Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

IN THE MORNING, the chief superintendent was so pleased to see his nephew that Dawson might as well not have been present. Finally, Lartey acknowledged Dawson and invited both of them to sit down in the two chairs facing him on the opposite side of his desk. The office was air-conditioned, a relief from the heat outside.

“So tell me,” Lartey said, getting comfy in his luxurious leather chair. “Are you close to completing the case?”

He was a small man whose slight stature belied his toughness and effective use of power. He was very likely up for the elevated rank of Assistant Commissioner of Police.

“We believe we are, sir,” Dawson said. “I’ll bring you up to speed.”

Lartey’s demeanor remained receptive during Dawson’s account until he first heard of the connection between Charles Smith-Aidoo and Lawrence Tetteh. Then his expression began to cloud like a stormy sky.

“Last night,” Dawson went on, “we made contact with Lawrence Tetteh’s housemaid-”

“ What? ” Lartey bellowed, shooting forward. “What for? What the hell are you doing?”

“We had to,” Dawson said bravely. “We’re convinced the Smith-Aidoo and Tetteh murders are connected.”

“Completely different signatures,” Lartey snapped, slapping his palm on the table. “Even a five-year-old could tell you that. This is nonsense.”

“Uncle,” Chikata chimed in quickly, “the housemaid gave us the pen drive Mr. Tetteh had given her for safekeeping, and we made a discovery you should know about.”

His laptop open and ready, Chikata brought it around for Lartey to read, which he did immediately, tapping his middle finger unconsciously on his desk.

“Oh, Lord,” he said, when he was finished. He slumped back in his chair. “What have you done, Dawson?”

“It was my idea to get in touch with the housemaid, Uncle Theo,” Chikata said. Dawson opened his mouth to protest the lie, but the sergeant sent him a look that said, don’t say anything.

“You, Philip?” Lartey said in disbelief. “Why didn’t you come to me first, eh?”

Chikata looked sheepish and kept his gaze down in submission. “I’m sorry, Uncle,” he said meekly. It always worked.

“It’s okay, Philip,” Lartey said rather gently. “What I’m most concerned about-” he turned to Dawson “-is you. You are the senior officer and you take a suggestion from a junior officer without providing him guidance, without showing him the correct thing to do?”

“You asked me to give him free rein, sir-”

“But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t exercise some common sense instead of getting up to this foolishness, does it? I’m waiting for your answer, Inspector.”

“No, sir. It does not.”

“Did you let Superintendent Hammond know about this?”

“Superintendent Hammond has been against us all the way, Uncle,” Chikata said heatedly. “He hasn’t lifted one finger to help us.”

Lartey’s expression changed. “Is that so? Why didn’t you report that to me?”

“It was pettiness, sir,” Dawson said quickly. “Not worth your time at all. Anyway, he has apologized to me and has promised to be more helpful. We also had some, um, worries that maybe he has some knowledge of the conspiracy, but we are not certain how deeply involved he is. I don’t want to incriminate him more than I should.”

Lartey nodded. “There’s time to investigate what’s going on in that regard. Let’s get to the bottom line. Who do you think murdered Tetteh and Smith-Aidoo?”

“We have three suspects,” Dawson said. “The Honorable Terence Amihere, the BNI director, and Roger Calmy-Rey.”

“Or all of the above could be involved in some way,” Lartey added.

“Yes, sir.”

The chief superintendent took a deep breath and sighed. “I want to shield you from the BNI, especially. They can be vindictive.”

He got up abruptly, sending his executive chair shooting back. He stood at the window for a long time, gazing down at the browning lawn at the front of the CID building. Neither Dawson nor Chikata dared move, but both knew that the chief superintendent was on their side and ready to act. It was just a matter of deciding how.

“Okay,” Lartey said finally, turning back to them. “I have to get everything lined up here in Accra before you make any moves on anyone in Takoradi. It can’t be the other way around, so you have to wait for word from me before you act. I know two members of the opposition political party who would love to make the party in power look bad with a juicy corruption story. That way, the accusations will appear to emanate at the parliamentary level and keep the two of you safe. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Dawson said. “Thank you, sir.”

“Anything else you’re hiding up your sleeves? If so, for goodness’ sake, speak now. I don’t want any late revelations.”

“Nothing, sir,” Dawson said.

“Good. Now get out. I have a lot of work to do in a very short time.”

BACK IN TAKORADI, DAWSON and Chikata waited for two days, doing nothing while knowing there was so much to be done was a strange and agonizing experience. On each of those two days, Dawson checked that Calmy-Rey was still in town. One of his assistants had mentioned that he would be around for maybe another week. Dawson was worried about such vague wording.

He was in Chikata’s hotel room when he received the call at 11:35 of the third morning. It was the chief superintendent.

“Everything is set,” Lartey said. “Get to work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Chikata, guessing that the signal had come, jumped up.

“Let’s go,” Dawson said.

Having given Baah a couple of days off, they grabbed a taxi and told the driver to take them to the Malgam building, where they went straight to the top floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the receptionist said. “Mr. Calmy-Rey isn’t in. He’s leaving for the UK today.”

No , Dawson thought. “What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

It was 12:02, so they were cutting it close.

“He may already be at the airport,” Dawson said, as he and Chikata ran down the staircase to the ground floor. “You go there, I’ll go to his house. We can’t let him leave the country.”

They split up, taking taxis in opposite directions.

DAWSON RANG THE bell at the gate and a guard opened up the pedestrian entrance.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Mr. Calmy-Rey.”

As Dawson went through, a houseboy came out of the house carrying a three-piece matching set of luggage to the waiting SUV, with Roger Calmy-Rey close behind him.

“Good afternoon, Inspector!” he said, cheerily. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

“Good afternoon, sir.”

As they shook hands, Dawson slid his left palm up Calmy-Rey’s arm. The Ghana Police regulations manual stipulated that the arresting officer must make every effort to physically touch the suspect. “You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Mr. Lawrence Tetteh, Mr. Charles Smith-Aidoo and Mrs. Fiona Smith-Aidoo.”

Calmy-Rey turned sheet white.

FOUR HOURS LATER, the charge officer at the Beach Road police station took Roger Calmy-Rey out of his jail cell and handed him over to Dawson and Hammond, who walked on either side of him to the waiting police vehicle.

“Mr. Calmy-Rey,” Dawson said as they proceeded, “a warrant has been issued by the district magistrate for the search of your residence and property. You’re free to examine the warrant if you wish. You are now accompanying us there, where Detective Superintendent Hammond, Detective Sergeant Chikata, and I will conduct the search. Is that clear?”