Kwei Quartey - Gold of Our Fathers

The man took off like a rocket and bolted for the bush at the outer perimeter of a row of houses, but Dawson was ready, and broke into a run just as soon as Kudzo did.

“Stop!” Dawson called out.

He was hoping Obeng would be coming around the corner at just the right moment. But it wasn’t the sergeant who collided with Kudzo-it was the dog who had taken a liking to the two detectives. Its tail wagging as it looked back at Obeng, it didn’t see the fleeing Kudzo in time to move out of his way. With a yelp, the dog tried to avoid Kudzo, but it was too late. Kudzo tripped and tumbled. The dog scuttled away, apparently unwounded except for his pride.

Kudzo was quick to get back on his feet, but he was smart enough to know that there was no escaping the two policemen.

“On the ground,” Dawson commanded. “Get down now.”

Kudzo obeyed, lying on his stomach and submitting to handcuffs. Dawson, breathing hard, kneeled beside him to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you Kudzo Gablah?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m Chief Inspector Darko Dawson. You are under arrest.”

“I beg you, don’t beat me.”

“No one is going to beat you. But you’re still under arrest.”

It was late afternoon by the time Kudzo had been processed into the Obuasi Police Station. Dawson was hungry and tired but dismissed his flagging spirits. He was going to see this through before he slept tonight. With Obeng in attendance, he conducted the interview in the CID room. About twenty-four, Kudzo was almost as tall as Dawson, but the intensity of the mining work had made him dense with muscle. His forehead was creased with two lines, like a permanent question on his face.

Kudzo, like Brave, was an Ewe from Keta, in the Volta Region, and Dawson’s first question to Kudzo was whether he spoke Twi. Not well, the young man answered. Obeng didn’t speak Ewe, so English would have to be the language of communication-for this interview, at least.

“Why did you run away from us?” Dawson asked.

“Please, I haven’t done anything,” he said huskily.

“Then that should mean that you don’t have to run, not so?”

“Yes, please.”

But Dawson knew that the young man’s instinct had told him otherwise and led to his panicky attempt to flee. The police often scapegoated poor people like him. “Do you know why we were looking for you?”

Kudzo hesitated. “Please, because of the Chinese man?”

“Correct. We are not accusing you of anything. We only want to know what happened. What time did you go to work yesterday?”

“Five forty-five.”

“What did you do first?”

“I started digging the gravel.”

“Apart from Mr. Bao and Mr. Wei Liu, how many people do you work with?”

“Please, three.”

“Were they also digging?”

“Yes, please. First I started, then they also began.”

“I see.” Dawson was studying Kudzo, but the young man kept his eyes firmly directed toward the table.

“Mr. Bao Liu was your boss?”

“Yes, please.”

“What about Mr. Wei? What did he do?”

“He was the manager. Usually, he is there every day, but Bao is there only on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“Mr. Wei arrived at what time yesterday morning?”

“Please, around six-thirty,” Kudzo said. He seemed to be loosening up a little. “I thought Mr. Bao was there by then, because he told us he would come to fix the excavator early in the morning.”

“So it was strange that he hadn’t arrived.”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, go on,” Dawson prompted.

“I started to do my work, and Mr. Wei too, when he came to the site he asked me where Mr. Bao was and I said please I don’t know.”

“I see. And then what happened?”

“Please, when I was digging, then I hit something with my shovel, and I didn’t know what it was. I hit it another time to try and move it.”

The deep cuts in the dead man’s skull. Rather than mortal wounds, they could have been from Kudzo’s shovel.

“Then I saw it was somebody’s head,” Kudzo continued, “so me and my friends, we started to dig around it to get it out, and Mr. Wei too, he came to help and then he saw it was his brother.”

Kudzo shuddered visibly, and Dawson had to agree that it was shudder inducing.

“Before you saw the body, did you notice anything different or strange?”

“Please, I saw the soil on top of the body is a different color.”

“What does that mean, Kudzo?”

“That someone had poured another soil on top of the normal one-the one that was there the day before.”

“In order to bury the body?”

“Yes.”

“Where would someone get the new soil from?”

Kudzo seemed to be trying to hide some amusement. “Please, plenty soil is all around.”

Dawson agreed inwardly he had put the question badly. “Okay, let’s say it was you who wanted to bury the body. How would you do it?”

Kudzo swallowed and looked away uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” Dawson asked.

“Please, nothing is wrong.”

“Then answer my question. If you were to bury Mr. Bao Liu, how would you do it?”

“Instead of digging with a spade,” Kudzo said softly, “I will use the excavator, to dig a hole, then put the body inside and drop the soil back on top.”

“But your excavator was not working,” Dawson pointed out.

The boy nodded. “But there are other excavators around there.”

Dawson leaned back. This might be a lead. “You’re talking about the four machines in the site next to yours?”

“Yes, please. That belongs to one American guy.”

“You know him?”

Kudzo shook his head. “Please, I know his name only, but I never talk to him.”

“His name is what?” Dawson asked.

“We call him Mr. Chuck.”

“Okay.” Dawson didn’t know whether that was a first name or surname. “So, for example,” he said, wanting to delve more into this, “if I use the excavator, how long will it take me to bury a body?”

Kudzo shrugged. “If you know how to operate it well, it will only take some five minutes. Plus the time to drive the excavator from where it is parked and back again. Maybe some twenty minutes.”

The question was whether the murderer had been trying to hide the body or make it discoverable. Surely he-or was it they?-knew that the location chosen was an active digging site.

Dawson stared at Kudzo for a while until the boy became discomfited. “Do you know how to operate an excavator?”

Kudzo fidgeted.

“Who taught you how?” Dawson persisted without the answer.

“Mr. Wei.”

Interesting, Dawson thought. “Did you drive the excavator over there to bury Mr. Bao after you tied him up like that? Did you help someone do it, or did you do it by yourself?”

Kudzo began to tremble. “No, please.”

“He didn’t pay you the day before, not so?”

Kudzo was startled. “Please, how did you know?”

Dawson dismissed the question. “And because of that you were angry with Mr. Bao and you wanted to kill him.”

Kudzo withered. He shook his head sadly. “He pays me. Why should I kill him?”

“Then was it Mr. Wei who killed him and you helped Wei bury Bao with the excavator?”

Kudzo became tearful all of a sudden, and hastily wiped the moisture off his cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” Obeng abruptly chimed in, almost startling Dawson.

“Please, I don’t know,” Kudzo whispered.

“Because you killed the Chinese man, not so?” Obeng barked.

Kudzo shook his head dumbly, tears streaming, and Obeng snorted with contempt. Dawson didn’t send any restraining signals to the sergeant. Sometimes, two contrasting interrogation styles could be effective.