Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

Ackah-Yensu paused, looking as baffled as he must have been at that meeting.

“He said Malgam would pay us for the land and contribute to building the new settlement and the electricity and water. In fact, we were shocked. We never expected something like this. We started to say no, we can never agree to such a thing. Then he told us how much they were offering to pay the elders to do this project, and some of them looked at each other and started to change their minds. To us, it was a lot of money.”

“And so what happened after that?” Dawson asked.

“Fighting-that’s all.” Ackah-Yensu shrugged hopelessly. “The older people in the village say they will never move. The lazy young guys who don’t want to follow in their fathers’ example as fishermen say they would like to move to a new place. At the same time, the village elders can’t agree on any decision to bring to me. Therefore, nothing happened. And now Mr. Charles is dead.” He shook his head in regret.

Dawson understood the chief’s disappointment: the potential windfall for the village had come to a stalemate and completely flopped. “Please, Nana, after that last meeting with the elders attending, did you see Mr. Smith-Aidoo or talk to him again?”

“By phone,” he said, making the universal sign for it. “He said if I could convince the elders and the village it will be good to move, he could give me a little something and make sure I had a very fine chief’s house.”

Blatant bribery , Dawson thought. If this story was true, his respect for Charles had just dropped a few points. “Did you try to do that, Nana?”

The chief shook his head. “No. Just a few days later, he was killed.”

“Do you regret his death, Nana?”

“Of course!” he said with a new intensity. “I think with him, we in Akwidaa had a chance that something good would come if we continued to negotiate.”

Maybe , Dawson thought, but he was doubtful. From what he had observed, neither the government nor the private sector was in any rush to change the lot of villages in the country. Urban first, rural last.

“One last question, Nana, if you please,” he said. “Do you know of any fishermen or people in Akwidaa who wanted to harm Mr. Smith-Aidoo?”

Nana frowned. “Oh, no,” he said firmly, shaking his head and appearing put out by the question. “That’s not how we think here. You know, all this type of killing-shooting people and so on-belongs to the ways of the city. I’m not trying to offend you, Mr. Dawson…”

“It’s no offense, Nana. What about juju or witchcraft?”

Ackah-Yensu stared at the ground for a moment and then looked up to meet Dawson’s gaze directly. “That one, I can’t say. Since my time in Akwidaa, we have only had two witches. One was driven away to a witches’ camp, and the other one was killed. I don’t think anyone in Akwidaa performed juju on Mr. Charles and his wife. Maybe a jealous family member, rather.”

Dawson wished he could ask the chief if he thought Mr. Cardiman could have murdered the couple, but obviously he would have to wait for a more discreet moment.

BEFORE RETURNING TO THE others, Cardiman took Dawson and Chikata up a promontory beyond the mangroves. From there, they could see the bay where Ezile was located to their left, and a second slightly larger bay to their right. The sand was pale fawn in color, the water dark turquoise rolling onto the shore and breaking into white foam.

“It’s deserted,” Dawson observed in surprise.

Cardiman looked at him, nodding with a smile. “Yes, that’s what is so marvelous about it. The most you’ll see is one or two people walking along the beach in transit from Cape Three Points village to Akwidaa.” He gazed rapturously at the bay. “Unspoiled beauty. I’m not saying don’t build anything on the land. I’m saying don’t ruin it if you do, and that’s the vision Charles had-a wholesale raping of the land for commercial purposes. On the other hand, my Ezile is constructed in complete harmony with the environment-no uprooting trees or disturbing the mangroves. Some of our power even comes from solar energy.”

Dawson had to admire Cardiman’s passion and dedication. For him there was nothing more important than this slice of paradise on earth, and he was going to fight to preserve it. At the same time, Dawson thought, that could make his motive for murder all the more powerful.

On their return, Cardiman went off to supervise the repairs on one of the chalets, and Dawson rejoined Christine and Akosua, who were still at their shady perch on the beach chatting as they watched Abraham playing in the water with the kids. Chikata and Baah were playing a noisy game of cards at the next table.

When lunch arrived, Akosua beckoned to her husband to come out of the water for something to eat. Sly and Hosiah came running up, wet and exuberant.

“I was swimming, Daddy,” Hosiah said jumping up and down.

“Yes, I saw you!” He draped a towel around his son’s shoulders. “Good for you! Dry yourself off. How’s the water?”

“It’s nice,” Sly said.

Abraham plunked down in a chair, panting. “My goodness. These kids have made me realize how out of shape I am.”

Lunch came. It was a mouth-watering spread of “Red Red”-succulent fried, ripe plantains and black-eyed peas reddened by palm oil; banku with tilapia; yam and light soup full of chunks of fish; Jollof rice prepared with chicken and an aromatic mix of spices and tomato sauce; and for Abraham, a plate of fish and chips with coleslaw, a dish he had recently acquired a taste for. After they had washed their hands, they tucked in, eating with their fingers-except for Abraham, who didn’t think his meal was made for consumption that way.

“Can we go back in the water, Uncle?” Hosiah asked as he finished his meal.

Abraham looked to Dawson for guidance.

“Only for a little while,” Dawson said. “Then we have to go back home.”

“Okay.”

“Before you kill your uncle,” Akosua added, under her breath.

Abraham went gamely back to the water with the boys, although it looked like he could have done with a nap instead.

“You want to go for a walk?” Dawson asked, looking at Christine.

“Where?”

Dawson pointed to the peninsula beyond Akwidaa. “The remains of a seventeenth-century German fort are over there. Let’s go and see it.”

“But do you know the way?” she said, looking a little doubtful.

“I think there’s a path and some signs. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“Hmm. Okay, but if we get lost in there you’ll never hear the end of it from me.”

“Relax,” Dawson said, grinning. “I have a wizardly sense of direction. Come on, it will be an adventure.”

He reached out his hand, and when she grabbed it he pulled her out of her seat.

“We’ll be back in a little while,” Christine said to Akosua.

Before they set off, they went to the water’s edge to let Abe know. Hosiah looked immediately anxious. “Where are you going, Daddy?”

“We’re just going to walk past the village.”

“Is the bad man there?”

Dawson got a knot in his chest. “Come here, Hosiah.”

He knelt in the sand and hugged his wet son, giving him a kiss. “The man isn’t there, okay? I promise you. We went with Mr. Cardiman and saw the village with the chief and everything, and no one bad was there. Only good people, okay?”

Hosiah nodded mutely.

“We’ll be back soon. Play with Uncle Abe and Sly.”

He lifted his palm in the air and his son gave him a resounding high five, running back into the water.

Dawson and Christine held hands as they sauntered along the beach a little in front of the farthest point the waves rolled up onto the sand. The sun was high overhead, and the aqua hue of the water appeared more intense.