“Morning, morning,” Emma said brightly to her coworkers. She tried to put the best face on it.

They replied without much enthusiasm as Emma took a seat at the table she shared with several colleagues. The whole unit was depressed and depressing. She tackled the folder at the top of her file—dreary records about this complainant and that defendant. She wished she was Homicide Detective Constable Djan. “DC Djan” had a nice ring.

When she had first joined CID as a recruit in the CCU, she had begun working with her officemates with reasonable keenness. They showed her the ropes, but with scant hand-holding. “This is like this, and that is like that; now get to work.” In only her third week in the unit, it hit Emma right between the eyes that she couldn’t possibly continue this. She was dying a slow death in boredom purgatory. Several days followed during which she drummed up the courage to approach her superior officer, Inspector Kuma, in his office, which wasn’t much more than a small space in the corner of the unit.

“Yes?” he had asked irritably as she knocked on his open door. He was youthful in the face and rotund in the body. Too much banku.

Emma came forward to a respectable distance from Kuma’s desk, deferentially keeping her hands behind her back. “Please, sir,” she whispered, “I want to know if I can also train in the Homicide Division.” She didn’t dare say “transfer to Homicide,” because it would sound like she didn’t like Inspector Kuma or his department—which was true but not a good thought to express out loud.

“What?” he snapped. “Train in Homicide? What is wrong with you? You think you can just go wherever you like? Why do you want to do that?”

“Please, I like it,” Emma said.

“How do you know? Have you been a homicide detective before?”

“No please, but my father was one.”

“So, because he was in Homicide, you think you know you will like it?” Kuma laughed. “It’s in the blood, is that what you are trying to say?”

“Yes please.”

“Who is your father?”

“Chief Superintendent Emmanuel Djan. He passed away six years ago.”

“Oh, sorry,” Kuma said, with a surprising amount of sympathy in his tone. “Where was he stationed?”

“At Kumasi—Manhyia District Headquarters.”

“Did he know our director?”

By that, Kuma meant Commissioner Alex Andoh, the director-general of CID. Next to the inspector general of police, he was one of the most powerful and influential men in the police hierarchy. “Director-General” was his position, while “Commissioner” was his police rank and the titles were used interchangeably.

“Please, I’m not sure,” Emma said, her fingers twisting around each other behind her. “I don’t think so.”

“Look, Constable Djan,” Kuma said, “you can’t just change your department like that, eh? Maybe one of your father’s associates can talk to DCOP Laryea in charge of recruit assignments, but as for me, I can’t help you. Sorry.”

“Okay, sir. Thank you, sir.”