Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

Dawson mentally dismissed the question as irrelevant. “Would you like to hear what I learned from Mr. DeSouza that might be useful information, sir?”

“Go ahead,” Hammond said churlishly.

“He said there is, or was, a rumor that Fiona Smith-Aidoo was having an affair, but he could not say with whom. Sergeant Chikata has also heard that from a second source.”

“There are all sorts of rumors all the time,” Hammond contested. “Doesn’t mean they’re true.”

Dawson remained steadfast. “Yes, but Chikata and I will keep it in the back of our minds and follow up on it. I also interviewed Mr. Cardiman on Saturday.”

“And?”

“I agree it’s difficult to see how he could have ambushed the Smith-Aidoo’s vehicle.”

“So you went all the way to Cape Three Points to establish that,” Hammond said condescendingly.

“But if there was an accomplice-”

“Who? What accomplice?”

“Well, I don’t know that yet, but-”

“Okay, okay,” Hammond said impatiently. “Work on that theory, if you like. I don’t know what you’ll get out of it, but it’s up to you. Regarding Mr. Smith-Aidoo’s mobile, I went to Vodafone, and they did a trace on the Lawrence Tetteh that Mr. Smith-Aidoo was communicating with. It’s not Tetteh, the CEO at Goilco. So we don’t need to concern ourselves with that question anymore.”

Dawson tensed as a hot streak flashed across his left palm like lightening. He paused a moment to let it subside. “Thank you for finding that out, sir.”

“No problem.”

Dawson’s phone rang, and he picked up the call. It was Jason Sarbah.

“I’ve spoken with Mr. Calmy-Rey, Inspector,” he said. “He will be available to meet with you at nine o’clock tomorrow morning at our offices. He is located on the top floor. You will be escorted there as soon as you arrive at reception.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Sarbah.”

“You are welcome, Inspector.”

Dawson ended the call. “I have a meeting with Mr. Calmy-Rey tomorrow morning,” he told Hammond.

“Okay.”

“Were you able to interrogate him back in July, sir?”

“Yes. He had been out of the country at the time of the murder. He obviously thought very highly of Smith-Aidoo-no motive whatsoever to kill him or have him killed. Please, Inspector Dawson, do not antagonize Mr. Calmy-Rey.”

“I don’t intend to, sir,” Dawson said pleasantly. “Just one other thing I forgot to ask before. On the postmortem report by the pathologist Dr. Cudjoe, he didn’t mention gunpowder burns around Fiona Smith-Aidoo’s entrance wound. Did either of you attend the postmortem?”

Hammond shook his head. “Seidu was supposed to be there, but they gave him the wrong time and performed the autopsy in his absence. I was quite annoyed.”

“Do you have any contact number for Dr. Cudjoe?” Dawson asked.

“Yes. I’ll text it to you.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

OUTSIDE, AS SOON as they were out of earshot, Chikata looked at Dawson in astonishment. “What is the man’s problem?”

Dawson shrugged. “Insecurity? I don’t know, but if he’s more concerned about hurting people’s feelings than he is about finding out who killed the Smith-Aidoos, there’s nothing I can do about that. Honestly, I don’t care anymore. I didn’t come here to make nice.”

“Do you want me to call my uncle about him?” Chikata asked, as they got back into Baah’s taxi.

Dawson shook his head. “No, it’s not worth it.” It was a consideration, but he didn’t want Chikata to put himself in an awkward position between Hammond and Lartey. “In any case, he might just call your uncle anyway, to complain about me.”

“Massa,” Chikata said, laughing, “I thought Superintendent Hammond was about to have a stroke when you pulled DeSouza down from his pedestal.”

“What I said was true,” Dawson asserted. “DeSouza had no reason to react so negatively to me-unless he’s the murderer, of course. In that case he has good reason.”

That remark set off another round of laughter for Chikata, with which Dawson eventually joined. Meanwhile, he saw he had just received Hammond’s text with Dr. Cudjoe’s number. He tried the number twice without success.

“Where now, sir?” Baah asked.

“Let’s go to the Effia-Nkwanta Hospital Mortuary to look for Dr. Cudjoe.” He turned in his seat to address Chikata. “Hammond wasn’t telling the truth about Smith-Aidoo’s phone. Either he didn’t take it to Vodafone at all, or the Lawrence Tetteh in the address book is really the Goilco CEO.”

“How do you know?” Chikata challenged. “Is it your juju hand again?”

He was one of the few who knew about Dawson’s synesthesia and had always referred to it as his “ juju hand,” half seriously and half in jest.

“That’s right,” Dawson said.

“It’s as though the superintendent doesn’t want us to succeed,” Chikata said. “Why is he trying to hinder us, or is he protecting someone?”

“It could be both.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they pulled into the uphill driveway of the hospital, and Baah parked to the side. Dawson and Chikata went into the waiting area where patients were sitting or lining up at the information booth. A sign pointed to the HIV Voluntary Testing Clinic, but there was no signage for the mortuary. After asking two people in succession, they were directed up a long flight of steps and across the road. The mortuary was in a dismal grey building with odd, inverted U-structures on its roof.

They went in the open front door. At a small receptionist’s desk to the left, a man was laboriously writing in a large notebook. He looked up.

“Yes?”

“We’re looking for Dr. Cudjoe?”

“Please, you can try the office,” the man said, pointing across the hall.

Dawson and Chikata went in and found a tech in a khaki jacket looking through a filing cabinet.

“Very sorry,” the man said, in response to Dawson’s inquiry. “Dr. Cudjoe has traveled to Ashanti Region.”

“Do you know when he’ll return?”

“I’m not actually sure. Do you have his mobile number?”

“I have a number for him.”

Dawson brought up the number he had for Cudjoe on his phone and showed it to the man to be sure it was correct.

“Oh, no-it’s five-six-six at the end, not six-five-five.”

Dawson and Chikata exchanged glances but didn’t say anything until they were outside again.

“I bet you superintendent deliberately gave you the wrong number,” Chikata said.

“Perhaps,” Dawson said, inclining his head. “It could be a genuine mistake, though. I can see accidentally switching five-six-six to six-five-five.”

“I can’t,” Chikata said with conviction. “Considering everything else about Hammond’s behavior, I don’t think he made a mistake at all.”

A pretty, young nurse walked past them and Chikata’s head turned as if drawn by a cable.

“Nice,” he commented.

“Not as nice as my wife,” Dawson said.

“Yes, but I can’t have your wife,” Chikata said with a snort.

“True.”

AS THEY RETURNED from the hospital, a thunderstorm began, their first experience of rain in the Western Region. It put Accra’s showers to shame, and to the surprise of Dawson and Chikata, everyone seemed to have large, colorful umbrellas at the ready. In Accra, your umbrella was the nearest building you could find.

After hitting a few puddles, the taxi stalled out, and Dawson and Chikata jumped out to push after the ignition failed several times. The car came to life again after a few shudders, and Baah kept the engine revved while the other two men hopped back in, soaked to the skin.