Chapter 5 - A Phone Call from a Dead Man
Solomon's hand hovered over the ringing phone. Miriam saw the caller's name and went pale. The number belonged to Kwame's old mobile, which had never been found after the bridge. She pushed the speaker button before anybody could stop her.
For a moment there was only traffic noise. Then a man's voice said, “Leave the little boy out of this.”
“Who are you?” Miriam demanded.
The call ended. The voice had been rough and distorted, nothing like a clear identification. Solomon called back. The number was unavailable. Miriam asked Emmanuel to preserve the call record and any information the service provider could lawfully supply. Abena took the wooden bird from the mantel and ran her thumb over its crooked wing. She looked less hopeful than frightened.
“Kwame used to say that when Felix came around,” she said. “‘Leave the little boy out of this.’ He said it the night before he vanished.”
“Why didn't you tell us?” Miriam asked.
“Because I wanted you to meet Kojo before you turned him into evidence.” Abena's voice cracked. “He spent today asking whether someone would lock his bedroom door. That's what the last eight years did to our son.”
Miriam looked down. “You're right. He's my nephew before he's anybody's clue.”
The next morning Kojo found a new orange shirt folded beside his bed. Mrs. Dapaah had bought it because he refused to throw away the old one. She had washed the faded shirt and repaired a tear beneath the collar. Kojo held both garments uncertainly. “Can I keep the old one?”
“Of course,” she said. “We don't throw away the things that got us home.”
Miriam took the boy to breakfast while Solomon met an independent accountant, Lydia Owusu. Lydia had reviewed the pages of the blue ledger and matched several listed payments to withdrawals from a company welfare account. The withdrawals were real. The villagers' receipts were not. Someone had also transferred money into an account under Abena's name. Abena had never opened it.
“Felix says this proves she was paid to keep quiet,” Lydia explained. “But the account was opened using an address she left years earlier. The signature matches the forged lease more closely than it matches her genuine handwriting.”
“We need the original bank documents,” Miriam said.
“And evidence showing who controlled the account,” Lydia replied. “A suspicious account is not enough to accuse anyone in public.”
Felix arrived uninvited at lunchtime. His expensive cologne reached the sitting room before he did. He had brought a gift bag with a remote-controlled car for Kojo and a folder for Solomon. “Uncle,” he said warmly, “we have to stop this before the family becomes a spectacle.”
Kojo stood behind Abena. Felix held out the car. “I hear you're fond of toys.”
“I like the one Daddy made.”
Felix's smile tightened. “Your father isn't here, son.”
“I'm not your son.”
Solomon stepped between them. “Leave the gift. Give the folder to Miriam. Then leave my house.”
Felix placed the folder on the table with theatrical care. “A paternity report. Kwame cannot be the boy's father. Your security staff collected a hair sample from the shirt the child wore yesterday. I paid to have it tested so you wouldn't be hurt.”
Abena recoiled. “You stole something from my child's clothes?”
Miriam lifted the report by its edge. “Which child? Where is the chain of custody? Who authorized the collection? You don't get to make a decision about Kojo's identity by waving an unverified paper.”
Felix leaned toward Solomon. “This is how she gets you. First sympathy, then inheritance.”
Solomon glanced toward the boy, whose face had gone rigid. “Kojo,” he said, “you don't have to listen to this.”
But Kojo had already heard. “Does that mean Daddy didn't want me?”
The question silenced the room. Abena knelt and took his face in her hands. “Your father wanted you before you were born, and he loved you every day he had with you. Nobody gets to change that.”
Solomon moved the report out of sight. “And nobody is taking you back to the depot.”
Felix left after Miriam threatened to have security escort him. Lydia examined the report's metadata and noticed that its supposed collection date fell before Solomon had reached the village. It did not establish who the sample came from. Miriam arranged for a properly consented test only after explaining to Abena that kinship might answer one question but would not settle who deserved to love Kojo. Abena agreed, asking that the child not be frightened with another secret procedure.
That evening Solomon carried his son's old workshop photographs into Kojo's room. They looked at pictures of carved chairs, repaired radios, and a little wooden bird with a crooked wing. “Your daddy made it for you,” Solomon said. “He asked me once how to make something last. I told him to buy better wood. He told me I had missed the point.”
Kojo traced the picture. “What was the point?”
“To stay long enough to fix what breaks.”
From the doorway, Abena heard him. For the first time she wondered whether Solomon might be trying to do exactly that. She was about to enter when Mrs. Dapaah appeared with Evelyn's unfinished letter. Its final paragraph was written on the back of a hospital appointment card.
May you like
I saw Kwame after the memorial, Evelyn had written. He was alive. I helped him leave because he said a man in our house would kill Abena and the baby if he stayed.
Below that sentence was a destination and a name: GATE NINE. ASK FOR SAMUEL.
