The Heart Knows What It Buries
1173 Words
The road to Accra was long and pulsing with uncertainty.
The city loomed in the distance as Kweku’s unmarked police SUV sped past traffic, the skyline slowly carving itself into the morning haze. The air smelled of rain and heat. Every few minutes, Amara caught herself tapping her fingers against her knee, the same nervous habit she developed during her residency.
They had left St. Felicia’s hospital before dawn. No security detail. No press. No public records of where they were going. Just a name Anita Tetteh and a suspicion stitched into the lining of something much bigger than one man's murder.
Theo’s murder.
The man whose smile had once made her laugh mid-surgery. Whose body she’d watched go cold.
Amara reached into her coat pocket and pulled out Theo’s note again the one with Kwesi Tetteh’s name and read it for the tenth time. Kweku noticed.
“You do that when you're scared?” he asked without looking away from the road.
“Do what?”
“Re-read dead men’s notes like they’ll change.”
Amara gave a tired smile. “Better than re-reading texts from exes.”
He chuckled. “Touché.”
Accra – Airport Residential Area 9:32 A.M.
The Tetteh residence wasn’t what Amara expected. Not a penthouse. Not a mansion. But a discreet, tastefully modern townhouse nestled in the heart of the capital’s diplomatic zone. Clean lines. Shaded windows. A high security gate with no obvious guard, but a silent camera blinking above the buzzer.
Kweku rang once.
A woman answered the door. Early thirties, tall, poised, beautiful in a way that didn’t try too hard. She wore a white button-down blouse, tailored black slacks, and no makeup except for a faint s***h of deep red lipstick. Her hair was braided neatly down her back.
The braid.
Amara stared. Kweku didn’t.
“Miss Anita Tetteh?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said coolly. “I know who you are. I saw the news. Dr. Nartey’s death.”
“Can we come in?”
For a moment, she hesitated. Then nodded.
Inside, the home smelled of lavender and old paper. Books lined the walls medical ethics, Ghanaian law, even a few true crime titles. A soft jazz melody played from a speaker in the corner.
“Would you like water, coffee, or to get straight to the point?” Anita asked, taking a seat.
Amara and Kweku exchanged a glance before sitting across from her.
“Let’s start with your connection to Dr. Theo Nartey,” Kweku said.
Anita crossed her legs slowly. “I met him last year. I was accompanying my father Kwesi Tetteh for a consultation. He had chest pain. Theo offered to check him personally. It was casual… until it wasn’t.”
“You were in a relationship,” Kweku clarified.
Her lips curved faintly. “We were involved. But it was messy. I wanted it kept quiet.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “My father didn’t like him. Thought he was arrogant. Distracted. He wasn’t wrong.”
Amara leaned in. “Did Theo ever mention anything... criminal? About your father’s procedure? Did he do something off-record?”
Anita’s eyes darkened. “He operated on my father privately. My father paid him directly.”
“Why?”
“Because my father was wanted in three countries for corruption and embezzlement. He couldn’t afford to be registered in a government system. He was hiding.”
Amara blinked. “And Theo helped him?”
Anita gave a bitter laugh. “He didn’t know at first. But when he found out, it was too late. He asked me to convince my father to turn himself in.”
Kweku sat back. “That didn’t go well.”
“No,” Anita whispered. “It didn’t.”
Flashback – 11 Months Ago
Theo paced the rooftop of St. Felicia’s, phone clenched in his hand.
“I helped your father because I thought he was just private not dirty,” he snapped into the call. “Now I’m an accessory.”
Anita’s voice was cold. “You could walk away.”
“I can’t. I used hospital instruments. He’s not even stable he needs post-op care. What if he dies?”
“I’ll handle it.”
Theo exhaled. “Anita… he’s going to get me killed.”
Present
Amara sat frozen.
“Did your father threaten him?” she asked quietly.
Anita’s voice softened. “He warned Theo to keep quiet. Told him what would happen if the word got out.”
Kweku leaned forward. “Where is your father now?”
Anita hesitated.
“I don’t know,” she said. “He disappeared three weeks ago. Packed his things. Left behind his phone. I haven’t heard from him since.”
Kweku narrowed his eyes. “Did you report it?”
“No.” She stood slowly. “Because you don’t report a man like Kwesi Tetteh. You just pray he doesn’t report you.”
Moments Later – Outside
Amara and Kweku stood near the car, the engine idling low. The Accra sun pressed down on them in waves.
“She’s lying,” Amara muttered.
“About what?”
“She knows where her father is. Or who he contacted.”
Kweku nodded. “Agreed. But we can’t prove it… yet.”
As he opened the door, his phone rang.
“Fordjour.”
He paused. Listened.
Then cursed.
“Say that again?”
Amara leaned in.
He hung up.
“That was the forensics unit,” he said. “The glove we found in the hospital?”
She nodded.
“They got a partial DNA match.”
“Whose?”
Kweku looked her straight in the eyes.
“Not Anita. You.”
St. Felicia’s Hospital – Later That Evening
Amara stormed down the corridor, fury building behind her ribs like a second heartbeat. Her ID had been suspended. Her office locked. Staff stared. Whispers trailed her like perfume.
Her DNA? On the glove?
Impossible.
She burst into the lounge where Lydia and two other nurses were seated.
“Which one of you planted it?” she asked.
They all turned.
“What are you talking about?” Lydia stood.
“The glove. Found outside the file room. Covered in blood. With my DNA.”
Lydia’s face twisted in horror. “No. That’s not Amara, I would never”
“Someone wants me out of this hospital.”
“Or out of the investigation,” came Kweku’s voice from the door. He entered slowly, holding up a photo from the security backup.
It was grainy, but it was clear enough.
It showed a woman in scrubs, braid, gloves leaving the surgical wing. But beside her, hidden in shadow, was a second figure.
Tall. Male.
Unmistakable.
Dr. Kwabena Sarpong.
Elsewhere – That Night
The same dark room. A different set of gloves burn now.
This time, a voice spoke aloud:
“They weren’t supposed to find the file.”
A shadow moved in the doorway answering.
“Then we move faster.”
- Writer
