At first, Yahya declined to meet up with Emma. “Some lady detective has already come to ask me questions,” he said tersely on the phone.

So, the police had done some work, Emma noted to herself. “Was it Detective Inspector Damptey who talked to you?” she asked.

“Yes, that one,” he said without enthusiasm. “Are you working with her?”

“Not at all,” Emma said, explaining the difference between the agency and the GPS. “Where do you live, sir?”

“Maamobi,” he responded. It was one of Accra’s Zongo neighborhoods—home to predominantly Muslim, Hausa-speaking inhabitants.

“Are you from Upper East Region?” Emma asked, taking a guess as she tried to warm him up.

“Bolga,” he said.

“I love Bolgatanga,” she said, even though she’d never been there. Much poorer than their southern sisters, cities of the north were often given short shrift.

“Is that so?” he said, with new interest in his voice. “When did you go there?”

“Three years now,” Emma said without a second’s thought. That she was lying with such facility was a little disturbing. “Please, my battery is getting low, so can I meet you somewhere in Maamobi to talk? I’m not far away at all.”

He hesitated and gave a short sigh. “Okay. Do you know Maamobi General Hospital?”

“Of course.”

They agreed to meet outside the hospital in a couple of hours. Now, Emma thought, crossing her fingers, if only he’ll show up.

Outside the hospital, a tree with buttress roots provided Emma and Yahya both shade and somewhere to sit. He was a little man, thirtyish, deeply black, and clearly dejected.

“They sacked me from my job,” he told Emma.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Sorry. What happened?”

He shrugged. “Ah, they said because the white man became missing—the one I took to Akosombo—it was my responsibility to keep him safe, so it’s my fault.”

“Ah!” Emma exclaimed in indignation. “How is it your fault?”

“Don’t mind them,” Yahya said, angry now. “It’s because one of the other drivers didn’t like me and he’s the boss’s boyfriend. Just looking for an excuse to sack me.”

“I see,” Emma said. “What a shame. So, are you looking for a new position somewhere?”

He nodded. “Trying to get another driver job. But the market these days? Hm, is not easy, madam.”

True, Emma reflected, the economy did seem stagnant. No money in the system, or more accurately, unequally distributed.

“What happened that morning when you went to pick up Mr. Tilson to take him back to Accra?” she asked Yahya.