Murder at Cape Three Points (22 page)

C
ARDIMAN HAD TO
switch to four-wheel drive to climb a steep hill, and when they reached the crest, the beach again appeared in the distance.

“If you go up that way,” he said, pointing to another branch in the road, “you’ll reach the lighthouse, where there’s a splendid view. If you have some time, I highly recommend a visit before you leave Cape Three Points.”

“How far is it?”

“Just fifteen minutes or so from Ezile.”

He coasted down to the village and stopped at its edge in a swirl of dust.

To Dawson, born and bred in a frenetic city, village life seemed to move at a snail’s pace, or to not move at all. It was peaceful, but how did the residents live without electricity and running water? Not that Accra didn’t regularly have power and water failures, he thought wryly. That was almost worse, in a way. These villagers didn’t worry about electricity cuts because there was no electricity to be had. No expectations, no disappointments.

As they entered the village, about a dozen children ranging in age from two to eight came running out to greet them jubilantly. “Mr. Cardiman!” they shouted, dancing around him, tugging at his clothes and putting their arms around him.

“Hi, kids!” he said, beaming and ruffling their heads.

“How are you?” several of them asked repeatedly, practicing their limited English.

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said. “Now line up, come on, come on, you know the drill.” Cardiman winked at Dawson and Chikata. “Got them trained.”

Giggling and jostling, the children got into the semblance of a line, and Cardiman gave each of them a handful of sweets from the plastic bag he was carrying. They took off shrieking with delight, and Cardiman and his two companions continued through the village toward the shore. Some of the houses were of brick, others were wood frames filled in with mud. Dogs, goats, sheep, and chickens wandered freely. They didn’t bother anyone, and no one bothered them. Everyone knew Cardiman it seemed, acknowledging him as he passed by. He took care to greet each of them.
Good village etiquette
, Dawson thought.

“We’re coming to the chief’s house now,” Cardiman said.

It was a square brick home whose faded blue paint appeared to have run out before the work was finished. One side of the corrugated metal roof was sagging. The front door was ajar. Cardiman knocked. A skinny man in his early fifties came out.

“Good morning, Yao,” Cardiman said.

“Good morning, sir.”

“This is Inspector Dawson and Sergeant Chikata from Accra. They have come to pay respects to Nana Ackah-Yensu. Is he in?”

“Please, he has gone out.”

“Any idea when he’ll return?”

“Please, I think he will come back soon. You can have a seat.”

Yao gestured to two plastic chairs in the corner of the porch. Dawson and Cardiman took the seats, Chikata remained standing, and Yao hovered indecisively.

“Please, I will go and call him to come,” he said, as if it had just occurred to him.

“Thank you, Yao.”

He set off.

“He’s a relative of Ackah-Yensu’s,” Cardiman explained. “He’s a really sweet man, just a little slow mentally, that’s all.”

They waited almost forty-five minutes before the chief arrived. He was a scrawny man in his early sixties, dressed traditionally with yards of richly patterned cloth wrapped around his body and thrown over one shoulder, and he wore it well.

The three men rose to greet him. Dawson presented him with the gin, which Ackah-Yensu graciously accepted.

Yao brought the chief a chair, and he sat down opposite them.

“So, Mr. Dawson and Mr. Chikata, what is your mission here today?”

Speaking in Fante, Dawson told the Nana that apart from his hearing about the esteemed Akwidaa village and wishing to pay his respects to the Nana, he was on business, investigating the death of Charles Smith-Aidoo and his wife.

Nana Ackah-Yensu nodded and smiled and then paused for a long time. “Yes,” he said finally, rubbing his palm slowly up and down his thigh. “I knew Mr. Smith-Aidoo well, and I was very sorry to hear of his death.”

“Nana, I understand he visited you on a few occasions?” Dawson asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t volunteer anything further.

“Please, Nana,” Dawson pressed, laying on a thick coat of deference, “can you tell me the nature of his visits?”

“Hmm,” the chief said, as though considering a choice of ingredients. “Well, the first time he came here, he told me that his company, Malgam, wanted to help some of the villages on the coast of the Western Region, and he asked me what the needs of Akwidaa were, and I told him, you know, just like so many villages in Ghana, we need electricity, and we need running water. It’s simple. No mystery about it. He said he would talk to his people and return.”

He hitched his cloth more securely onto his shoulder. “About two months later, Mr. Smith-Aidoo came back. He said Malgam was going to join the government to provide us with electricity and water. They were making plans. I was very happy. I told him that the next time he comes, he has to meet with all the elders of the village, and he said okay. Then after a few weeks, he met with the elders and me. He brought us all kinds of fine gifts, we poured libation, and then we started the meeting. The elders were eager to know the details of the plans Mr. Smith-Aidoo had for us, and when he started talking it seemed very good to us, but after some few minutes, I realized his message had changed. He said Malgam wanted to do what was in our mutual best interest, and he and his team would like to build a new town they call New Akwidaa, either on the Ezile River or some other place, and tear down Old Akwidaa.”

Ackah-Yensu paused, looking as baffled as he must have been at that meeting.

“He said Malgam would pay us for the land and contribute to building the new settlement and the electricity and water. In fact, we were shocked. We never expected something like this. We started to say no, we can never agree to such a thing. Then he told us how much they were offering to pay the elders to do this project, and some of them looked at each other and started to change their minds. To us, it was a lot of money.”

“And so what happened after that?” Dawson asked.

“Fighting—that’s all.” Ackah-Yensu shrugged hopelessly. “The
older people in the village say they will never move. The lazy young guys who don’t want to follow in their fathers’ example as fishermen say they would like to move to a new place. At the same time, the village elders can’t agree on any decision to bring to me. Therefore, nothing happened. And now Mr. Charles is dead.” He shook his head in regret.

Dawson understood the chief’s disappointment: the potential windfall for the village had come to a stalemate and completely flopped. “Please, Nana, after that last meeting with the elders attending, did you see Mr. Smith-Aidoo or talk to him again?”

“By phone,” he said, making the universal sign for it. “He said if I could convince the elders and the village it will be good to move, he could give me a little something and make sure I had a very fine chief’s house.”

Blatant bribery
, Dawson thought. If this story was true, his respect for Charles had just dropped a few points. “Did you try to do that, Nana?”

The chief shook his head. “No. Just a few days later, he was killed.”

“Do you regret his death, Nana?”

“Of course!” he said with a new intensity. “I think with him, we in Akwidaa had a chance that something good would come if we continued to negotiate.”

Maybe
, Dawson thought, but he was doubtful. From what he had observed, neither the government nor the private sector was in any rush to change the lot of villages in the country. Urban first, rural last.

“One last question, Nana, if you please,” he said. “Do you know of any fishermen or people in Akwidaa who wanted to harm Mr. Smith-Aidoo?”

Nana frowned. “Oh, no,” he said firmly, shaking his head and appearing put out by the question. “That’s not how we think here. You know, all this type of killing—shooting people and so on—belongs to the ways of the city. I’m not trying to offend you, Mr. Dawson …”

“It’s no offense, Nana. What about
juju
or witchcraft?”

Ackah-Yensu stared at the ground for a moment and then looked up to meet Dawson’s gaze directly. “That one, I can’t say. Since my
time in Akwidaa, we have only had two witches. One was driven away to a witches’ camp, and the other one was killed. I don’t think anyone in Akwidaa performed
juju
on Mr. Charles and his wife. Maybe a jealous family member, rather.”

Dawson wished he could ask the chief if he thought Mr. Cardiman could have murdered the couple, but obviously he would have to wait for a more discreet moment.

Chapter 20

B
EFORE RETURNING TO THE
others, Cardiman took Dawson and Chikata up a promontory beyond the mangroves. From there, they could see the bay where Ezile was located to their left, and a second slightly larger bay to their right. The sand was pale fawn in color, the water dark turquoise rolling onto the shore and breaking into white foam.

“It’s deserted,” Dawson observed in surprise.

Cardiman looked at him, nodding with a smile. “Yes, that’s what is so marvelous about it. The most you’ll see is one or two people walking along the beach in transit from Cape Three Points village to Akwidaa.” He gazed rapturously at the bay. “Unspoiled beauty. I’m not saying don’t build anything on the land. I’m saying don’t
ruin
it if you do, and that’s the vision Charles had—a wholesale raping of the land for commercial purposes. On the other hand, my Ezile is constructed in complete harmony with the environment—no uprooting trees or disturbing the mangroves. Some of our power even comes from solar energy.”

Dawson had to admire Cardiman’s passion and dedication. For him there was nothing more important than this slice of paradise on earth, and he was going to fight to preserve it. At the same time, Dawson thought, that could make his motive for murder all the more powerful.

On their return, Cardiman went off to supervise the repairs on one of the chalets, and Dawson rejoined Christine and Akosua, who were still at their shady perch on the beach chatting as they watched
Abraham playing in the water with the kids. Chikata and Baah were playing a noisy game of cards at the next table.

When lunch arrived, Akosua beckoned to her husband to come out of the water for something to eat. Sly and Hosiah came running up, wet and exuberant.

“I was swimming, Daddy,” Hosiah said jumping up and down.

“Yes, I saw you!” He draped a towel around his son’s shoulders. “Good for you! Dry yourself off. How’s the water?”

“It’s nice,” Sly said.

Abraham plunked down in a chair, panting. “My goodness. These kids have made me realize how out of shape I am.”

Lunch came. It was a mouth-watering spread of “Red Red”—succulent fried, ripe plantains and black-eyed peas reddened by palm oil;
banku
with tilapia; yam and light soup full of chunks of fish; Jollof rice prepared with chicken and an aromatic mix of spices and tomato sauce; and for Abraham, a plate of fish and chips with coleslaw, a dish he had recently acquired a taste for. After they had washed their hands, they tucked in, eating with their fingers—except for Abraham, who didn’t think his meal was made for consumption that way.

“Can we go back in the water, Uncle?” Hosiah asked as he finished his meal.

Abraham looked to Dawson for guidance.

“Only for a little while,” Dawson said. “Then we have to go back home.”

“Okay.”

“Before you kill your uncle,” Akosua added, under her breath.

Abraham went gamely back to the water with the boys, although it looked like he could have done with a nap instead.

“You want to go for a walk?” Dawson asked, looking at Christine.

“Where?”

Dawson pointed to the peninsula beyond Akwidaa. “The remains of a seventeenth-century German fort are over there. Let’s go and see it.”

“But do you know the way?” she said, looking a little doubtful.

“I think there’s a path and some signs. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“Hmm. Okay, but if we get lost in there you’ll never hear the end of it from me.”

“Relax,” Dawson said, grinning. “I have a wizardly sense of direction. Come on, it will be an adventure.”

He reached out his hand, and when she grabbed it he pulled her out of her seat.

“We’ll be back in a little while,” Christine said to Akosua.

Before they set off, they went to the water’s edge to let Abe know. Hosiah looked immediately anxious. “Where are you going, Daddy?”

“We’re just going to walk past the village.”

“Is the bad man there?”

Dawson got a knot in his chest. “Come here, Hosiah.”

He knelt in the sand and hugged his wet son, giving him a kiss. “The man isn’t there, okay? I promise you. We went with Mr. Cardiman and saw the village with the chief and everything, and no one bad was there. Only good people, okay?”

Hosiah nodded mutely.

“We’ll be back soon. Play with Uncle Abe and Sly.”