Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

“The most indignant guys are sometimes the most guilty,” he observed.

“True,” Dawson agreed.

He related his encounter with Hammond, warning Chikata to watch his step when dealing with the superintendent.

“Okay,” Chikata said. “I’ll be careful. So, what’s next?”

“I want to go to Takoradi Tech to double-check DeSouza’s alibi. Baah can drop me off there, and you continue with him.”

“What am I going to do?”

“I’ve been looking at the family angle of this murder,” Dawson explained, leaning forward. “Now it’s time to find out whether traditional religious beliefs played a part- juju , witchcraft, ritual sacrifice, and so on. I want you to dig around fetish priests, shrines, and the like for any inside information relevant to the murder. In the past year, has anyone visited a shrine to ask for guidance for a problem for which the solution was to sacrifice Charles and/or his wife? And we want to know the significance of a severed head on a stake.”

Chikata let out a mild expletive. “You go to Tech, but I have to go to these juju people? What kind of welcome is that?”

“But you’re so good at that kind of thing,” Dawson said, grinning.

Chikata looked thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t think there’s any kind of juju involved in this case,” he declared.

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged. “It’s just my impression.”

“Impression!” Dawson exclaimed. “You’ve just arrived on the case, you have been here barely one hour, and you’re already tossing impressions around?”

Chikata threw his head back and laughed, showing a set of perfect white teeth. Dawson found a scrap of paper on the desk, balled it up, and threw it accurately at the Sergeant’s head.

“I say no juju at all involved in this case,” Chikata asserted. “You say yes. We’ll see who is right.”

CHIKATA’S CHAUFFEUR HAD had to return to his duties in Accra, so Baah would get to keep his post as driver for the detectives. He was waiting for them downstairs in the car park. After Dawson had introduced him to Chikata, he got into the front passenger seat and Chikata sat in the rear.

As they set off, Dawson called Jason Sarbah to ask a question. “Technically, the Thor Sterke oil rig is a part of the crime scene. How can I visit the rig?”

“That might be difficult,” Sarbah said, after a short pause.

“Why is that?”

“A lot of regulations. For example, there can only be a certain number of people on the rig at one time. If you come on, we have to pull someone off.”

“I see.”

“And also, you have to get underwater training before you can step foot on the rig.”

Dawson frowned. “Underwater training?”

“One goes to the rig by helicopter, so everyone has to go through HUET-Helicopter Underwater Escape Training.”

Dawson felt a little faint. “Oh.”

“Can you swim?”

Dawson’s hearing had shut down as he broke into a cold sweat. “Pardon?”

“Do you swim?”

“Not very well. Well, not at all, really.”

“You will have a life vest on, but you will still be required to know how to escape in the case of a submersion. If you want to proceed with it, I’ll arrange a session for you and after you are certified, we can set up a date to fly you to the rig.”

Dawson cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, all right. I suppose… I suppose I’ll have to do it. Thank you, Mr. Sarbah.”

He ended the call in near terror. Underwater training?

AS PLANNED, BAAH dropped Dawson off at Takoradi Technical Institute and continued on with Chikata. The buildings of the spotless campus were red with yellow trim on the end walls, and yellow with green trim along the classroom verandas. Dawson went upstairs to the main office on the second story of the administrative block and asked to see someone in charge of staffing.

“That’s Mrs. Chinebuah,” a receptionist said, and led him to an adjoining office. She knocked, opened the door, and looked in.

“Please, this gentleman has a question for you.”

Chinebuah was a hefty woman in her early forties in a trouser suit with a short-style wig framing her round face. Densely packed into her outfit, she looked like she could take down two grown men.

Dawson entered. “Good morning, Mrs. Chinebuah.”

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly. “May I help you?”

“Inspector Dawson, CID. I’m making some inquiries.”

She smiled. “Am I in trouble, Inspector?”

He smiled too. “Not as far as I know. I’m investigating the death of Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Aidoo.”

“Ah,” she said, shaking her head. “Sad.” She took out several sheets of papers from the copy machine and straightened them on the counter.

“Did you know them?” Dawson asked.

“The man, yes. Not so much his wife. He was a strong supporter of TTI, both morally and financially.”

“Really? So he was well-liked by everyone here.”

“Someone donates money to your school, and you’re going to dislike him?” She began to fold the sheets of paper. “We could hardly believe that this murder had taken place. Is there something specific you need to know?”

“You’re in charge of staffing schedules?”

“Just one of my duties as an assistant administrator, yes sir.”

“Mr. Kwesi DeSouza. He’s a member of your staff, correct?”

“Yes,” she said, pressing a button to begin a series of copies. “He’s in IT.”

“I understand he works on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays,” Dawson said, watching the sheets of paper flowing into place with hypnotizing regularity.

“Yes, I believe that’s correct,” she said. “I can check for you.”

“I’m interested in the dates of seventh and eighth July of this year.”

She sat down with an air of efficiency, pulled her chair up to her desk computer, and went into the appropriate screen. “Let’s see now… the seventh was a Monday. Yes, he worked that day… oh, no, sorry-he had to postpone the class until Wednesday.”

Interesting , Dawson thought. DeSouza had not mentioned that. “Any reason given for the postponement?”

She was trying to remember. “Let me think. He called me about it… aha, yes, I remember now. He went to a funeral in Somanya, the Saturday before-that would be the fifth-and then some kind of family palaver arose, and he told me he couldn’t be in on Monday, so the class was canceled and rescheduled to Wednesday.”

“Is Mr. DeSouza here today?”

“He may be in the IT office marking exam papers, or else he could be invigilating an exam. The students are taking their midterms.” She pointed out the window in the direction of IT. “Turn right where you see the electrical department and go straight.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You are most welcome.” She looked concerned but not panicked. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. Just routine inquiries-nothing to be concerned about.”

“Very good.” She smiled and winked at him. “Then I won’t bother to mention it to Mr. DeSouza.”

OUTSIDE, DAWSON PAUSED to look at a bronze statue of a man in front of a piece of equipment on a tripod-a kind of mascot of the institute. The campus was neat, with well-kept grass and trimmed shrubs. Students, all in their early to late teens walked back and forth between classes in khaki and cream uniforms that reminded Dawson of his secondary school days. Women were evidently very rare here, and they seemed to be mostly assigned to the fashion design department.

IT’s computer lab was holding an exam. Forty or so students sat at computer terminals under the watch of two monitors, one of whom was DeSouza. He saw Dawson standing outside the window. Surprise and then displeasure washed across his face. He held up a finger to indicate wait , whispered something to the other monitor, and then came outside.