Symphony of Fear 2

The officers moved like trained hounds—methodical, quiet, alert.

Their boots thudded against my tiled floor, leaving muddy footprints in their wake. I watched them turn down the corridor, toward the back rooms of the house—toward Kwesi.

I followed cautiously, my mind spinning with a thousand thoughts.

What if they find him? What if he’s innocent? What if he’s not?

The older officer opened my bedroom door without a word. He swept the torchlight across the room—bed, cupboard, under the table. Empty. He turned to me with the raised eyebrow of suspicion.

“Is anyone else in the house, sir?”

I forced a tired smile. “Just me. I was listening to music… until your knock replaced my trumpet solo.”

The younger one chuckled under his breath. The older didn’t. He pushed past me into the kitchen. Still nothing.

And then…A creak.

From the storeroom.

I broke into a sweat.

They turned in unison, their eyes sharp now.

“Sir, what’s in there?”

“My—my storeroom,” I said, my voice cracking. “Cleaning tools. Old books. Junk.”

Without waiting, the younger officer reached for the handle.

I swallowed hard.

He opened the door. Slowly. The beam of his flashlight pierced the darkness.

Silence.

Nothing moved.

He stepped in and looked around. Buckets. Paint cans. A broken ceiling fan. A rolled-up mat.

And there—beneath a pile of old rags—was Kwesi, holding his breath.

The officer stared for a long second, then turned back to me.

“Empty,” he said.

I nearly collapsed from relief.

The older officer, still suspicious, remained in the corridor.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir. But we advise you—if anyone does come through here, notify us immediately. There’s a reward for information.”

I nodded mutely as they left.

The door shut.

The sirens faded into the night. My body went limp.

I walked slowly back to the storeroom and tapped twice.

Kwesi crawled out, face pale, eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I couldn’t breathe,” he whispered. “I thought they saw me.”

“They almost did,” I said, my voice firmer now.

“You need to tell me the truth. All of it.”

He sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

“It was Kobby,” he said after a pause. “He had a plan—snatch a woman’s bag at Circle.

I didn’t even know what they were doing until I heard her scream.

Then they ran. I ran too. I don’t know why.

Maybe I was scared. Maybe I didn’t want to be the one left behind.”

“And now the police think you’re one of them.”

He nodded.

I looked at him—this child I had once bounced on my knee, now caught in a storm bigger than he could manage.

“Kwesi,” I said slowly, “running makes you look guilty. Hiding makes it worse. But maybe—just maybe—we can fix this. If you're telling the truth, we can still make things right.”

He looked at me with a flicker of hope.

“But we’ll need to be smart. And fast.”

Outside, thunder rumbled again.

The symphony wasn’t over.

But I was no longer just an old man listening to music in the dark.

Now, I was part of the song.

Join me in part 3 when Martey takes a bold step.

Martey Akita,
Farmer, entrepreneur.