Murder at Cape Three Points (32 page)

“Is that one of the naval protection ships?” he asked Glagah, pointing.

“Correct. There are usually one or two of them in the vicinity.”

“How did the canoe carrying Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Aidoos’ bodies escape their detection?”

“One patrol was busy on a mission to intercept some illegal trawlers, while the other one had gone back to shore for a crew change.” Glagah shrugged in regret. “We wish they could be everywhere at the same time, but that isn’t possible.”

“If one or both of the protection vessels had been around, could the canoe have made it into the restricted zone?”

“It would have been very difficult. It was either very lucky, or someone clever engineered its appearance at the right time.”

“How do you mean, Mr. Glagah?”

“A knowledgeable seaman would know in which direction the ocean currents run at a particular time of the day and season,” he replied, looking directly at Dawson, “and therefore when to release the canoe and from what distance. He’d also be familiar with the movements of the patrol vessels. It would take quite a bit of calculation, but it could be done.”

“So,” Dawson said slowly, “an experienced fisherman from any of the coastal communities who is accustomed to coming out this far would fit the grade.”

“Yes,” Glagah confirmed. “He would know how to navigate at night, what maneuvers to watch for from the patrol vessels, and the sea currents.”

Dawson became lost in thought for a while until Glagah interrupted his ponderings.

“Come along,” he said. “Let’s go back to accommodations to change, and then we’ll go to Mr. Findlay’s office.”

Back in regular clothing, they went to George Findlay’s office.

“Good to meet you in person, Mr. Dawson,” he said, shaking hands heartily. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your visit with us?”

“Very much, sir. Mr. Glagah has been a very good host.”

Glagah smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Dawson, and now I’m afraid I must say goodbye.”

Findlay’s office was compact. A quick glance around revealed the artifacts of a long career in the offshore drilling business. A chipped coffee mug with a faded company logo offering to drill deeper cheaper shared dwindling desk space with papers, envelopes, and a computer. Framed pictures of oil rigs and gleaming safety-award plaques adorned one wall.

“Well,” Findlay said, “let’s have a seat, shall we? I was wondering if it would help you to meet Clifford, the crane operator who first sighted the canoe. He’s around if you’d like to talk to him. I let him know you’d be here so we wouldn’t catch him by surprise.”

He crossed to his desk to use the phone. “Hi, John. Can you have Clifford come down? Yes, my office. Thanks.”

They chatted a few minutes until Clifford knocked on the door and entered. In his early thirties, he had a stout build, a diamond stud in his left ear, and jet-black hair. The warm weather outside had flushed his cheeks red.

“Hi, Clifford. Thanks for coming down. This is Inspector Dawson, whom I told you about yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded at Dawson “Hi.” He didn’t appear interested in a handshake.

Findlay stood up. “Take my seat, Cliff. I need to go next door for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Dawson admired Findlay’s tact. Clifford might not be as forthcoming in the presence of his boss.

“Anything in particular you want to know?” Clifford asked, sitting down as Findlay left. He had a coiled energy, jiggling his right leg up and down in an unconscious, repetitive motion.

“Just the details of that morning when you were working and the canoe with the dead bodies appeared,” Dawson said.

“Well, I was unloading a barge on the starboard side, saw the canoe coming in from the southwest, no one paddling it. I couldn’t pay too much attention at first because I had to concentrate on the unloading, but as it got closer, it just looked strange.”

Dawson had to listen closely to follow what Clifford was saying. His speech was rapid, and he had a thick Scots accent.

“So, I grabbed the binoculars in the cab to get a better look,” Clifford continued, “and I saw it. Two dead bodies in the canoe, and the head wedged onto a pole.”

“What did you do?”

Clifford snorted. “Told my supervisor, of course. Told him something fuckin’ unbelievable was out there.”

“You had a strong reaction to it,” Dawson said encouragingly.

“Well, yeah, it was disgusting, really. Not used to this kind of thing where I come from.”

“Where is that?”

“Aberdeen. Nothing but trouble from these fishermen round here,” Clifford continued resentfully. “Hanging about day and night in their fuckin’ canoes. They don’t even need to be this far out at sea to do their fishing, getting their nets all tangled up with our equipment and running into the service boats.”

“Apart from the canoe with the bodies in it,” Dawson said, “what did you see? Any other boats or canoes around?”

“Not really. The protection vessels were missing in action—I think one of them had gone back to shore for a crew change or something and another was off somewhere doing who knows what. Another canoe was lurking about, but I didn’t pay that much attention to it. Wouldn’t be anything new. Like I said, they’re always about.”

Dawson leaned forward slightly. “Another canoe?”

“Yeah, like a twenty-four footer, about twice the size of the one with the stiffs in it. About six hundred meters away.”

“Who was in it?”

“Couple fishermen.”

Dawson knew this was something significant. “What were they doing?”

Clifford shrugged. “Nuthin’, really. Just kind of hanging about, fuckin’ staring.”

“What did they look like—the two fishermen?”

“Look like? Didn’t notice. They all look the same to me.”

“How long were they in the area?”

“Ten minutes, maybe, and then they took off. Outboard motor. Fishing, I suppose.”

“They couldn’t have been fishing,” Dawson said, “because it was a Tuesday. It’s taboo to fish on Tuesdays.”

“Really?” Clifford asked in surprise.

“Yes. Are you sure you don’t remember anything about these two fishermen, Mr. Clifford?”

Now his eyes took on a depth of thought that had not been there before. “I mean they were just sitting there watching, and you’re right, now that you mention it. They didn’t have any nets or fishing lines.”

Startled as it dawned on him, Clifford looked at Dawson directly for the first time. “You’re saying … those might have been the murderers who cut off the guy’s head?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Clifford blinked and fell back in his chair.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered. “What an idiot I am.”

Chapter 30

G
LAD TO BE BACK
on solid ground again, Dawson reflected on his visit to the rig. He thought about the time spent there, going to and from, and the days spent preparing for it. Had the great effort to visit the unique crime scene been worth it? He thought so. Seeing the staggering breadth and majesty of the Gulf of Guinea had impressed on him more than he had appreciated before what Mr. Glagah had emphasized: how essential a fisherman’s skill and knowledge must have been to carry off the feat of getting two dead bodies so far out to sea. From Clifford, Dawson had all but confirmed what he had suspected—that there had been two people involved in the execution of the murder, and Dawson thought that at least one of them, maybe both, was a fisherman.

His perspective on the approach to the case had changed. Perhaps he and Chikata should be seeking a
fisherman
with a motive to kill the Smith-Aidoos or a fisherman willing to do it for the money. If they found the fisherman, whoever else was involved—whether it be Brian, DeSouza, Jason, or Cardiman—would become clear.

His phone showed that Hammond had called late that morning. He tried reaching the superintendent without success and decided to grab a cab to Headquarters. Hammond was likely to be there.

Seidu, who was standing outside as Dawson walked up to the building, gave him a surprisingly curt nod and not much of a greeting.
Something’s wrong
, Dawson thought. The ASP had been perfectly affable before.

He knocked warily on Hammond’s door and entered. The
superintendent paused briefly from a report he had been writing and then returned to the document without a word.

“Sir?” Dawson said cautiously.

Hammond dropped his pen abruptly and looked up, his jaw hard. “What are you trying to do? Infuriate the whole of Takoradi?”

Dawson immediately guessed what this was about, but he played innocent. “Sorry, sir. I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What possessed you to confront Mr. Jason Sarbah with the obnoxious accusation that he performed a human sacrifice on Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo?”

“I didn’t accuse him of that. I asked him if human sacrifice was a consideration to save his daughter’s life.”

“It’s the same thing,” Hammond said, gesturing in exasperation. “The accusation is implied. This is a respectable man, Inspector Dawson. You can’t ask him such insulting questions.”

“He called you about it, sir?”

“No, his lawyer came here this morning to talk to me in person. In fact, I’ve never seen Mr. DeGraft so furious and upset. You dragged them out on a Sunday when everyone is trying to get some relaxation and just to ask these offensive questions? Oh,
Awurade
!” It was the first time Dawson had heard the superintendent swear in God’s name.

“I need to examine all possible angles,” Dawson said quietly.

“No, you are examining
impossible
angles. Human sacrifice. Are you crazy? I will have to complain to Chief Superintendent Lartey about you. This is too much.”

I can’t let him do that
, Dawson thought, an alarm going off in his mind like a siren. It was vital that nothing ruin his prospects for promotion, and this just might do it. “Respectfully, sir, before you do that, I have some questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Hammond snapped.

“May I sit down?”

The superintendent nodded as if he hated to grant the permission.

“I now know that the Lawrence Tetteh listed in Charles Smith-Aidoo’s phone was the same one as the CEO of Goilco,” Dawson said. “They were in direct contact with each other before Tetteh’s death.”

Hammond appeared startled, but kept his composure. “How do you know that?” he challenged.

“A friend of mine at the Vodafone main office in Accra confirmed the number for me, and I have email documents that Jason Sarbah gave me last week showing communications between the two.”

Dawson had the folder from Sarbah. He took out the papers and passed them to Hammond. He read them, swallowing hard once and handed them back. “Okay. So what? My contact at Vodafone here in Takoradi must have made a mistake.”

“Or is it that you tried to prevent me from finding out the connection between Tetteh and Smith-Aidoo, sir? Have you been instructed by your superiors to suppress any investigation of who killed Lawrence Tetteh?”

Hammond’s eyes narrowed. “This is insubordination, Dawson. I will have you up before the disciplinary board if you’re not careful, and then you might as well say goodbye to any chances of making it to chief inspector.”

That didn’t faze Dawson. The balance of power was in his favor. “I don’t think you really want me in front of the board, sir, because I’ll say what I know and the outcome might adversely affect you.”

“You’re threatening me?” Hammond asked angrily. “What gives you the right to threaten me?”

“I’m not, sir. I’m not.” Dawson sighed heavily. “I don’t even understand why we’re fighting. It started the moment I first stepped into this office. We’re supposed to be on the same side: hunting down killers. I understand you might not like a junior officer from Accra coming here to investigate, but that’s how the system works. What am I to do? Refuse Chief Superintendent Lartey’s orders? That will have me before the board, for certain. Please, sir, I’m appealing to you. Let’s do this differently.”

Hammond rubbed his forehead slowly as he tapped the bottom of his pen repeatedly on his desk.

“I wanted to steer you away from the Tetteh affair,” he said at last, lowering his voice. “So yes, when I told you that the Lawrence Tetteh in Smith-Aidoo’s phone wasn’t the same one as the Goilco CEO, it wasn’t true. Now I regret handling it that way, but I don’t regret the intention behind it. I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? From whom, or what, sir?”

“The Tetteh murder is a no-go area.” His voice dropped even lower. “Someone high up in government is involved.”

“Silas is just a scapegoat, then,” Dawson said. “He didn’t commit the murder.”

Locking eyes with Dawson, the superintendent said nothing, but his expression gave the answer.

“Who in the government wanted Tetteh dead?” Dawson asked softly.

“Tetteh was honest to the very last
pesewa
, and he was ready to expose anything he considered immoral or fraudulent. That’s why so many people hated him. They say he was intending to blow the whistle on some corrupt dealings between an MP and the oil companies.”

“Who is ‘they,’ and how do you know this, sir?”