Kwei Quartey - Gold of Our Fathers

“Oh, you know him?” Longdon asked in some surprise.

“I met him and Helmsley at Bao Liu’s mining area the day he was found dead. They were trespassing and I warned them off. She asked me if she could keep in touch in order to get updates on the investigation.”

“Ah, I see,” the commander said. He introduced Dawson to the two officers, a corporal and lance corporal and from the Pakyi station.

For the moment, Dawson put away any antipathy he had felt for Longdon. There was time for that, and it wasn’t now. “Who found them, sir?” he asked.

“Some hunters,” Longdon said. “Around three o’clock this morning. But they weren’t able to report it until about six, when they reached Pakyi. It’s a long walk back. ” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head slowly. “Cold-blooded brutality. It’s a terrible shame.”

“But what could be the motive for such an attack?” Dawson asked, bewildered.

“If I had to guess,” the commander said, “I would say it was a robbery gone bad.”

But why had Akua and Samuels been in such a remote area in the first place? Dawson frowned as he noticed something that had not struck him till now, and he turned to the commander. “This is the direction the Prado was facing when it was found?”

“Yes, of course,” London replied. “Why?”

“It’s pointed toward the main road,” Dawson said. “So she was coming back from somewhere.”

“I should say so, yes,” Longdon agreed.

Dawson thought of something and took out his phone, going straight to Whatsapp. “Akua Helmsley texted me at three seventeen yesterday afternoon,” he said.

“Oh,” the commander said with interest. “Texted you about what?”

“She wanted me to call her back,” Dawson said, “but she didn’t say more than that. I didn’t call.”

“Ah,” Longdon said. “That’s useful information. So, we know she was killed sometime between yesterday midafternoon and early this morning.”

Dawson was imagining the worst. What if Akua had wanted advice about what she was investigating, or to let Dawson know where she was going next? Perhaps she had waited for his return call as long as possible, and then started out on her mission. If Dawson had phoned her, could he have stopped her from going on a dangerous expedition and getting killed?

What have I done? Dawson felt sick. “Do you have CSU coming, sir?” The more businesslike he was, the less emotional he felt.

“Yes,” the commander said. “I want the entire unit here so this is handled correctly.”

CSU arrived near ten. The sky was gray, and thick clouds were moving in, promising rain in the afternoon. It was mercifully rainy-season cool, which would help retard decomposition of the dead bodies, but certainly wouldn’t stop it.

The technicians took photos, got some serviceable fingerprints, and searched the vehicle and surrounding areas. They found nothing more of importance, and neither had Dawson. No laptop, briefcase, purse, handbag, backpack, or any other personal belongings, so once the bodies had been collected and the SUV driven away to the Motor Traffic Unit at Kumasi Regional HQ, there was nothing left but the task of solving a new murder.

From Pakyi, Dawson headed immediately to the Golden Tulip Hotel in Kumasi. He was functioning, but life seemed surreal, slow, and thick, as if he were moving through soup. How can Akua be dead? He repeatedly saw her in his mind, collapsed and lifeless beside the Prado, and the blood on her face-so much blood.

He realized as he arrived in Kumasi that he had been navigating large portions of his journey without being aware of his surroundings-like sleep driving. He shook his head and blinked several times to wake himself up, refocus, and bring back reality to its baseline.

He turned off Victoria Opoku-Ware Road, onto Rain Tree Road near the Royal Golf Course, and into the Tulip’s car park. Inside the hotel lobby, he went to reception and asked to see the manager.

“Please have a seat,” the desk attendant said. “I’ll call him.”

But Dawson didn’t take a seat in any of the comfortable chairs in the gleaming lobby with its twinkling recessed lights. He stared at their reflection in the polished tile floor, lost in thought. He jumped when he heard a voice to his side saying, “Good afternoon, sir.”

He looked up and found the manager in front of him. His badge said sarpong . He was small in stature and dressed in a navy suit, white shirt, and Adinkra tie.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sarpong. My name is Dawson-chief inspector with CID. May I speak to you in private?”

“But of course. This way, please.”

Dawson followed him to his office at the side of reception, which Sarpong unlocked with a swipe card. It shut behind them with a solid click. It was a quiet room with a thick carpet.

Before Sarpong offered him a seat, Dawson spoke. “I have some bad news. One of your guests, Akua Helmsley, was found murdered this morning.”

“Oh!” Sarpong took a step back-staggered really-and held on to the back of one of the armchairs as if he might otherwise fall. “Oh, no.”

His eyes were wide, his mouth open.

“I’m sorry,” Dawson said, and instantly he felt himself return to normal, because now it was Sarpong in shock and Dawson who had to take charge.

Sarpong sat down weakly. “So that’s why,” he murmured.

“That’s why what?”

“That’s why the policemen were here yesterday.”

“What policemen?” Dawson asked sharply.

“This morning when I came on shift,” Sarpong said, “Mr. Brooks, the night manager, told me that around nine o’clock, two detectives from CID came to the hotel saying that Miss Helmsley had been reported missing and that they needed to search her room.”

“Did the manager give you a description of the two men?”

“No, sir.”

“Did they take items away?”

“Yes. They asked him to open the safe, and they removed documents from it.”

What documents? Dawson frowned. None of this made sense. Commander Longdon had not mentioned this. He would have been aware, wouldn’t he? Dawson thought about it for a moment. It was possible someone reported Akua missing to one of the larger Kumasi police stations like Manhyia Divisional Headquarters. They might have forwarded the report to Regional, which might have then sent two detectives down to investigate. Sometimes the left didn’t know what the right was doing.

Something was still wrong, though. By nine at night, it would have been barely twelve hours or so since Akua had been seen last. That didn’t constitute a disappearance. Unless … Unless whoever came to look through Akua’s room already knew she was dead. Dawson’s blood chilled. “May I see her room?”

“Of course you may.”

They took the lift to her room on the third floor. The Guardian treats its reporters well , Dawson reflected, unless it’s Akua’s own money that paid for this. It was an executive room with a king bed, minibar, a sprawling bathroom, two armchairs with matching footrests, and a polished rosewood floor.

The desk was clear except the lamp on top of it-nothing in the drawers. The wardrobe had Akua’s clothing both in drawer space and on hangers, with shoes on the floor of the wardrobe. The safe was indeed wide open and empty.

Neither of her two suitcases contained any items. Obviously she had not been planning on any travel. Dawson looked around. In fact, except for her clothing, this room had been emptied out, and anything else that Akua might have had in her possession on her excursion into the hinterland was now in someone else’s hands.