Dawson’s phone buzzed, and he went out to the corridor to take the call. It was his junior partner, Detective Sergeant Philip Chikata.
“Where you dey?” Chikata asked in fashionable pidgin.
“I’m at the hospital.”
“How is Hosiah?”
“Fine, so far. He’s a strong boy.”
“He is. Can I visit him tomorrow?”
“For sure, no problem. He’ll be happy to see you.”
“How long will they keep him?”
“They say he can go home on Tuesday.”
“Okay.” The sergeant paused. “Listen, my uncle will be calling you soon.”
Chikata was the nephew of Chief Superintendent Lartey, Dawson’s boss. Lartey doted on his nephew, who sometimes acted as a messenger between him and Dawson.
“What’s going on?” Dawson asked.
“He wants you back at work on Monday.”
Dawson’s eyebrows shot up. “But I’m on leave,” he protested, his voice sharpening.
“I know, but he says an urgent case has come up.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not exactly, but I know it’s in Takoradi.”
“Takoradi!”
“Yah. I wanted to let you know before he calls you, so you won’t be too shocked.”
Dawson heaved a sigh. “Okay. Thank you for warning me.”
He ended the call and returned to the ward. Hosiah had finished lunch and gone back to sleep. At his bedside, Christine looked up from her romance novel.
“You don’t look too happy. Who was that on the phone?”
Dawson sat down, reaching over to tilt her novel up so he could see the cover. “Honestly, what do these men have that I don’t?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Christine said enigmatically. “So, who called you?”
“Chikata. He says Lartey wants me back at work on Monday.”
She stiffened visibly. “Why? For what?”
“A new case. In Tadi.”
“Takoradi!” She put the book down and dropped her voice to a sharp whisper. “No, you can’t do this. Hosiah needs us both right now.”
“I know.”
“Why does Lartey always do this?” She demanded furiosly. “What is wrong with that man?”
“You’re asking me?” Dawson said gloomily.
“He’s your boss, isn’t he?” She snapped.
“He could be my twin brother, and I still wouldn’t understand him.”
“You can’t go,” Christine said, shaking her head vigorously. “You simply cannot.”
She snatched up her novel. Dawson, sensing a looming crisis, said nothing. He was praying something would come up miraculously to change the chief superintendent’s mind. However, when Lartey called within half an hour, Dawson had a sinking feeling.
“Massa,” he answered in the colloquial but respectful manner of addressing a senior officer. “Good afternoon, massa.”
