They went in the open front door. At a small receptionist’s desk to the left, a man was laboriously writing in a large notebook. He looked up.
“Yes?”
“We’re looking for Dr. Cudjoe?”
“Please, you can try the office,” the man said, pointing across the hall.
Dawson and Chikata went in and found a tech in a khaki jacket looking through a filing cabinet.
“Very sorry,” the man said, in response to Dawson’s inquiry. “Dr. Cudjoe has traveled to Ashanti Region.”
“Do you know when he’ll return?”
“I’m not actually sure. Do you have his mobile number?”
“I have a number for him.”
Dawson brought up the number he had for Cudjoe on his phone and showed it to the man to be sure it was correct.
“Oh, no-it’s five-six-six at the end, not six-five-five.”
Dawson and Chikata exchanged glances but didn’t say anything until they were outside again.
“I bet you superintendent deliberately gave you the wrong number,” Chikata said.
“Perhaps,” Dawson said, inclining his head. “It could be a genuine mistake, though. I can see accidentally switching five-six-six to six-five-five.”
“I can’t,” Chikata said with conviction. “Considering everything else about Hammond’s behavior, I don’t think he made a mistake at all.”
A pretty, young nurse walked past them and Chikata’s head turned as if drawn by a cable.
“Nice,” he commented.
“Not as nice as my wife,” Dawson said.
“Yes, but I can’t have your wife,” Chikata said with a snort.
“True.”
AS THEY RETURNED from the hospital, a thunderstorm began, their first experience of rain in the Western Region. It put Accra’s showers to shame, and to the surprise of Dawson and Chikata, everyone seemed to have large, colorful umbrellas at the ready. In Accra, your umbrella was the nearest building you could find.
After hitting a few puddles, the taxi stalled out, and Dawson and Chikata jumped out to push after the ignition failed several times. The car came to life again after a few shudders, and Baah kept the engine revved while the other two men hopped back in, soaked to the skin.
“Let’s go home,” Dawson said. He didn’t like wet clothes.
THIRTY MINUTES AFTER Dawson was back in a dry outfit at the lodge, his phone vibrated. It was Chikata texting him to say he was coming over from the hotel. Dawson went to the kitchen, opened the door, and looked out. The sergeant was walking up in the pouring rain with a large unfurled red, yellow, and green umbrella.
“Where did you get that?” Dawson asked, as he came in.
