Kwei Quartey - Murder at Cape Three Points

Calmy-Rey nodded mutely. He seemed detached, or perhaps he was in a state of shock. He had said nothing more than necessary since his arrest, but he had been polite and cooperative. Just as he had been for Jason Sarbah, Mr. DeGraft was Calmy-Rey’s counsel.

Hammond sat in the front passenger seat next to the driver, while Dawson and Chikata sat in the back seat with Calmy-Rey in the middle. They pulled into the driveway of his residence and as they got out of the vehicle, the watchman, houseboy, and gardener watched with wide eyes, aware that something had gone very wrong.

Inside the house, it was obvious that the spotless sitting room was unlikely to yield much in a search.

“Do you have an office?” Dawson asked Calmy-Rey.

“Yes, it’s this way,” he said softly.

He took them up white marble stairs to a carpeted, immaculate office with a polished desk, a widescreen TV, a love seat, neatly arranged bookshelves, and a scanner and printer in a separate cabinet. Framed photographs of his wife and three children adorned the walls and the desk.

Chikata stood in the doorway just behind Calmy-Rey, who watched as Dawson and Hammond put on their latex gloves and began to go through the drawers in his desk.

The contents of the desk were unremarkable. Calmy-Rey was painfully tidy. Each drawer had designated contents, like printer paper, stationery, or business letters and memos, which Dawson read and found to be of no importance.

“Do you not have a computer?” Hammond asked Calmy-Rey.

“A laptop. It’s in my carry-on luggage downstairs.”

“Okay, we’ll look at that later.”

“We’d like to check your bedroom now, please, sir,” Dawson said.

Calmy-Rey led them there. As Dawson had expected, the bedroom was a picture of perfection with a mahogany platform bed flawlessly made up by the maid, ornamental rugs on a lustrous wood floor, a matching wood-framed full length mirror, two walk-in closets, a writing desk, and of course, a wide-screen TV facing the bed. The fixtures in the ensuite bathroom gleamed.

Again, Chikata positioned himself in the doorway behind Calmy-Rey, who stood to one side and watched Dawson and Hammond go to work. They shifted the heavy mattress together to have a look underneath. Dawson did not seriously expect to find anything there, and his prediction proved correct.

Calmy-Rey accompanied them now to watch them search the walk-in closets, which were full of business suits. They checked all the pockets, inside and out. The chest of drawers contained neatly folded socks, underwear, and casual wear. Everything was in plain view and neither Dawson nor Hammond could find any hidden spaces or false drawer bottoms.

Calmy-Rey resumed his previous position by the door, and Hammond began to sift through the writing desk.

Dawson went into the alcove of the bedroom. A chaise lounge and coffee table were by the window, which provided a marvelous view of the beach.

A small bookcase with a varied selection stood against one wall. The larger books were on the top and paperbacks were on the lower shelves. Calmy-Rey appeared to enjoy reading detective novels.

The hardcovers on the top shelf were all serious, with titles like Statistics for Business and Economics and Oil Rig Design , which was the largest of them. Dawson idly wondered how many types of oil rig designs existed. He should have been diligently conducting the search of the room, but he pulled the book from the shelf with some curiosity. Had he never had a tour of the Thor Sterke , he probably would not have been the slightest bit interested.

He glanced at Calmy-Rey and noticed he appeared rigid, as though bolted to the ground, as he watched Dawson. He rested the book on the coffee table and opened it to the title page, and then to the first chapter, after which he attempted to turn to the midsection. In fact, no midsection existed. Beyond a certain point, the pages did not turn. They were stuck together like a block. A slim metal lockbox rested in a cavity cut into a block. The book was actually a disguised safe.

“What is in here?” Dawson asked Calmy-Rey in surprise.

He hesitated. “A weapon.”

“What kind of weapon?”

“A pistol. I have a permit for it from the Minister of Interior, so it’s perfectly legal.”

“I’m sure it is,” Dawson said. “Do you have a key to open this box?”

For the first time, Calmy-Rey’s eyes took on an air of cold hostility.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I keep it taped to the underside of the cabinet in the bathroom.”

Hammond went there, found the key, and returned.

“Note that in the inventory, please,” he said to Chikata, showing him the small key. “Found affixed with tape to the bottom of the mirror cabinet.”

Hammond opened the safe. Cushioned in soft, black velvet, the semi-automatic pistol was the most precisely made weapon Dawson had ever seen, and if such a thing could be beautiful, this was. The grip was matte black, contrasting with the hard shine of the brushed stainless steel barrel and slide, along which was the proud manufacturer’s label. SPHINX AT.380-M MADE IN SWITZERLAND.

“And what do you use this for?” Dawson asked Calmy-Rey.

“Self-defense, of course. Have you noticed that armed robbery is becoming rampant in this country?”

“Have you ever killed anyone with it?”

“Fortunately, I’ve never had cause to.”

Dawson’s left palm tingled. “I think, Mr. Calmy-Rey,” he said, “that we need to talk a little more about this down at the station.”

BY DAYBREAK THE FOLLOWING day, Calmy-Rey had been in police custody for eighteen hours. DeGraft had agitated for an immediate interrogation the day before, but Dawson had resisted, refusing to allow the lawyer to drive the proceedings. Dawson needed time to digest the case and prepare for the interview. If his questioning was sloppy, Calmy-Rey might well slip from his grasp with DeGraft’s wily assistance. In any case, a little bit of detention in jail might urge Calmy-Rey to confess.

Dawson had ascertained that the oil executive had followed procedure and licensed the Sphinx pistol in Accra, filling out the correct forms A1 and A2 and paying the hefty fee to eventually receive the final permit from the Minister of the Interior.

Chikata had returned to Accra to submit the weapon to the forensic lab for fingerprints and ballistics. He was to ask his uncle to pressure the lab’s director to expedite the process. Without an incriminating result from the lab, Dawson might not have enough to detain Calmy-Rey much longer. Counsel would certainly press for his release and once Calmy-Rey left local jurisdiction for the UK, any investigation of his involvement would become very difficult, and they might never get the man back.

THE INSPECTOR’S OFFICE at the Beach Road station was available for the interview. With a constable on guard at the door, Dawson sat at the desk opposite DeGraft and his client.

Calmy-Rey did not appear to have slept much. With grey stubble growing like nascent plant shoots, he appeared older and more haggard, but Dawson suspected that DeGraft had advised him to put on his best face. Calmy-Rey was polite, even friendly as he answered Dawson’s preliminary routine questions-full name, date of birth, and places of residence in Ghana, the UK, and Switzerland.

“We are investigating the death of Mr. Lawrence Tetteh, the CEO of Goilco, who was killed last June,” Dawson continued, “and the deaths of Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo, who were killed about one month later.”

“Can you make it clear to my client why you’ve arrested him?” DeGraft snapped, opening his hands in a this is ridiculous gesture.

“We have some new information I will be happy to disclose in short order,” Dawson said pleasantly. “But first, I would like to establish one or two facts. Is that okay?”