wash the sin away.
Chapter 26
HIS PHONE RANG AND he jerked awake disoriented, unsure what was dream and what was reality.
“Hello?” he said thickly.
“Hi, Dark. Sorry. I woke you.”
Christine. His heart surged and then plunged as he remembered Dr. Smith-Aidoo.
“Yes, I fell asleep. What time is it?”
“Just past eleven. I shouldn’t have called this late.”
“No, it’s okay,” he said, sitting up at the side of the bed.
“How’s everything?”
“Okay, doing okay. Thanks.”
He sensed a split second pause on her part, and he realized he might be sounding strange.
“The boys are fine?” he asked hastily. “No more nightmares?”
“No, thank goodness. Seeing you in Takoradi did wonders. Still, they can’t wait for you to come home.”
“Tell them I will as soon as I can.”
“You didn’t call me today,” she said, “so I just wanted to check on you.”
“Thanks, love. I should have. I apologize.”
“No, it’s all right. Get your rest and take care, okay?”
“I will. And I do love you.”
“I love you too.”
He put his phone down, wondering if Christine had sensed something was amiss. The way he had said, “I do love you” was a bit odd.
HE WOKE SOME time before dawn and sat up in the dark. His head was aching because he hadn’t had anything to eat in over twelve hours. He felt like smoking some wee, but he didn’t have the energy to get up and find any. He fell back in bed, a dark, encircling wall of depression beginning to close in.
WHEN HE AWOKE again, the weather was bright and hot. He looked at his phone, which said 9:25. He groaned, rolled to the edge of the bed, and sat up. He was weak and needed some food. The episode with Dr. Smith-Aidoo came hurtling back with the force of a speeding truck.
IT HAD BEEN a struggle to get out of bed, but Dawson was glad he had. On foot to Abraham’s store, it felt good to be out, especially after having had a large helping of roast plantain and groundnuts that he had bought at the roadside. Sometimes the simple yet filling meal was called “Kofi Broke Man,” because it was dirt cheap.
Dawson was suppressing any memory of his encounter with the doctor. In the light of day, it had an unreal quality. He knew his sex drive had gotten the best of him, but in Sapphire’s case, he sensed it was more complex than that-a misdirected need for physical intimacy had been set on fire when he had offered her comfort in her grief. It was possible that she had not ever received the solace she had needed after the death of her aunt and uncle.
He had called his cousin to say he was coming, so Abraham had been expecting him when he walked into his shop.