“He was a land and housing inspector for the city,” she explained to Dawson. “Papa, it’s me, Eileen.”
He stared at her, and for a moment realization appeared to dawn in his expression, but then he said, this time in English, “Who are you? You can’t build a house here.”
The caretaker held a spoonful in front of Simon’s mouth and coaxed him. The old man opened his mouth, seemed to accept the akasa, but a few seconds later spat it out in a far-reaching spray.
“Oh, Papa,” Eileen said chidingly. “What am I going to do with you?”
Unperturbed, she wiped her father’s mouth while the caretaker cleaned up the table.
“He’s been doing this spitting thing the whole week,” Eileen said to Dawson. “Don’t ask me why.”
“Can you ask him what happened to his mother and father?”
“All right. I doubt he will answer, but here goes.” She stood closer to him and spoke more slowly. “Papa, what happened to Mummy and Daddy?”
“I can have you arrested for building here,” he said. “I have complete authority. Who are you?”
Eileen sent Dawson a rueful look. “Do you want to try?”
His efforts also proved fruitless as Simon gave him the same repetitive reply and then fell into silence.
She looked regretful. “Sorry. You won’t get much, if anything, out of him.”
“It’s okay,” Dawson said. “I understand.” He was wondering if his father would get to this stage, and with another stab of guilt he realized that Jacob could well be approaching it without Dawson’s knowledge.
Eileen accompanied him to the door. He thanked her for her time.
“Let me know if I can help any further,” she said.
As he returned to the car, he noticed someone getting out of a battered Toyota on the other side of the street, and his blood went cold for a moment as he thought he was seeing the ghost of Charles Smith-Aidoo. He recognized him from the photograph in Charles’s study. Then he realized that the man must be Brian, his brother. They were quite alike. He was walking at a hurried, agitated pace into Eileen’s house. Dawson followed, and by the time he got to the door, she and Brian were locked in an argument. Dawson stood listening to one side of the doorframe.
“I don’t say anything that isn’t true, do I?” she said heatedly. “Just answer my question. Do I?”
“You don’t have to spoil my name in front of my own daughter,” he said sharply. His voice had a nasal, stuffy quality. “You told Sapphire that everything she has become is because of Charles and not me.”
