Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

“No. Not this time.”

“Then what is it you don’t trust?”

“I felt like he was putting on a show for our benefit. To make himself appear to be a better man than he really is.”

“People do that all the time,” Chikata pointed out. “The question is, do you suspect him of murder?”

“No,” Dawson admitted, finally. “I can’t say I do. Anyway, we’ve found out one thing, at least. We know what the Smith-Aidoos were doing in Axim that Monday morning. Now we have to follow up with the people at FOAX.”

ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, DAWSON found himself standing at the edge of an outdoor swimming pool at the Regional Maritime University east of Accra. He was about to start the HUET session that Jason Sarbah had arranged, but a voice inside kept telling him that he still had time to back out and join Chikata on much safer undertakings. Today, the detective sergeant would be checking DeSouza’s alibi with Susana, his assistant; and Sarbah’s alibi with the staff at Sarbah Properties; and then it was on to Axim to meet Quashie Quarshie, the head of FOAX.

However, Dawson knew he couldn’t back down now. It would be cowardly. He had spent the day before in a classroom learning the basics of offshore safety and CPR. Now he faced the second and most challenging day. In front of him, suspended over the water, was a blue and white training module that would be lowered into the depths of the pool by a complicated cable mechanism. They would have several practice runs before the ultimate stage in which the module would submerge and rotate 180 degrees. Dawson and the three other trainees would then make their escape. He already had his helmet, orange overalls, and life vest on. His stomach was churning. It was hot and he was pouring with sweat. Some of it was fear.

With a harsh whine of machinery, the module moved level with the edge of the pool by remote control, and Dawson and the others got in. It seated four. Dawson took the right-hand seat of the second row. He could not bring himself to look down as the module moved out to the center of the six-meter deep pool, but in spite of staring fixedly ahead, he could see the blue of the water from the corner of his eye. His stomach clenched, and he began to feel sick.

Agyeman, their instructor, was one of the three divers on hand in case one or more of the four trainees could not get out of the seat belt or otherwise had difficulty. He showed them how to strap themselves securely into their seats.

“First, we learn how to brace ourselves for the water landing, like this.”

Everyone followed his lead.

“Okay, good,” he said. “Now we will practice that while the helicopter is lowered to the surface of the water. We will not yet submerge. We are just going to become used to the sensation of going down. When I give the command to brace for impact, you do so immediately.”

The cabin dropped, not very fast for the first time, and they practiced the brace. The second time, the drop was more rapid, and Dawson felt his insides float up. After the third and fastest drop, they were ready for partial submersion, where Dawson and the other trainees learned how to take a deep breath in preparation for going completely under.

AFTER A BREAK, it was time for the most anxiety-provoking segment of the training: full submersion and rotation of the module. Here Dawson learned the extra step of placing his right hand on the window frame before the rotation began to help keep him oriented once he was upside down.

The module went out to the center of the pool.

This is it , Dawson thought.

The descent began and Agyeman yelled, “ Brace! ”

Dawson gripped the front of his seat with both hands and pushed himself hard against the seatback.

The splash came sooner than he had anticipated, and then the cabin was filling with water fast. Dawson hyperventilated a few times as instructed, and took a deep breath. As the water reached his neck, the module turned upside down.

It felt to him as if they were spinning multiple times. His arms reached out instinctively. He had to get out. Seat belt. He was feeling for the clasps on the belt and realized he had shut his eyes tight. He needed to open them. He released the buckle and freed himself. Was he facing up, or down? The window was still to his right, and he pushed against it. It opened, but at the instant he was preparing to swim out, he felt someone clawing at his back. He turned to look and saw the trainee who had been sitting to his left. He was on the wrong side, trying to exit through Dawson’s window, and he was in a state of panic. His eyes were wide open and afraid, his arms and legs flailing wildly and provoking turbulence.

Dawson’s impulse was to push the man back and make his escape. Instead, he grabbed the frantic trainee by the waist and forcefully propelled him to the window, giving him a final shove to eject him. One of the divers appeared, grasped him, and took him swiftly to the surface. Dawson followed in their track.

Life vest. He tugged at the red hook and it inflated.

He clawed at the water as he rose, his chest about to explode, and then he burst the surface and felt his head free and clear in air. He drew in his breath in a gasp and looked around. He had made it, and now he felt surprisingly calm. Two of the other trainees were floating around freely in the water, but the fourth, the one who Dawson had collided with, was spluttering and coughing as someone helped him out of the pool.

HOURS LATER, DAWSON was lying in bed with Christine. The HUET center wasn’t far out from Accra, so he had decided to spend the night. The boys had gone to sleep, and she was dozing with her head in the crook of his arm.

He was thankful the HUET was all over. His certificate was safely next to him on the bedside table. He was surprised that this was one of the proudest moments he could remember in quite some time. His getting through something he had been afraid of almost to the point of paralysis was an achievement. In addition, the diver who had witnessed him push the other trainee out through the window toward safety had given him a special commendation for his actions.

Christine had begun to snore lightly. He smiled down at her. Silly girl. She never believed him or the boys when they told her she snored. He moved her head over to her pillow and rolled over. No need to switch the lights off because there had just been another power cut.

Oh, Ghana , he thought as he drifted off, what are we going to do with you?

THURSDAY MORNING, HE saw that he had missed a call from Dr. Smith-Aidoo. He tried her number. She didn’t pick up, so Dawson left her a text to say that he would try calling her again later on.

Before returning to Takoradi, he paid a visit to a friend of his at the Vodafone store on Oxford Street.

“Confidential, okay?” he said to Emmanuel in his deliciously chilled office.

“Always,” Emmanuel replied, leaning back. With his hefty weight, his executive chair went all the way back with a squeak.

“Do you remember the story of Lawrence Tetteh?” Dawson asked. “The CEO of Goilco who was shot about five months ago?”

“Of course.”

“I need the mobile number he was using.”

“Was Vodafone his provider?”

“Yes.”

“Then I can get it for you, no problem. By the way, what phone service are you using these days?”

Dawson winced. “ Chaley , sorry. Still with MTN.”

“ What!? ”

“Okay, let’s make a deal. If you get me that number, I’ll switch to Vodafone.”

They shook hands on it.

IT WAS LATE afternoon when he got back to Takoradi by bus. Dawson wanted to give Dr. Smith-Aidoo an update on the investigation, but each time he had tried to call, he had gotten an error message that the “subscriber’s phone has been turned off.” Dawson doubted that very much. It was much more likely a problem with the network. On the off chance that Dr. Smith-Aidoo was at home, he took a taxi to her house at Airport Ridge. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. He got out and knocked on the front door. He waited a couple minutes and tried again, but everything was quiet.