Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

“Good morning, sir,” Dawson said quietly, not wanting to disturb the students.

DeSouza gestured that they should walk out of earshot and they moved away.

“Inspector,” he said impatiently, “I’m in the middle of supervising exams. What is it you want?”

“I’m sorry to disturb,” Dawson said cordially. “I won’t take up too much of your time. I want to go over the seventh and eighth of July with you again. You said you taught a class on Monday, the seventh, and Tuesday, the eighth?”

DeSouza frowned. “Yes, I always do. What is your question?”

“I’ve just learned that you had your class on the eighth canceled and rescheduled to Wednesday, the ninth.”

DeSouza shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Not according to Mrs. Chinebuah,” Dawson countered evenly. “You had a funeral on Saturday in Somanya? Does that ring a bell?”

Realization washed over DeSouza’s face. “Oh. Yes, you are correct. That is what happened. It completely slipped my mind. Somanya is my wife’s hometown. We went to her mother’s funeral and after that, a family dispute came up and she couldn’t avoid staying until Monday morning. I wasn’t happy about leaving her in Somanya, so I thought it best to simply reschedule the class.”

“And you returned to Takoradi with your wife around what time?”

“Around eleven, something like that,” DeSouza said, glancing over to the classroom. “Mr. Dawson, I really must get back.”

If he got back at eleven , Dawson thought, he still had time to get to Cape Three Points, although it would have been tight. “When you returned from Somanya, what did you do, sir?”

“I went to my STMA office for a few hours.”

“Can someone confirm that?”

“Yes, Susana, my assistant-she was there.”

Dawson would have Chikata check on that. “Did Superintendent Hammond or any of his people ask you about that Monday?”

“I don’t remember,” DeSouza said. “Why?”

“Because if you told them about your canceling the class that Monday, it seems odd that you forgot to tell me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry if I forgot, Inspector,” De Souza said, surprisingly apologetic. “Please, I must return to the classroom.”

He left. Watching DeSouza, Dawson still had a feeling the man was hiding something.

AT 6:20 SATURDAY MORNING, Dawson woke up to the sound of Hosiah and Sly moving around in the sitting room. Two grinning faces appeared around the door. He smiled at them, and they took that as their invitation to invade. They clambered on top of Dawson, bouncing and giggling while he tried to make them keep their voices down. They had arrived with Christine last night much later than Dawson had wanted or expected.

She was sleeping beside Dawson on the rather narrow bed. She groaned, lifting her head with one eye open. “Why do you boys wake me up like this every Saturday?” she complained bitterly. “If you want to play, go outside. Goodness.”

Her head flopped onto the pillow, and she went back to sleep.

“Come on,” Dawson whispered to the boys. “Let’s go. And stop making noise.”

He put Sly over one shoulder and Hosiah under his arm and took them writhing to the sitting room, where they had a wrestling match-two children versus one adult. Dawson marveled at how Hosiah’s vigor was already returning to normal. Nevertheless, he kept the play to only fifteen minutes, at the end of which the kids declared victory.

“Next time I’ll finish both of you off,” he warned to their hilarity. “Okay, time to go and get ready.”

“Where are we going today?” Sly asked.

“Cape Three Points.”

Hosiah wrinkled his nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s the most southern part of Ghana. There’s a nice beach there. Uncle Abraham and Auntie Akosua will take us.”

Excited, the two boys rushed to the bathroom to wash up.

“There’s a water shortage,” Dawson warned them, “so use what’s in the buckets and don’t waste it, you hear?”

ABRAHAM DROVE HIS 4 × 4 Toyota with Dawson beside him in the front passenger seat and Christine, Akosua, Sly, and Hosiah in the rear. There was no room for Chikata, so he followed them with Baah in the taxi. Once out of Takoradi’s city limits, it was thirty minutes to the turnoff at Agona-Nkwanta, where aggressive vendors swarmed their vehicle. Abraham didn’t stop, turning onto the left branch off the central roundabout. They enjoyed the paved route for another fifteen minutes up to the right-hand junction to Cape Three Points. There, the dirt road began, winding ahead like a meandering serpent. It was potholed and bumpy in spots, but the Toyota handled it easily. On the other hand, trailing behind in the taxi, Chikata and Baah were having a rough time of it.

A left-pointing arrow indicated the final turn into Ezile Bay, a grassy pathway worn down by vehicle traffic. The two vehicles bounced over the remaining few meters and parked. Several small thatch-roofed, sandstone-colored chalets were scattered over a wide area, nestled among coconut palms, ferns, and trailing bougainvillea plants. Directly ahead, the aqua sea stretched to the horizon, rolling onto the off-white sand with soft wave breaks. Fishing canoes in the distance with their signature flags were clear silhouettes against a cloudless sky.

Hosiah hopped up and down with anticipation as everyone alighted. “Daddy, can we go in the water now?”

“Let’s go to the edge and then Uncle Abe will go in with you later.”

Sly walked alongside Hosiah, who skipped in the sand as he tugged and swung on his father’s hand. He had no fear of the sea, whereas Dawson eyed the waves with some unease. He couldn’t let his sons sense that, however. They went as far as the dissolving trail of the receding waves. Dawson guessed that the tide was low. Gleefully, Hosiah splattered the wet sand with his bare feet. Sly, who hailed from landlocked northern Ghana and was unaccustomed to beaches, was more restrained.

Dawson realized that this was the most serene setting he had ever experienced. Accra was hell, and Ezile was paradise. This place had no crowds or blaring horns, only a young white woman and a Ghanaian man having fun in the water. He was laughing as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and her legs around his waist, pressing her crotch into his. Dawson shifted his gaze eastward about 500 meters to a village that was subdivided into two sections by a lagoon formed by the meeting of the Ezile River and the sea. He had done his homework and knew this was the village of Akwidaa.

“Okay,” he said to the boys. “Let’s go back.”

They returned up the slight incline, and Hosiah scooped up a little sand and let it flow from his hand in the breeze.

“Daddy, did you catch the bad man yet?” he asked unexpectedly. “The man who cuts off people’s heads?”

“No, not yet. Are you still scared he’ll hurt Daddy?”

Hosiah’s response was an uncertain shake and nod of the head-no, and yes.

“Anyway, Daddy can beat that man in a fight,” Sly declared, executing a left jab and right uppercut. The boy still had the ways of the street in him.

Thanks for the confidence , Dawson thought with some amusement. “I’m only going to catch him,” he said, putting an arm around Sly’s shoulders, “not fight with him.”

“Oh,” Sly said, looking a little disappointed. He looked at Hosiah. “I’ll race you to the coconut trees.”

They took off, Sly holding back somewhat so that he wouldn’t beat Hosiah by a great margin. Dawson rejoined Christine and the others near a set of chairs and tables in the shade of the coconut palm, where they had a perfect view of the bay formed by two forested promontories on either side.