Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

“You say Cape Three Points?” he asked Dawson. “Do you mean Cape Three Points village?”

“No, east of that-between there and Ezile.”

Nicholas grunted and sifted through giant folders hanging vertically on horizontal tracks. After some searching, he pulled one up and rested it on a table, slowly turning the large pages until he came to the correct area map. He leaned over it, studied it for a while and then pointed to a spot.

“Somewhere here?” he asked.

Dawson peered at it.

“I don’t know. The map is a little confusing.”

“The bay is here,” Nicholas said, his finger outlining the area. “This is Cape Three Points village west of the bay. This is Ezile to the east of it.”

“Okay, then yes. That’s the area I mean.”

“You’re sure?” Nicholas said, scrutinizing Dawson.

“Yes.”

Nicholas nodded and put the map away. “Please, can you wait here one minute? Let me go and check the records.”

“Okay.”

He was gone for about ten minutes, during which time Dawson and Chikata began to pour with sweat. Despite the open windows, air was barely circulating.

Nicholas returned shaking his head. “No record of any land title there.”

Dawson put his arms akimbo, surprised. “Then how is someone building on it?”

Nicholas snorted. “It happens all the time. The Land Title Registry won’t register a tract of land without a concurrence certificate from the Lands Commission. The Commission too won’t issue the certificate if it doesn’t get approval from Town and Country planning. T and C won’t give the approval without a confirmation map from the survey department, who says they don’t have enough funding for the mapping, and on it goes. Then who knows? Two brothers may be fighting over the land, neither of them has registered it, but one of them is building a house so he can claim the land is his. Utter confusion.”

Dawson frowned. “So can you investigate this any further?”

“Investigate what?”

“Who owns that land, and who is building a house on it?” Dawson said, a little impatiently, feeling his endeavor slipping away by the second.

“Well, I can try. It will take several weeks.”

Dawson’s eyes popped. “Weeks! I’m investigating a murder case-I don’t have weeks.”

Nicholas gestured with a sweeping motion of the hands. “Do you see any computers around here?”

“No,” Dawson said flatly.

“Exactly,” Nicholas said, with a sardonic smile. “I will have to cross-check old files and dig through paperwork from as far back as I don’t know when. And don’t think yours will be the only case I’m working on. I mean, you are a CID detective. You must understand my situation.”

Dawson puffed his breath out through his cheeks in resignation. “Okay,” he said disappointedly. “Take my phone number. Please, if you find anything, call me.”

“I will do that.”

Outside, Dawson shook his head. “What a waste of time,” he said, irritated. He was probably more annoyed that his brilliant plan hadn’t worked.

“We keep hitting on things that we think will bring us closer to a solution,” Chikata said, as they got back into the car. “The earring, Smith-Aidoo’s pen drive… what next?”

“I don’t know,” Dawson said heavily. On impulse, he called Christine just to say hello.

“You don’t sound so good,” she said.

“We’re stuck,” he replied glumly.

“That means you’re about to have an epiphany,” she said encouragingly. “Happens every time.”

“I hope you’re right.” He told her he missed her and that she should kiss the boys for him and then hung up. A few minutes later, he gasped and buried his face in his hands.

“Massa, what’s wrong?” Chikata said, leaning forward with concern.

“ Awurade , something is the wrong with me,” Dawson moaned.

“What?” Chikata said in alarm. “Are you feeling sick?”

Dawson turned to him. “Don’t you see? It’s not Smith-Aidoo’s pen drive we need, it’s Tetteh’s. ”

BAAH GOT DAWSON AND Chikata to Accra in two hours. He didn’t know the big, messy capital at all, so they directed him to Labone Estates. The houses here were large and gated. The schools nearby, like Ghana International School, were posh and top of the line. They were looking for 27 Labone Crescent, Lawrence Tetteh’s address. After a bit of wandering around, they found it-a relatively short, curved street with a T-junction at either end. Between 17 and 23, no house numbers were evident, but 25 popped up all of a sudden and Baah overshot number 27. Dawson got out and walked back, gazing up at the high security wall, which was painted in rich tangerine. He pushed the button at the side of the sturdy double gate, and after a few moments, a woman cracked it open. She was slight, mid-thirties with coarse features, and hair singed by cheap relaxants.

“Good afternoon.” He greeted her with the smile he used when he thought the person he was addressing might prove useful.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“I’m looking for one Charity. Is she here?”

“Yes? I’m Charity.”

“Oh, very good. Mepaakyew , my name is Darko Dawson. You were Mr. Tetteh’s housemaid, not so?”

“Yes, please,” she said, a little warily.

“Can I talk to you about what happened to him?”

Fear moved across her face like a quick wave. “Please, are you from the police?” she whispered, glancing surreptitiously behind her.

“I work at CID.”

She seemed unsure exactly what that meant. “Please, they told me not to talk about it to anyone.”

“Who told you?” he asked gently.

She swallowed and shook her head, backing up slightly. She had already said too much.

“I know you worked for him for many years,” Dawson said quickly to avoid losing her. “You were faithful to him until the end, and I admire you for that. We should keep caring about him, even though he is dead. We have to find out who really killed him.”

A woman’s voice yelled from the house, “Who is it, Charity?”

“Please, I’m coming,” she called back and then leaned toward him to whisper, “The Madam is calling me. I can’t talk now. I will close at six o’clock to go to my sister’s house in La. Wait for me near the Morning Star School, and I will come there.”

She shut the gate quickly.

Dawson trotted back to the car to report. Six o’clock was another four hours from then, so they went to the corner and bought some roasted corn from a vendor. They stood under the shade of a frangipani tree.

“Have you noticed,” Chikata said, munching hungrily, “that rich neighborhoods always look deserted?”

Dawson nodded, demolishing the last of his corn. “It’s because they’re all inside counting their money. Come on, let’s go to the Internet café.”

On the way there, they passed the highly rated Morning Star School, where they were to meet up later with Charity. Dawson prayed she would show up. He and Chikata entered the Danquah Circle Busy Internet and paid for an hour each of computer time. The gigantic, air-conditioned room was full of people furiously surfing at row after row of computer cubicles, including, no doubt, dozens of Sakawa boys, the infamous young Internet swindlers who could make as much as two thousand dollars in a good month. Dawson mentally shook his head at the thought of making that kind of money. He logged onto one of the machines while Chikata used the in-house Wi-Fi on his laptop.

Dawson did a search on Lawrence Tetteh and came across a You-Tube conversation between Tetteh and TV host David Ampofo. At the time, Tetteh had just taken over as CEO of Goilco after having worked for oil companies in Dallas for a number of years. He looked distinguished and professorial in wire-rimmed glasses and a dark suit. He had a stubborn jaw and a pendulous bottom lip. He said he planned to make Goilco a world-class oil and gas organization. In doing so, he was committed to transparency and honesty.