Sowah looked resigned. “No, it’s my old friend the gout. He visits me every two months or so.”

Emma didn’t know much about the disease—except that it hurt badly. “Oh, so sorry, sir. Do you have any medicine to take for it?”

“Yes, back home. I need to hurry back to Accra once we’re done here. After we talk to the Volta fishermen.”

“Sir,” Emma said, “why not go home and take care of your foot, please? I will stay here overnight and go to the fishermen early tomorrow. In any case, most fishermen will be out on the river by this time. They return with their catch in the morning. And besides, rain is about to start.”

“You have a point,” Sowah said, looking torn. “You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, sir.” Emma appreciated his concern but felt a little put off. She was a novice yes, but she wasn’t completely helpless.

“I can take you to a couple of the fishing villages along the river,” Labram said to Emma.

“Thank you, sir,” Sowah said. “We appreciate that. Where can she stay around here?”

“There are a couple of hotels we can check with and you take your pick.”

In the end, Emma decided on Benkum Hotel, the same place Mr. Tilson’s driver had stayed. It wasn’t the cheapest available, but it was the best value for the money. The Adome Hotel was frankly awful.

Emma said goodbye to Sowah and wished him luck slaying the gout monster. Early the next morning, Mr. Labram would come around to pick her up and they would set off. As much as Emma admired and adored Sowah, she felt it was time to do some detective work without his being present. In the privacy of her rudimentary motel room, she looked forward to the next day.

Before she went to bed, however, she had two calls to make: one to Derek, but before that, Bruno.

“Sis!” he exclaimed. “Where are you?”

“Atimpoku.”

“Really? What are you doing there?”

“Just investigating something. I have a question for you. Has Nii Kwei or any other sakawa boy ever talked about an American man called Gordon Tilson?”

“No, why?” Bruno said, but Emma detected the slightest of hesitations.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

Emma ignored the question. “But you’ve heard the name, ‘Gordon Tilson,’ right?”

“Well, something like that,” Bruno said vaguely.

“Tell me more.”

“Agh, Sis. You’re killing me.”

“Bruno, come on. I’ve always had your back.”

Her stepbrother groaned.

“Who stood up for you against my father?” Emma pressed ruthlessly.

“You did,” Bruno said wearily.

“Exactly. So, help your sister out. What do you know about Tilson?”

“I can’t say directly, but I can tell you who to ask. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Okay. I accept. Who’s the person we should talk to?”