Death by His Grace by Kwei Quartey

Author:Kwei Quartey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime Fiction
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2017-06-23T18:44:37+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Five

By the time Darko and Safo got to Korle Bu Hospital, where Howard-Mills had been a patient on Sunday, the bishop had signed himself out. Darko and Safo proceeded to the bishop’s church on Kotei Robertson Street in North Kaneshie.

The buildings comprising his Qedesh compound resembled three enormous immovable ships at port, all white and spotless in the scorching sun. The windows were circular with dark, robust latticework that invited one to peep in. Perhaps that’s what Howard-Mills wanted.

Darko got directions to the bishop’s office from a passerby, and he and Safo walked across a grassy area with burgundy bougainvillea bushes. Several people sat on benches underneath trees that provided welcome shade. It was the best approximation of a park Darko had seen, and Accra needed more like it.

They approached the smallest of the three buildings. It was open on all sides, unlike the other two. At earsplitting levels, a loudspeaker blasted as a pastor—not Howard-Mills—stood on the stage and chanted a prayer. The pews were less than half full; after all, it was a Tuesday afternoon. In the evening, and even more so that weekend, the space would be packed.

“Jee-sus-uh,” the pastor was growling with ponderous breath that made Darko’s eardrums flutter, “Son of God-uh, teach us the way-uh, banish Sa-tan-uh, take away tempt-ation­-uh—”

“Have you ever been to this church?” Darko asked Safo.

“Only once, sir.”

“Have you met Bishop Howard-Mills?”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen him preach, but never met him. You can’t go to him unless you can afford his consultation fees.”

“How much is that roughly?”

“It can be up to eight hundred cedis.”

Darko whistled. Pricey. He paused to take a good look inside the church. Shrubbery and vines festooned the top rafters, while a massive bouquet decorated the rear of the stage, where, behind the growling pastor stood a man in a dark robe speaking rapidly and quietly into another microphone. It sounded like gibberish.

“What is he saying?” Darko asked Safo.

“He’s speaking in tongues,” she explained.

In the pews, members of the congregation walked back and forth, talking rapidly and gesticulating to themselves as if conversing with unseen beings in some private world.

“Them too?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said. “‘And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.’ Acts two, verse three.”

Darko was impressed. “You know your Bible. Can you also speak in tongues?”

“At times. When the Holy Spirit enables me to do so.”

“I see,” Darko said, studying Safo for a moment. Christine was a believer in God and Christ, but she wasn’t in Safo’s league—not even close.

They continued beyond the building and found the bishop’s office behind it. Safo knocked on a door the same color as the latticework in the windows, and they entered. John Papafio was at the desk in the room and rose when he saw them.

“Inspector Dawson,” he said with a broad smile. “You are welcome.

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