Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

“Yes. I wonder if this is the same Lawrence Tetteh who was murdered.”

“Why do you think that?” Hammond asked tensely.

“Could there be a connection between the murder of Tetteh and the killing of the Smith-Aidoos?” Dawson asked coolly. “That’s the question I’ve been wondering myself the past few days.”

Hammond squinted at him. “Do you have the phone with you?”

Dawson took it out of his top pocket and switched it on. He took the screen view to the text message section before handing it to the superintendent.

Seidu went around Hammond’s desk so he could watch as the superintendent scrolled through the messages.

“Okay,” Hammond said, but it came out huskily and he cleared his throat. “I see what you’re saying.”

“Shall I take it to Vodafone to see if they can trace the number, sir?” Seidu asked.

“No, I can take care of it,” Hammond said. “I know one guy over there very well, and he can check it very quickly.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dawson said, pleasantly surprised by Hammond’s apparent willingness to participate.

“Not at all.”

Dawson stood up. “I’m going to look for Kwesi DeSouza at the STMA offices, sir.”

“As I told you,” Hammond said, his coldness returning, “we have looked carefully into his alibi already. Nothing is there. I don’t think it’s necessary to go back to him.”

“Just routine,” Dawson said lightly. “For my own records. You know Chief Superintendent Lartey-he scrutinizes every detail.”

Hammond’s cheek twitched, probably resenting Dawson’s invoking a superior officer, because he couldn’t very well challenge it.

“Also,” Dawson said, “I think I forgot to mention that my assistant, Detective Sergeant Chikata, will be joining me from Accra to help with the investigation.”

Hammond nodded. “Yes, Chief Superintendent Lartey has informed me of that.”

As Dawson was leaving, he kept feeling he had forgotten something, and it was as he was opening the door that he remembered.

“One more thing, sir,” he said, turning with his right hand still on the doorknob. “Mr. Smith-Aidoo’s laptop was never found, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Hammond said. “We believe whoever ambushed his vehicle also stole his laptop.”

Dawson suppressed a wince as a quick stab of pain shot through the palm of his left hand. “I see,” he said, catching his breath. “Thank you.”

Dawson left stunned, because he knew decisively that Superintendent Hammond had just lied about the laptop. The timbre of his voice had changed, not in a way Dawson could consciously define, but enough to trigger his synesthesia and reveal that his superior wasn’t telling the truth. The laptop hadn’t been stolen. The question was, where was it, and what was Hammond trying to hide?

THE STMA WAS AN old, two-story building painted an odd green and subdivided into three sections bordering the car park in a semicircle. A blue-uniformed guard directed Baah to an available parking space. Dawson got out and entered one of the ground floor departments, where a woman directed him upstairs to Kwesi DeSouza’s office. Marked with a sign that read CHIEF EXECUTIVE, it was the very last room at the end of the verandah. Dawson knocked and went in, welcoming the pleasant blast of cold from the air conditioner.

The secretary at the desk told him that DeSouza was in a meeting and Dawson could wait if he had a half-hour to spare. He sat down where she had indicated and used the time to check his phone, replying to a text from Christine asking how he was doing.

He also saw that Dr. Smith-Aidoo had sent him her aunt’s number.

DeSouza’s door opened. Two men came out laughing over a shared joke. DeSouza, burly, bespectacled, and shaved completely bald, was dressed in a short-sleeved white linen shirt with Ghanaian embroidery down the front. After shaking hands with DeSouza, the visitor left.

“What’s next, Susana?” DeSouza said to the secretary.

“Please, there’s someone here to see you.”

Dawson stood up and introduced himself.

“Yes, sir,” DeSouza said. “How can I help you?”

“May I speak with you for a few minutes?”

DeSouza appeared curious and wary. “Come in,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation.

He ushered Dawson into the inner sanctum and then shut the door behind them. It was even colder in there than in the front office.

Dawson chose one of the two chairs in front of the desk and DeSouza went to his on the other side. His office wasn’t opulent, just comfortable.

“So, Inspector, what can I do for you?”

“I’m in Takoradi investigating the murder of Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo. CID Headquarters was petitioned to look into the killings.”

“What, is this a different investigation from Superintendent Hammond’s?”

“It’s complementary to it, I would say.”

“I’ve been questioned by both Hammond and his assistant, and now you want to do the same,” DeSouza said in annoyance. “I’m tired of you guys showing up at my door in the middle of my work. I mean, what is it you’re digging for? I didn’t murder the man or his wife. This should be more than obvious to you by now.”

“I apologize for the repeated intrusions, sir. I realize how irritating it must be, and that isn’t my intention. However, I’m reviewing their investigation, and I have to be thorough. I have no choice.”

DeSouza heaved an exasperated sigh. “All right. What is it you want to know?”

“Just to confirm, Fiona Smith-Aidoo succeeded you as chief executive officer of the STMA in April this year, is that correct?”

“Yes, yes. Isn’t this information already in your files?”

“But once she was dead, the position reverted to you?”

“Look, after her death, I was designated acting chief from July to October, and then a special election was held and I was re-elected.”

“Did you get along well with Mrs. Smith-Aidoo?”

“Oh, here we go again.” DeSouza closed his eyes for a tortured moment. “There are all kinds of stories about the rivalry between Fiona and me, but it’s much ado about nothing, and the notion that I might have plotted and executed her demise just to get this job back is just so ridiculous.”

“You were on the radio-”

“Yes, I know. I was on that Skyy FM program, and I said this and that. Maybe I was a little heated, but it was theatrics, that’s all it was.”

He was theatrical-Dawson gave him that. “I was curious about this letter that I found among the Smith-Aidoos’ belongings”-he opened the folder he had brought and took the letter out, sliding it across the table to DeSouza-“signed in your name. Did you write it?”

“Yes, I did,” he said, with an impatient glance. “And what about it? In fact, rather than anything nefarious, this letter expresses my true sentiments. ‘Based on your assurances, I believe you are an honorable woman’ is what I wrote and what I meant.”

“What lead to this letter being written?”

“Between January and April, Fiona was campaigning aggressively for the chief executive position,” DeSouza said, sounding somewhat like he was explaining to a child. “At the time, some people accused me of raiding the STMA coffers in order to build a luxury home. I don’t know where this blatant lie originated, but there was a rumor that Fiona was responsible.”

“But you never had any evidence that the rumor was true.”

“Correct.”

“Is it possible that someone bore malice against Fiona Smith-Aidoo and tried to ruin her reputation by making it appear that she was creating the rumor?”

“I have no idea,” DeSouza said, gesturing with impatience. “You’re asking me an impossible question. I can tell you that I did confront Fiona about it. She was quite insulted by the notion that she was responsible for this ‘gossip,’ as she called it. Obviously, she wanted her objection and denial recorded in black and white, so she sent me a letter to that effect, and I accepted it and replied with this one.”