EIGHT

Deputy commissioner of police (DCOP) is among the top ranks in the GPS, and so for Emma it was nerve-wracking to face Cleophus Laryea in his expansive, fifth-floor office chilled by an efficient air conditioner high up on the wall. Receding, patchy hair and a face lined with creases confirmed his seniority. A pair of spectacles perched halfway down his broad nose, and when he looked up over them, his eyes were intense and piercing.

“Be seated, Constable Djan,” he said quietly, pointing at one of a pair of chairs in front of his desk. She sat down without a word and waited, her heart in her stomach. She suspected this was about her request to move to Homicide, but was it going to be good news or bad?

“I have heard from Commander Seidu in Kumasi on two occasions now,” Laryea began, his voice as deep as a village borehole. “He informed me of your interest in working in the Homicide Division.” He looked over his spectacles. “Is that still the case?”

“Yes please, sir,” Emma said.

“He spoke very highly of your father.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Why do you want to work in Homicide?”

“Please, as I followed my father’s work until the day he died, I came to learn the ways of working as a detective, and I liked it very much. I have wanted to do it for a long time. I feel the connection with people is stronger and more important than . . .”

Laryea removed his glasses. “Than what?”

Emma squirmed. “Than what I’m doing now,” she said in barely a whisper.

His eyes sliced through her. “Are you having any kind of conflicts or difficulties in the CCU you wish to tell me about?”

“No please,” Emma said hurriedly. “Everything is fine.”

Laryea nodded. “I asked Inspector Kuma about you and he said you are a diligent worker.”

Emma’s heart fluttered. Maybe Kuma wasn’t so bad after all. “Thank you, sir.”

“I will approve your transfer to Homicide,” Laryea said. “As a matter of fact, they do need some female presence, and so that will be good.”

“Thank you, sir,” Emma said, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Was there a but coming?

“But,” Laryea said, “the final decision lies with Commissioner Andoh.”

“Yes please,” Emma said, her elation beginning to dissipate.

“I’ve discussed it with him already.” Laryea looked at his watch. “It may be too late, but let me see if he’s in the office and if he can see you now.”

Emma’s disquiet spiraled into outright terror. She was to meet Commissioner Andoh in person? For a junior officer like her, the director-general was God himself.

Laryea got on his mobile and after a few seconds said, “Yes, sir. I have interviewed her. Yes, I believe she is, but of course, it is ultimately your decision. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He put away his phone and looked back at Emma. “He says you can go up now.” Laryea must have detected her anxiety. “Don’t be fearful, Djan. The director would never summon you if he wasn’t open to your request. You should understand that.”

“Yes please,” she said, slightly reassured but no less nervous.

“Just be yourself, as you have been with me and you’ll be okay.”

“Yes please. Thank you very much, sir.”

Like an anxious mountain climber, Emma went up two flights to the seventh floor, the summit of the CID building. Sergeant Thelma Bright, Commissioner Andoh’s decades-long assistant, showed Emma into the room. It was, as she had expected, larger than any other she had seen at CID. The carpet was plush. Pictures of the commissioner—one a full portrait by himself, the others with various luminaries including Ghana’s president—adorned the walls.

Andoh’s desk was dark, polished, and massive. Half a dozen chairs were arranged in a line about three meters away from it. Part of the director-general’s role was to give audience to select members of the public who had a particularly serious matter or grievance to bring to his attention.

In size, the commissioner matched his desk and the large, leather executive chair that supported his heft. Resplendent in a dark blue uniform with impressive insignia on his chest and epaulets, he was writing something, and he didn’t look up.

“Sit down there, please,” Bright said to Emma, indicating one of the chairs.

Emma didn’t make a sound as she took a seat. She realized she was holding her breath. Bright remained standing with her hands respectfully behind her back.

After a short while, the commissioner glanced up at her, but not at Emma. “You may go, Thelma. Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

Thelma left, closing the door quietly behind her. Andoh continued to write as if Emma were not there. Then he capped his pen, leaned back, and looked her over. Like Laryea, he was graying, but his face was much pudgier, with heavy jowls. “Yes, Constable Djan. How can I help you?”

Emma didn’t know how to begin.

Andoh saved her the trouble. “DCOP Laryea tells me you want to transfer to the Homicide Division. Do you know you can’t do whatever you want here at CID?”

“Yes please,” she whispered.

“You think you’re special just because your father was a homicide detective?” He sounded contemptuous, which made Emma want to shrink.

“No please.”

“Eh? Speak up.”

“No, sir.”

“How do you think you will personally benefit the Homicide Division?”

Emma was undecided on how to answer. Should she continue to cower or speak her mind? “Please, I understand there aren’t many women in that unit.”

He pressed his lips together. “That’s your reason?”

“Please, I believe it’s my destiny.”

Andoh looked incredulous for a moment and then began to laugh. “You are funny,” he said. “Funny and naïve. But one thing is that you are motivated, and that is good.”

Emma felt a small wave of relief.

“If you are to get this position,” Andoh said, “then you must perform well and to my satisfaction. Do you understand?”

“Yes please. I will.”

He inclined his head. “Are you sure you can look at dead bodies? You look too soft.”

“No please,” Emma said with a tinge of indignation. “I’m not soft.”

“Come here and let me show you some photographs of homicide crime scenes and we will see how you react,” the commissioner said. “Bring the chair over with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Emma sat to his left and he brought a laptop in front of them from the right side of the desk. After some clicks, he brought up several gruesome photographs—people butchered to death by blunt force or deep machete wounds; a woman with her throat cut almost clean through; a man hanging from a tree branch.

“These are all real cases the Homicide Division has seen,” Andoh said, looking at her. “How do you find them?”

Emma was leaning forward with fascination. “This one has a very personal signature,” she murmured, pointing at the woman with the severed neck. “Maybe her husband or boyfriend, or a family member.”

“You know about signature,” Andoh said, clearly surprised. He nodded. “Anyway, you are correct. In fact, it was the husband who murdered her. He thought she was committing adultery with the neighbor. Good job.”

“Thank you, sir,” Emma said. Her heart was racing with excitement. He seemed impressed. This was working out beyond her dreams.

“What about this one?” he asked, clicking to another image and at the same time resting his large hand on Emma’s right thigh. She flinched, startled. The commissioner’s attitude toward her had transformed. Now he was friendly, even intimate. Perhaps he was just being kind, but she felt uncomfortable.

“Constable Djan?” he pressed, and his hand shifted a little higher on her thigh. “What do you think?”

“Well,” she said, flustered and distracted, “from his injuries, it seems he was dragged to the location where he was found.”

Andoh was watching her closely. “Something like that.” He stood up, towering over her. She found him intimidating. “Come with me,” he said.

Uncertain, she rose to follow him to a door in the back of the room that she had not noticed till now. He unlocked it, opened it, and stepped inside. “Come,” he said, as he saw her hesitation.

Emma went in cautiously and saw it was a small bathroom and changing area in the middle of which was a chair with a cushioned seat and cane back.

“This is my private chamber,” Andoh said. “Sometimes I need to change into ceremonial clothes for visiting dignitaries.”

“Yes please,” Emma said. “It’s nice.”

“Please sit over there.” He pointed to the chair.

“Sir?”

“Sit down on the chair.”

Emma did so uneasily, not clear what was going on. Andoh approached her.

“You remember how I said you must perform well to my satisfaction?” he said, caressing her face.

Oh God, she thought. Please, not this.

He circled around to the back of the chair. “Well, now is the time.”

She went rigid as his heavy hand slipped into her blouse, fondling one breast, and then the other. His finger wormed into her bra to stroke her nipple back and forth like a windshield wiper.

“Your skin is so soft and beautiful,” he said, breathing heavily. “If all goes well, you can start in the Homicide Division tomorrow, okay? I’m sure you will work out there very well.”

Emma let out a whimper. “Please sir.”

“What is it?”

“I beg you, sir.”

He chortled. “Beg me for what? To make love to you?”

She began to cry.

“Why are you crying?” he demanded. “What are the tears for? Are you a small girl?” He sounded annoyed. “Stand up. Come on, stand up.”

Emma covered her face in shame, hyperventilating as Andoh unbuttoned her blouse. His jowls were in her face. He tried to kiss her, but she pulled her head back. He tugged his pants and shorts down to his thighs. She caught a glimpse of his erect penis and turned her head away quickly, utterly mortified and repulsed.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered.

She shook her head, pleading with him. “No please. I beg you, sir.”

“Stop this,” he said, his tone becoming harsh. “Do what I say.”

He pulled her forcefully to the ground with one hand and began working her dress up with the other. Emma resisted. He leaned on her, his big body suppressing her struggles.

What was happening? Why was this happening? Her panic rose to a crescendo and she screamed.

“No one can hear you,” Andoh muttered. “If you try to tell anyone about this, they won’t believe you and you will be disgraced.”

He was trying to tug her underwear down, but that didn’t work, so he tore it instead. Emma looked away, weeping as he grunted and huffed, moving his big body into position. She remembered what Daddy had said. Go for his eyes, his balls.

“Let me take off my dress properly for you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I can do it for you, sir.”

Andoh pulled back, appearing surprised at her apparent new willingness. He lifted his weight off her, freeing up her hands. Like a striking cobra, she jabbed her right index finger into his left eye socket hard and quick. He recoiled with a gasp of pain and fell back, his hand pressed over the left side of his face. Emma jumped up, nearly falling as she bolted for the door. The commissioner lay on the floor bellowing like a wounded cow. Run, she told herself. Run.

Without looking back or shutting the door behind her, Emma exited Andoh’s office into the dim, deserted corridor, along which ran open louver windows and mosquito netting. Outside, darkness had fallen.

She ran down the stairs. Most everyone had gone home, but one or two people coming up in the opposite direction gave her a curious look. The women’s bathroom on the second floor was open. She went into a stall, locked it, threw up in the bowl, and then leaned weakly against one wall. She was bewildered. Was this real?

Her hands were shaking as she tried to button up her blouse. She broke down, taking deep whooping breaths between each cycle of sobs.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice said from the other side of the door.

Emma held her breath to stop crying, but small whimpers still escaped her throat. The woman knocked on the stall door gently. “Are you okay?”

“I’m, I’m fine,” Emma stammered.

“What’s wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Emma struggled to lighten her voice. “No, madam, everything is fine. It’s just . . . well, I’ve received some bad news. A relative has died.”

“Oh,” the woman said, sounding like she didn’t believe it. “Can I help you somehow? It seems like you’re hurt.”

“No, no please, I’m all right.”

The woman was silent for a moment. “All right,” she said finally. “Take care, okay? And I’m sorry for what happened.”

“Thank you, madam.”

The woman left. As warm as it was in the uncooled bathroom—none had air conditioning—Emma began to shiver so violently it frightened her.

Now, she wanted to leave, but she was terrified she might bump into Andoh coming down the stairs. Briefly, she began to cry again, but then she pulled herself together. She had to get out of here. Tiptoeing to the bathroom door, she opened it slightly and listened for a long time. Nothing—no footsteps. The commissioner had likely departed.

Go now, she told herself.

She flew down the steps, almost tripping at one point. When she got to the ground floor, she half ran to the security gate, but slowed down as she got there in order to look somewhat normal.

“Good night,” she said to the sentry with forced cheerfulness.

He responded with a disinterested nod. The sentries were never particularly friendly.

Emma stood at the side of Ring Road East feeling paralyzed and unreal. She was barely aware of the rush of evening traffic, the tro-tro mates yelling out, and the buzz of pedestrians making their way home.

Emma’s ferocious shivering began again. She was in profound shock. Her vision darkened and she felt herself spinning. And then she collapsed.