Hosiah nodded. He wasn’t troubled.
Dawson thanked the matron and followed Dr. Smith-Aidoo to a private room not in use. It was comfortably air-conditioned. Two chairs were available next to the neatly made-up bed. They sat down facing each other. She crossed one elegant leg over the other. He could not help staring at her hazel eyes. They were clear and bright, but he could see a certain sadness hanging within them like clouds marring the sun.
“I’m very sorry about what happened to your aunt and uncle,” he said.
“Thank you. I’m grateful you’re taking the case. To tell you the truth, I’ve been in Accra this week to personally pressure the director general of CID and Chief Superintendent Lartey. I didn’t want to take the risk that the written petition would not be enough.”
“As you see it, Doctor, what has been the problem with the investigation so far?”
“I have nothing whatsoever against Superintendent Hammond,” she said emphatically. “I like him personally, but obviously he needs help. He has had four months and has made not even a single arrest.”
“You’re aware that there’s no guarantee that I’ll solve it either?”
“No guarantees, but I have faith in you.”
“Thank you. You were very close to Charles and Fiona, Doctor?”
Her eyes softened. “They meant everything to me. My father, Brian Smith-Aidoo, is Uncle Charles’s brother, but Auntie Fio and Uncle Charles really brought me up.”
Not uncommon in Ghana, where the extended family’s role is prominent, Dawson reflected, but in a murder case, it could be a crucial detail.
“How did that come about?” he asked.
“My mother is a schizophrenic,” she said matter-of-factly. “By the time I was eight, she had become so violent that my father could barely manage her. She particularly picked on me. Once she almost strangled me, and on another occasion she fractured my forearm by twisting it.” She winced, as if she were living through the experience again. “My father asked Uncle Charles and Auntie Fio if they would take care of me for a while. He kept my brother, Trevor, with him. Eventually he had my mother institutionalized at a psychiatric hospital in Manchester.”
“Manchester? Why there?”
“It’s her hometown. My mother is English. No way her family, or my father for that matter, would put her in the psychiatric hospital in Accra.” She grimaced. “Have you ever been inside there?”
“Once, while on a case.”
“Then you know how deplorable the conditions are. To say it’s medieval would be too kind. After my mother was sent to England, Daddy wanted me back, but by then I was almost thirteen and so attached to Auntie Fio and Uncle Charles, and vice versa. They didn’t want to give me up.” She shook her head with regret. “I believe that’s when the rivalry between Uncle Charles and my father started. Uncle Charles was protective and possessive of me. In the five years I was with him, Daddy didn’t come around that much, and so my uncle asked him in effect, ‘Where have you been all this time?’ ”
