Kwei Quartey - Gold of Our Fathers

“So no one has ever seen the Mr. Michael they think they are speaking to,” Dawson said, “because he doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “Commander Longdon gives the orders for the robberies after the person has left the mansion. Whether they sold or bought gold, whatever they have on them is stolen and goes back to the mansion. The victim loses twice. When the victim reports the crime, the case goes to the Obuasi Division. What happens with such case is the same thing Mr. Tanbry experienced.”

“In other words, the investigation goes nowhere,” Dawson said grimly.

“The commander will tell the victim about the increase in this kind of crime over the past year,” Obeng continued, “and how the department will do its very best to get to the bottom of it. Some people like Mr. Tanbry are suspicious, and the lady, Akua Helmsley, was getting close to understanding how the scam worked. She was dangerous to Commander Longdon. He wanted to destroy even the slightest threat.”

It was worse than Dawson ever could have imagined. “He had her and Samuels killed?” he asked.

Obeng nodded. Dawson thought bitterly back to the day before when Longdon had called him about Akua’s murder. At the scene, the commander had expressed his outrage. Cold-blooded brutality. It’s a terrible shame. Dawson recalled his words clearly. And all along it was Longdon himself who was responsible?

Could Obeng be lying? Dawson didn’t think so. “Who carried out the ambush on Miss Helmsley and Samuels?”

Obeng looked up wearily. “Two guards at the mansion-the machomen. They did it early in the evening the day before Miss Helmsley and Samuels were found.”

“Where were you?” Dawson asked.

“I was on duty in the charge office that day,” Obeng said.

That would be easy enough to check, Dawson thought.

“You see,” Obeng continued, “the first time I was caught drinking on the job, the commander told me he would spare me from being sacked if I could help him with some simple services, and I’d also get some money out of it. I started being a guard at the mansion one or two times when I was not on duty, and then one day Commander Longdon’s cousin asked me to substitute for one of the guards in a certain kind of operation. I didn’t know what it was until almost the time of the ambush, when the guy I was with said all I had to do was help him get the two men in the vehicle out at gunpoint and then stand guard while he got cash out of the vehicle.”

“And you were paid for the job?” Dawson asked.

“Yes, please. I got my share of the cash.”

Dawson could deduce what had happened over the last few hours. “Early this afternoon, Commander Longdon called you to say he had an emergency job?”

“Yes, please. He told me two people would be traveling in a jeep and that I should shoot to kill, but he didn’t tell me who would be in the vehicle. When I saw it was you, I couldn’t do it. I just fired the shotgun and hoped it would scare you away.” Obeng looked at Dawson. “You don’t know how much the commander hates and fears you.”

The “fear” part surprised Dawson at first, but what Obeng really meant was Longdon feared that the truth would be found out.

“One more question, Obeng,” Dawson said. “Was it you who told some of the Chinese miners when a raid was coming?”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Did the commander tell you to do it?”

“No,” Obeng said, head down. “I did it for the money. The Chinese people gave me a small dash for the information. This is Ghana. You do whatever you can to get money.”

How very true that is , Dawson reflected.

Dawson sipped his Malta while Daniel Armah had beer on a late Saturday afternoon as they sat on the back porch and reminisced. The older man had about five stories for every one of Dawson’s. They came around to the topic of Commander Longdon.

“Tell me again how you took him into custody,” Armah said, settling comfortably back in his chair. “I never get tired of hearing about it.”

“This is how it went,” Dawson began. “When we went to the commander’s house, he was in the sitting room having drinks with friends. He was surprised to see us. ‘What are you doing here?’ I went up to him and touched him on the shoulder. I told him he was under arrest as an accessory to murder, armed robbery, and all the rest of it.”

“His reaction?” Armah asked.

“Surprisingly calm. He told me that as a junior officer, I could not arrest him and that I should get out. And at that point, in walks DCOP Manu, who says coolly, ‘I am your senior officer, so I’ll do the arresting.’ Commander looked confused, as if he didn’t really know what was happening to him. DCOP Manu cautioned him, and told him, ‘Come along, it’s time to go.’ And the best part is she turned to his guests and said, “‘Excuse the interruption. Please carry on.’”

Armah laughed. “What a wonderful woman she is.”

“She will oversee the Obuasi Division until they find Commander Longdon’s replacement,” Dawson said.

“She will do more than a capable job,” Armah said. “But listen, there’s one other person I’m curious about. The American guy-Chuck Granger? How does he fit in, if at all?”

“I think he’s in the clear,” Dawson replied. “He has an alibi provided by Tommy Thompson, and even though Thompson could have cooperated with him to provide a fake one-meaning Granger really came back to Kumasi from Accra earlier than he said he did-I don’t think Granger had the slightest interest in Bao Liu.”

“I see. Well done, Darko.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Dawson said warmly. He hesitated before speaking again.

“I sense something is bothering you, isn’t it?” Armah said, smiling gently.

Dawson sighed and leaned forward, rubbing his forehead as if it hurt. “I’m just not one hundred percent sure that Yaw Okoh really killed Bao Liu. I lose sleep over it every night.”

Armah nodded. “That little voice of intuition of yours always speaks the truth. If this is bothering you, you must go back again over the same territory and look for something you missed.”

In Sunday’s sweltering noon heat, Dawson found Mr. and Mrs. Okoh working on their cassava farm. Both were hoeing and turning the dry soil, but she had the additional burden of carrying a small child on her back.

“Ayekoo!” Dawson called out, recognizing their hard work.

They responded in kind, mopping their brows of sweat as he came up to them, and, exchanged greetings. They invited him over to the shade at the edge of the plot, and they sat on a fallen log.

“How are you?” Dawson asked them.

Mr. Okoh turned the corners of his mouth down and turned his palms up briefly. “By His Grace, we are managing.”

Dawson nodded. “And who is this little one?” he asked, gently passing his fingers over the soft hair of the infant strapped to Mrs. Okoh’s back.

“That is Ama,” she said with a smile, glancing over her shoulder. “Amos’s child.”

“She is sweet.” Dawson said. He looked up at them. “Have you seen Yaw?”

“Yes, please,” Okoh said, looking sad. “We went to visit him last week at Kumasi Central Prison. All the life has left his body.”

“I’m sorry,” Dawson said.

Mrs. Okoh cast her eyes down. “He is suffering,” she said. “He won’t eat. He has become very thin.”

Dawson couldn’t imagine a thin Yaw. “Mr. and Mrs. Okoh, deep in my heart, I no longer feel your son killed the Chinese man,” he said. “He wanted to save his father from going to prison.”