Kwei Quartey - Gold of Our Fathers

A little past eight, Christine and Dawson pulled up at Wei’s house. Power to most of Kwadaso Estates was out, and the streets were very dark. The monotonous chorus of generators up and down the block was now the soundscape of practically every Ghanaian town and city.

At the sound of the horn, David, Wei’s watchman, came out to peer at the visitors by the reflected light of the SUV head lamps. Once he’d recognized Dawson from his first visit, he opened up the gate and Christine drove in.

The lights in Wei’s house looked bright, a testament to the power of the generator droning from somewhere in the back. Wei’s pickup was parked in along one wall, but what caught Dawson’s attention was the black Kia SUV positioned close to the front door. It looked like Lian’s vehicle, and Dawson wondered if she was here-or perhaps Wei had simply borrowed the Kia.

“I’ll wait here,” Christine said, whipping out her phone to call her mother.

Dawson was glad she was in a secure area with David in attendance.

Wei opened the door to Dawson’s knock and was clearly surprised.

“ Nǐ hǎo , Mr. Liu,” Dawson said, not quite sure if the greeting was right for late evening.

“Nǐ hǎo,” Wei replied uncertainly.

“May I come in?” Dawson asked, with a gesture that he hoped conveyed his meaning.

Wei hesitated, and then opened the door wider and stepped aside to let his visitor into the air-conditioned sitting room, which smelled heavily of cigarettes. Looking around, Dawson felt like this was a downsized version of Lian’s home, with the same kind of taste. The outsize sofa and matching chairs were made with shiny golden imitation leather and bold, strikingly colored wood. The center table was chrome and black lacquer. The wall-mounted HDTV, sixty inches at least, was playing a Chinese video featuring a beautiful but anguished young singer who, Dawson assumed, had lost her lover. In Dawson’s estimation, some of the furniture was new. Reaping some of his dead brother’s money, he thought, and then checked himself. He was making a prejudicial judgment.

Resting on one of the side tables next to an ashtray piled high with butts was Wei’s laptop. Lying around were two kinds of TV remotes, three different brands of mobile phones, a Samsung tablet, and an iPad. Evidently, Wei loved gadgets and electronic devices.

“I need to talk to you,” Dawson said. “No Mr. Huang today.”

“Mr. Huang?” Wei said, with a perplexed frown.

“Did you go to the mine today?”

“Eh?”

“The mine-did you work there today?”

Wei shook his head. “Not understand.”

Dawson was tired of the charade. He grasped Wei’s shirt with both hands and pulled him so close that the Chinese man’s soft belly bumped up against Dawson’s taut one. Wei’s eyes widened and his cigarette breath came harshly.

“Listen,” Dawson said quietly. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand English, because I know you do. If you don’t answer my questions, I will take you down to the station again and lock you up for two days. Am I clear?”

Wei nodded apprehensively. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“Good,” Dawson said, releasing him. “Take a seat over there, please.”

Wei obeyed, sitting down in one of the armchairs, and Dawson took his seat opposite him.

“Is Lian here?”

“Lian?” He was puzzled.

“The Kia outside is not hers?” Dawson asked.

“Ah,” Wei said with an uneasy laugh. “She give me the Kia; she say she like to drive Bao Mercedes.”

“I see,” Dawson said. “I was at your mining site today. It was deserted. Where were you and your workers?”

Wei looked bitter. “Those boys, they run away because my brother die there and they ’fraid juju . Anyway, now, no more gold there. Have to find other place.”

So that’s the real reason Liu’s site was abandoned , Dawson thought. It still didn’t disprove his theory of the existence of police informants, though.

“When Bao was still alive,” Dawson said, “and all the boys were working at your site, did the police or military ever come to ask questions or arrest you?”

Wei turned the corners of his lips down and shook his head. “No.”

“Did anyone ever come to tell you that the police were planning to raid your camp?”

“Raid? No. Never raid me and Bao.”

“What about other miners at other sites? Did they know when the police were coming because someone informed them in advance?”

“I hear something like that before,” Wei said with a dispirited shrug, “but never happen to us.”

Dawson could see that his line of questioning was fruitless. The Chinese man was listless and distracted, and Dawson watched him as he seemed to slump further and further into his chair-a chubby, broken man who had lost so much. Not everything, though , Dawson reflected, looking at the HDTV.

He got up to look at a picture on the wall of Bao and Wei together. They could not be more different.

Dawson turned to look at Wei closely. “You miss your brother?”

Wei didn’t answer. He stared at the wall photograph for several seconds, and his face began to crumple as his eyes moistened. “Why I don’t wake up that morning?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Why I no hear alarm?”

He put his head in his hands and suppressed his weeping so that his body heaved as he wheezed and gasped.

“I’m sorry,” Dawson said. He understood the man’s anguish. After a few minutes, there wasn’t much for Dawson to do but take his leave. The visit had been quite anticlimactic. As he got to the door, Dawson noticed a bunch of keys in a porcelain bowl on the sideboard to the left, including a car key with that famous logo. Seems like Wei has driving rights to the Benz, as well , Dawson observed. The death of Bao Liu was a mixed blessing for Wei: grief and financial gain both.

In his chilled office Monday morning, Commander Longdon carefully read through Dawson’s account of the shooting incident at the illegal mine on Friday. Spectacles half down his nose, he flipped back and forth between the three printed pages, and Dawson waited tensely.

The commander finally looked up over his glasses. “So you see the folly of your ways.”

Dawson swallowed. “Yes, sir. And I apologize.”

“Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

“All I can say is that I committed an error of judgment.”

Longdon leaned back thoughtfully for a moment and rocked gently in his executive recliner for a few minutes. Finally, he sighed. “Chief Inspector Dawson, your excellent performance as a detective per se is not disputed.”

But , Dawson thought. There’s always a but.

“But what has happened in this situation,” Longdon continued, “is a demonstration of your persistent issue, which is your arrogance and disregard for authority. Many of your superiors have commented on this.”

“It’s something I have to work on,” Dawson acknowledged.

“A word to the wise,” Longdon said. “If we are to work well together, I expect you to heed my instructions, advice, and warnings. Is that understood?”

“Of course, sir,” Dawson said. “And one other thing I wanted to mention is that I found out that Wei Liu’s mining site was deserted because he is relocating, not because of informants forewarning him about our raid.”

Longdon nodded with satisfaction. “Just as I said.”

Dawson dipped his head contritely. “You were right; I was wrong, sir.”

“We must move on to other items,” the Commander said. “Now that you’ve had enough time to reorganize the office downstairs, I would like a detailed written report on the changes you have made. I go for the regional meeting next week, and I want to report the progress.”