“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.” Laryea leaned forward, forearms on his thighs. “But what is going on? The director called me this morning to say you cast aspersions upon me and Inspector Kuma, and that you were in general very disrespectful when you spoke to him yesterday evening. Why did you do that?”

“But I didn’t, sir!” Emma said, outrage finding its way into her voice for the first time. “Please, I never did.”

Anger was rising to replace anguish now because she was beginning to see clearly that Andoh was simply taking revenge against her. He had offered her a position in Homicide in return for sex, but she had not complied. In addition, she had injured his eye.

Laryea studied her. “Then, what happened when you went to see Commissioner Andoh?” he asked quietly.

Emma hesitated. On no account would she ever reveal the truth, for who would believe her? Even to her, when the incident flashed through her mind, it seemed unreal or impossible. All this morning during eerie moments of self-doubt, she wondered if she was recalling the event accurately. Worst of all, people might say she was a temptress who had deliberately aroused the man. With heavy guilt, she thought about how closely she had sat next to the commissioner at his desk. She should not have done that.

“I was—” she began, and then rephrased. “Maybe I didn’t show Commissioner Andoh enough respect.”

Laryea frowned. “How or why would that be the case? If anything, you are beyond respectful. How many ‘sirs’ and ‘pleases’ can you pack in one sentence?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, looking down at her hands as her fingers twisted around one another. Laryea watched her for a few moments. She did not meet his gaze.

“Something happened,” the DCOP said finally. “I don’t know exactly what and you don’t have to tell me, but something did happen.” He took a breath and heaved a sigh. “Nevertheless, I regret to say that on orders of the director, I have to relieve you of your duties. As of now, you are no longer an employee of the Ghana Police Service and you are disallowed from ever holding a position in the organization. Is that clear?”

Emma’s eyes were still downcast. “Yes, sir.”

“You are dismissed.”

Emma rose slowly and walked to the door with her mind leaden, static, and without direction.

“Wait a minute,” Laryea said. She turned. The DCOP, his up-pointing right index finger suspended, was pondering.

“Yes, sir?”

“Something has just occurred to me.” Laryea stared at her intently. “Would you be interested in becoming a private investigator?”

Emma was unclear. “Please, I don’t quite get you, sir. Private investigator?”

“I have a friend, Yemo Sowah, who owns a private detective agency in Accra,” Laryea said steadily. “He might be able to employ you. I think you would be good at it.”

Emma felt a surge of interest—eagerness, even. “Please, what do they do there?”

“Mostly missing persons, marital infidelity, theft, gathering evidence for lawyers, and so on. Not many homicides, to be honest, but at least you can do detective work.”