Murder at Cape Three Points (20 page)

IT’s computer lab was holding an exam. Forty or so students sat at computer terminals under the watch of two monitors, one of whom was DeSouza. He saw Dawson standing outside the window. Surprise and then displeasure washed across his face. He held up a finger to
indicate
wait
, whispered something to the other monitor, and then came outside.

“Good morning, sir,” Dawson said quietly, not wanting to disturb the students.

DeSouza gestured that they should walk out of earshot and they moved away.

“Inspector,” he said impatiently, “I’m in the middle of supervising exams. What is it you want?”

“I’m sorry to disturb,” Dawson said cordially. “I won’t take up too much of your time. I want to go over the seventh and eighth of July with you again. You said you taught a class on Monday, the seventh, and Tuesday, the eighth?”

DeSouza frowned. “Yes, I always do. What is your question?”

“I’ve just learned that you had your class on the eighth canceled and rescheduled to Wednesday, the ninth.”

DeSouza shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Not according to Mrs. Chinebuah,” Dawson countered evenly. “You had a funeral on Saturday in Somanya? Does that ring a bell?”

Realization washed over DeSouza’s face. “Oh. Yes, you are correct. That is what happened. It completely slipped my mind. Somanya is my wife’s hometown. We went to her mother’s funeral and after that, a family dispute came up and she couldn’t avoid staying until Monday morning. I wasn’t happy about leaving her in Somanya, so I thought it best to simply reschedule the class.”

“And you returned to Takoradi with your wife around what time?”

“Around eleven, something like that,” DeSouza said, glancing over to the classroom. “Mr. Dawson, I really must get back.”

If he got back at eleven
, Dawson thought,
he still had time to get to Cape Three Points, although it would have been tight.
“When you returned from Somanya, what did you do, sir?”

“I went to my STMA office for a few hours.”

“Can someone confirm that?”

“Yes, Susana, my assistant—she was there.”

Dawson would have Chikata check on that. “Did Superintendent Hammond or any of his people ask you about that Monday?”

“I don’t remember,” DeSouza said. “Why?”

“Because if you told them about your canceling the class that Monday, it seems odd that you forgot to tell me the same thing.”

“I’m sorry if I forgot, Inspector,” De Souza said, surprisingly apologetic. “Please, I must return to the classroom.”

He left. Watching DeSouza, Dawson still had a feeling the man was hiding something.

Chapter 18

A
T
6:20 S
ATURDAY MORNING
,
Dawson woke up to the sound of Hosiah and Sly moving around in the sitting room. Two grinning faces appeared around the door. He smiled at them, and they took that as their invitation to invade. They clambered on top of Dawson, bouncing and giggling while he tried to make them keep their voices down. They had arrived with Christine last night much later than Dawson had wanted or expected.

She was sleeping beside Dawson on the rather narrow bed. She groaned, lifting her head with one eye open. “Why do you boys wake me up like this every Saturday?” she complained bitterly. “If you want to play, go outside. Goodness.”

Her head flopped onto the pillow, and she went back to sleep.

“Come on,” Dawson whispered to the boys. “Let’s go. And stop making noise.”

He put Sly over one shoulder and Hosiah under his arm and took them writhing to the sitting room, where they had a wrestling match—two children versus one adult. Dawson marveled at how Hosiah’s vigor was already returning to normal. Nevertheless, he kept the play to only fifteen minutes, at the end of which the kids declared victory.

“Next time I’ll finish both of you off,” he warned to their hilarity. “Okay, time to go and get ready.”

“Where are we going today?” Sly asked.

“Cape Three Points.”

Hosiah wrinkled his nose. “What’s that?”

“It’s the most southern part of Ghana. There’s a nice beach there. Uncle Abraham and Auntie Akosua will take us.”

Excited, the two boys rushed to the bathroom to wash up.

“There’s a water shortage,” Dawson warned them, “so use what’s in the buckets and don’t waste it, you hear?”

A
BRAHAM DROVE HIS
4 × 4 Toyota with Dawson beside him in the front passenger seat and Christine, Akosua, Sly, and Hosiah in the rear. There was no room for Chikata, so he followed them with Baah in the taxi. Once out of Takoradi’s city limits, it was thirty minutes to the turnoff at Agona-Nkwanta, where aggressive vendors swarmed their vehicle. Abraham didn’t stop, turning onto the left branch off the central roundabout. They enjoyed the paved route for another fifteen minutes up to the right-hand junction to Cape Three Points. There, the dirt road began, winding ahead like a meandering serpent. It was potholed and bumpy in spots, but the Toyota handled it easily. On the other hand, trailing behind in the taxi, Chikata and Baah were having a rough time of it.

A left-pointing arrow indicated the final turn into Ezile Bay, a grassy pathway worn down by vehicle traffic. The two vehicles bounced over the remaining few meters and parked. Several small thatch-roofed, sandstone-colored chalets were scattered over a wide area, nestled among coconut palms, ferns, and trailing bougainvillea plants. Directly ahead, the aqua sea stretched to the horizon, rolling onto the off-white sand with soft wave breaks. Fishing canoes in the distance with their signature flags were clear silhouettes against a cloudless sky.

Hosiah hopped up and down with anticipation as everyone alighted. “Daddy, can we go in the water now?”

“Let’s go to the edge and then Uncle Abe will go in with you later.”

Sly walked alongside Hosiah, who skipped in the sand as he tugged and swung on his father’s hand. He had no fear of the sea, whereas Dawson eyed the waves with some unease. He couldn’t let his sons sense that, however. They went as far as the dissolving trail of the receding waves. Dawson guessed that the tide was low. Gleefully, Hosiah splattered the wet sand with his bare feet. Sly, who hailed from landlocked northern Ghana and was unaccustomed to beaches, was more restrained.

Dawson realized that this was the most serene setting he had ever experienced. Accra was hell, and Ezile was paradise. This place had no crowds or blaring horns, only a young white woman and a Ghanaian man having fun in the water. He was laughing as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and her legs around his waist, pressing her crotch into his. Dawson shifted his gaze eastward about 500 meters to a village that was subdivided into two sections by a lagoon formed by the meeting of the Ezile River and the sea. He had done his homework and knew this was the village of Akwidaa.

“Okay,” he said to the boys. “Let’s go back.”

They returned up the slight incline, and Hosiah scooped up a little sand and let it flow from his hand in the breeze.

“Daddy, did you catch the bad man yet?” he asked unexpectedly. “The man who cuts off people’s heads?”

“No, not yet. Are you still scared he’ll hurt Daddy?”

Hosiah’s response was an uncertain shake and nod of the head—no, and yes.

“Anyway, Daddy can beat that man in a fight,” Sly declared, executing a left jab and right uppercut. The boy still had the ways of the street in him.

Thanks for the confidence
, Dawson thought with some amusement. “I’m only going to catch him,” he said, putting an arm around Sly’s shoulders, “not fight with him.”

“Oh,” Sly said, looking a little disappointed. He looked at Hosiah. “I’ll race you to the coconut trees.”

They took off, Sly holding back somewhat so that he wouldn’t beat Hosiah by a great margin. Dawson rejoined Christine and the others near a set of chairs and tables in the shade of the coconut palm, where they had a perfect view of the bay formed by two forested promontories on either side.

“This is the life,” Christine said. “I could live here.”

“Me too,” Akosua said.

“Fine,” Abraham cracked. “When we depart, we’ll leave you ladies both behind.”

“Hmm,” Akosua said. “Who’s going to cook for you?”

A white man in shorts and slippers approached them at a leisurely
pace. He was of average height with a rotund belly, a fiery head of red hair, and a hircine beard streaked with grey.

“Mr. Cardiman?”

“Yes, and you must be Inspector Dawson. Welcome, sir!”

His voice resembled paper clips rattling in a tin, which suggested to Dawson a man who enjoyed an unfettered, somewhat jumbled life.

“This is a beautiful place,” Dawson said as he shook hands.

He introduced Chikata, the three other adults, and the two boys. Cardiman bent forward and playfully rubbed their heads.

“I’m sure you lads can’t wait to get into the water, eh?”

“You are reading their minds correctly,” Dawson said.

“Well, it’s low tide and will remain so for a few hours yet,” Cardiman said jovially, “so it’s a perfect time to go in.”

“My cousin can go in with them while we talk,” Dawson said.

“Come on, boys,” Abraham said. “Let’s go and change.”

Sly and Hosiah raced off excitedly in front of their uncle.

“Shall we go to my office, gentlemen?” Cardiman said to Dawson and Chikata.

“See you ladies later,” Dawson said.

Lazing in the lounge chairs, neither woman was paying much attention to him.

A
ROOM IN
Cardiman’s house served as the office. His desk, a muddle of papers crowding out two laptops, confirmed Dawson’s first impressions: the man was a little scattered, but happy with it. Facing Cardiman, Dawson and Chikata sat down in a pair of cushioned chairs along the wall. A pleasant cross breeze passed through the two mosquito-screened windows.

“I know you are anxious to talk about the Smith-Aidoo murders, Inspector,” Cardiman said.

“Did you know them well?”

“I knew Charles as well as I wanted to, but I met his wife only once, and that was when they visited me here at Ezile on that fateful Monday.”

“What was the purpose of their visit?”

“Whenever Charles Smith-Aidoo was here,” Cardiman said, leaning back and resting his hands on the promontory of his belly, “it
was to talk to Akwidaa’s chief, Nana Ackah-Yensu; myself; or both. Charles had a vision in which the two bays formed by the three peninsulas—the three points, so to speak—could become residential areas. Housing for low and mid-level workers in the oil industry would start some distance back from the beach and be built progressively inward. Luxurious chalets and mansions for rich people would be right on the beach.”

Distress now passed across Cardiman’s face like a shadow. “Have you seen the majesty of this place? A swampland with superb mangroves is just a short walking distance from here. Akwidaa is on the east side of the bay, and beyond that, you’ll find the ruins of an ancient German fort. Later on, I’d like to show you the bay on the other side of mangroves—simply lovely. Unparalleled forest and wildlife thrive along the three peninsulas for which Cape Three Points is named. The oil companies are already destroying marine life and habitat, and now they want to add land to their conquests and get rid of Ezile Bay Resort. Over my dead body.”

Or Smith-Aidoo’s
, Dawson thought. “I read the minutes of the meetings you attended at the STMA. You strongly oppose the oil people.”

“What happens when multinational companies invade a developing country like Ghana to set up extractive industries like gold or diamonds, or oil?” Cardiman demanded, thrusting his hands out. “They
ruin
the country, that’s what happens, Inspector. We all know about the chaos in the Niger Delta, where oil spills occur practically every day.”

“Has there been an oil spill off Ghana’s shores?” Chikata asked, and Dawson thought it was an excellent question.

“We had one just six months ago, and yet no one said a word,” Cardiman said, folding his arms in indignation. “Not one word, gentlemen. No government announcement, nothing in the papers, and precious little on the radio. Can you imagine that?”

“How did you hear about it?” Dawson asked.

“I know one of the Malgam helicopter pilots who takes workers to and from the rig. He saw the sheen over the water surface. It obviously wasn’t a large spill, but it was a spill just the same. I’m convinced that there’s been more than one but I believe that there’s
been a hush imposed on the media. Fish populations are down, whales have been washing up dead on Western Region beaches—”

“Whales?” Dawson said in surprise. “Ghana has whales?”

“Oh, yes!” Cardiman exclaimed with a smile. “And dolphins and endangered giant sea turtles. They didn’t teach you all that in school, did they?”

“No,” Dawson said. “Although it’s possible I slept through that class.”

Cardiman laughed, the stern expression on his face softening a bit.

“Let’s say a very large spill occurs,” Dawson said, “who pays for it?”