“Good afternoon, madam,” he said, standing from his chair. “I hope you’re feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking a seat slowly, as if she had suddenly aged decades. “Well, I mostly feel numb, really.”

Araba came in to give Josephine a glass of water and then left. Emma took a seat in a chair to Laryea’s right.

“Sincere condolences for your loss, madam,” he said. “He was a fine SWAT officer.”

“Yes,” Josephine said, staring at the floor, her water untouched. “Why would he kill himself? I just don’t understand.” She looked at Emma in anguish. “You knew Edwin. Did he tell you anything? I mean, was something troubling him? If you know, please tell me.”

“Mrs. Akrofi,” Emma started, “this is very difficult. Edwin was living with a lot of pain.”

She looked surprised. “Pain? What pain? How?”

“It started when, as a child, he was sent away to live with his aunt in Techiman.”

Josephine reacted quickly. “But it wasn’t my decision.”

“Oh, Madam Josephine,” Emma said, smiling kindly at her, “I’m not leveling any accusations or criticisms against you. We’re talking about Edwin now. Up till the time he died, he felt banished and abandoned, whether justifiably or not, by both you and his father.”

“But I supported him,” Josephine objected, her voice rising. “I sent him money regularly.”

“What he needed from you more than that,” Emma said, “was love. Remember what he said today before he took his life: he had never felt that the money you supported him with represented your love for him; he felt it was your guilt. Guilt over your sending him away to Techiman to stay with your sister, guilt over your not letting him back into your life. In his mind, you were keeping him away with the financial support. You never lost the shame your mother laid on you for having a child out of wedlock.”

“I felt no shame at all,” Josephine denied. “None. Edwin was always welcome.”

She refuses to admit the truth, Emma thought.

“Madam Akrofi,” Laryea took up, “during our attempts to make Edwin put down his weapon, he made reference to your having made him do something. Do you know what he meant by that?”

“I made him do something?” Josephine was evidently nonplussed. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember him saying that. It’s all a blur now. A terrible blur.” Tears trailed down her face.

Emma snatched a couple of tissues from the box on the center table, handed them to the IGP’s wife, and sat next to her.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Josephine whimpered, almost to herself. “My husband is gone; my son is dead. My world has collapsed.”