Sleep Well, My Lady

by Kwei Quartey

  She looked up as Dr. Jauregui returned with a stack of paperwork. “Doctor, I see something here, and I wondered if you noticed it too?”

  Jauregui put her folders aside and looked at the object through the magnifying glass. “I have no idea what that is. Let me see if there’s any mention of it in the report.”

  Jauregui went over the notes and photos again, but she found nothing that addressed the mysterious item. She shrugged. “I don’t know. It may not be important. But I’ll check if there’s any mention of it in the police docket when I’m at CID tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Emma said, somewhat lost in thought. “Could the piece of metal be part of the weapon the killer used?”

  Jauregui looked skeptical. “Too hard to tell. But I believe I know what the weapon was.”

  “Really, Doctor?” Emma asked eagerly.

  “Look at this picture—see how neat it is? Araba likes everything in matching pairs—two armchairs of the same type, two identical bedside tables, two bouquets of flowers, and so on. But what here is not a matching pair?” She looked at Emma. “Don’t think too hard. Just imagine you are inside the room looking around.”

  Emma gave it a try. Her face began to turn hot. She felt as though she was back in high school taking an exam and Jauregui was her teacher, awaiting the correct response.

  “Oh,” Emma said. “I see it. The silver vase.”

  Jauregui applauded. “Felicidades. Yes, it is on top of the shelf in this corner. At the other corner? Nothing. Why should that be? Well, as I said, a crime of passion. In a rage, the offender grabbed the vase on impulse, hit Lady Araba at the side of her head, and then strangled her on the bed. It’s just a theory.”

  “Thank you for sharing it,” Emma said, beaming at her. “Thank you for everything here today, Doctor. I’ve learned so much. And now I know we should be on the alert for a silver vase identical to this one. It could connect us to the murderer.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Eleven months after

  There was so much to discuss at the next morning’s briefing, it was more like a summit. Emma had set up the whiteboard and erasable markers for the boss.

  “I’ll begin,” Sowah said. “Day before yesterday, I interviewed Kweku-Sam and came away with certainty that he did not kill Lady Araba, even though he admitted to signing what could be a confession. He left sometime past nine the night of the murder and went home. I confirmed with his brother, who lives with him, that he was back about thirty minutes after that. There would not have been time to commit the murder and return home within that time. Furthermore, Kweku had no motive to kill his boss. He was obviously devoted to her, she seems to have treated him well, and he had a steady job. Because Kweku had written a truthful statement that he went into Lady Araba’s home to carry some items in from the car for her, they seized on that as his opportunity to kill Araba. The officers questioned him to the point of exhaustion. At that point, I imagine he was ready to sign anything or too fatigued to realize what he was signing.”

  The detectives murmured their disapproval, even though this type of police behavior was no surprise to them.

  “What did Augustus tell you, Walter?” Sowah asked.

  “According to him, Father Tagoe sexually abused Araba for several years.”

  Exclamations went up around the room.

  Walter nodded. “From when she was six years old. According to Augustus, the abuse stopped only after Araba left home in her late teens.”

  “Wait, wait,” Sowah cautioned quietly. “People say all kinds of things for all kinds of reasons. Please continue, Walter.”

  “Augustus said Araba revealed this to him a year or so into their relationship, and that, unknown to many people, Araba was sometimes severely depressed as a result of the trauma. But with her family relentlessly pressuring her to dump Augustus, she was probably depressed about that too. Anyway, he claims she had decided to conquer her past by confronting her father with the abuse, then exposing him on Tough Talk the Monday night of her fashion show, in keeping with the ‘We Too’ theme of Accra Fashion Week.”

  “That could be a powerful motive for Father Tagoe to kill his daughter,” Sowah said.

  Emma thought about what Dr. Jauregui had said about Araba’s murder: anger, an unplanned crime of passion, and then deep remorse. Emma could perfectly well visualize Father Tagoe having a heated argument with Araba in the bedroom, his fury spilling over into a total loss of control. Emma also thought it was in keeping with his character for the Reverend to move and cover his daughter’s body to purify the scene.

  “Emma—your turn,” Sowah said, interrupting her thoughts.

  She told the group about the lively Dr. Jauregui. Emma’s description of how she jumped up and went searching for Araba’s file with no questions asked brought exclamations of admiration and approval.

  “Then she went through the full record with me,” Emma began. “Lady Araba died of two injuries. First, a blow to the left side of her head knocked her down but didn’t kill her. The doctor said from the blood pattern that Araba then scrambled onto the bed and tried to crawl away, but the killer climbed on top of her and strangled her to death with some kind of ligature. I have some pictures to show you.”

  “Wow, Emma,” Gideon said approvingly. “You are good!”

  It took some time for Emma to go through all the images with her colleagues while explaining the findings as depicted by Dr. Jauregui.

  “She also said that after this violence, the killer might have wanted to sanitize it,” Emma continued, “to make it look like Araba was simply asleep. This points to someone very close to her. The doctor also believes the murder wasn’t planned, but a crime of passion.”

  “Family, associates, or close enemy,” Walter added.

  “Okay, good work, Emma,” Sowah said, walking up to an empty spot on the office whiteboard. “Let’s use those categories to go over the possible suspects,” Sowah said. “Family—two columns, the Tagoes and the Seezas. Under Tagoe we have the Reverend; next the mother, Miriam; the brother, Oko; and Auntie Dele. Anyone else? Are there siblings we don’t know about? Emma, you’re to check that when you see Dele next, and that’s going to be soon.

  “Let’s go through each of the Tagoes,” Sowah continued. “This family has some issues, no joke. Motives? Start with Father Tagoe.”

  “If it’s true he molested or assaulted Araba and she threatened to expose him publicly, he would have wanted to silence her,” Emma said.

  “What if Araba was bluffing and wasn’t really planning to tell the world?” Jojo asked.

  Sowah shrugged. “The effect is the same whether she meant to carry it out or not, but that is a good point. What about Oko and Miriam?”

  “The way I think of it,” Jojo said, “Araba’s threat could have been a motive for them too, but to kill her? I think they would be likely to go to Araba and reason with her instead. And anyway, we don’t even know if Oko and Miriam knew about Araba’s plan to expose her father.”

  “True,” Sowah said. “All right. And the Seezas, Julius and his wife—what’s her name again?”

  “Dr. Caroline,” Emma said. “We know how much the Tagoe family detested Augustus, and I don’t think Justice Julius and Dr. Caroline were happy about Araba being involved with their son, either.”

  “I agree,” Sowah said. “So, they would have some motive to get rid of Araba, although I must say, even if Justice or Dr. Seeza did that, it probably wouldn’t bring Bertha and Augustus back together.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emma said. “I suppose it’s a matter of which situation they hated more: Augustus with Araba, or him without Bertha.”

  “Could be equally detestable to them,” Sowah commented. “Moving on: Araba’s associates.”

  “Samson, Araba’s assistant,” Emma said.

  Sowah wrote the name down and paused. “Wait a minute
. Have we talked about him? Emma, did you speak to him?”

  “No, sir.”

  Sowah looked at the others and drew a blank. “What, no one? All this time, and no one has thought about interviewing this man? He was expecting Araba that morning for the fashion show, and she never showed up. Didn’t you think he would be a useful person to speak to?”

  Everyone in the group became shifty-eyed, muttering excuses.

  “Guys,” Sowah said, “I can’t give you instructions for everything. We have so many loose ends that need to be tied up, and where are we? Nowhere.” He suspired. “Emma, I’m assigning you to Samson.”

  “Yes, boss,” she said. After that scolding, what else could she say?

  “Who else was connected to Araba?” Sowah asked.

  “Bertha Longdon,” Gideon said.

  “Motive?”

  “Araba took her man.”

  Sowah smiled slightly as he wrote that down. “Well said.”

  “What about the lady who used to work with Araba’s business partner?” Walter said.

  “Good,” Sowah said. “Susan Hayford was Araba’s direct competitor.”

  “And her enemy,” Jojo said. “She never could reach Araba’s level, so sheer jealousy is a motive. Boss, I still can’t see a family member killing one of their own. As far as I’m concerned, Ismael is the one. How did he know Lady Araba was lying murdered in her bed unless he put his face right up against the glass door to see into the room?”

  “You asked the question, now get the answer,” Sowah said crisply. “Go back to Trasacco today and get the man to talk. I don’t care how you do it, just do it. And don’t come back until you do.”

  Jojo gulped. “Yes, sir.”

  “Walter, you’ve posed as a journalist to the Tagoes already, and now you must go back to Father Tagoe to ask him about this accusation of sexual abuse. It won’t be easy. I suggest an indirect method.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Also,” Sowah continued, “find a way to interview Augustus Seeza again without his parents present. We want to know just how much they hated Araba, maybe establish a firm motive.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Emma, it’s also time for you to speak to Dele again and find out if she knew her brother was abusing Araba.”

  “Okay, sir.”

  “The two outstanding are Bertha Longdon and Susan Hayford,” Sowah said. “I’ll see if I can reach out to contacts who know Bertha. Oh, Emma, it’s just occurred to me that Samson might have information about Susan.”

  “Sure, boss.”

  Sowah looked around. “Any questions?”

  There were none, but just as he was about to leave the room, Emma remembered the small metal item she had spotted in one of the crime scene photos. “Sorry, sir, one other thing,” she said hastily.

  Sowah turned. “What is it?” he said, a tad impatiently.

  Emma explained what she had noticed and showed the boss the corresponding crime scene image.

  Sowah nodded. “Okay, good. Follow it up.” He seemed unimpressed, and Emma, who had been patting herself on the back for picking up on a potential clue, felt disappointed.

  Sowah left the room and the team exchanged glances. The boss did not appear to be in the best of moods.

  Emma stood in place for a few moments, kicking herself as she realized that she hadn’t done what she should have the day before. Now she called DS Boateng, and when he didn’t pick up, she texted him instead. Twenty minutes later, he called back.

  “Emma, how are you?”

  “I’m good, sir. I hope you are well? I called regarding something I noticed on the crime scene photos. It looks like a piece of metal near the foot of the bed on which Lady Araba’s body was lying. I wonder if you recall anything like that.”

  “A piece of metal?” He paused. “Oh, yes, yes! You are right. I had forgotten. I couldn’t figure out what the thing was, but still, we retrieved it, and the evidence tech photographed and bagged it. If I recall correctly, there was blood on it, but just like all the other evidence, I never got the chance to analyze it for DNA.”

  “Please, do you think the evidence tech might still have the photograph?”

  “Of course! As a matter of fact, I think I have it too. He usually forwards all the photos to me. Hold on one second, please, and I’ll see if I can find it.”

  Emma waited a while, staring at her fingernails and wondering if she should have a manicure done, for a change.

  Boateng returned. “I can’t find it right now,” he said, “but I know I have it. I’ll send it as soon as I locate it.”

  “Thank you very much, sir.” She couldn’t wait to see it.

  FORTY-TWO

  Eleven months after

  Emma found Auntie Dele in the early evening, locking up the dress shop for the day.

  “I was just thinking about you today,” Dele said. “Welcome. Come with me, we can go upstairs to talk.”

  Her home sat directly over the shop. On entering the living room, Emma observed the place was quite cluttered—two sofas, six chairs, a cross-legged desk, wooden masks and brass statues on top of the furniture, a muddle of dresses in progress slung over the back of one of the chairs, unpaired shoes on the floor, and paintings occupying every possible space on the walls. The place smelled stale.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Dele said casually. “I’m doing a home makeover. Trust me, it won’t look like this in a couple weeks. Would you like something to drink?” Dele asked.

  “Water is fine, thank you.”

  “Oh,” Dele said, disappointed. “Nothing stronger?”

  “No, thank you,” Emma said, smiling.

  “Teetotaler?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then,” Dele said. “Water it is.”

  She yelled for the house girl, who came running. Dele told her to bring bottled water, two glasses, and a Star beer.

  “Yes, madam,” the girl said.

  “Please, have a seat,” Dele said, waving vaguely at the furniture. The choice was Emma’s, so she took an armchair draped in a cover cloth with a bright Ghanaian print.

  After the drinks arrived, Dele said, “So how far are we with the case, Emma?”

  “At our meeting today with Mr. Sowah, we discussed a few things. Before I approach this subject, please understand, Auntie Dele, that I don’t want to cause any discomfort to you, and I would prefer never to ask this question. I come to you with respect and a commitment to find out who killed your dear niece.”

  “Okay,” Dele said slowly, now wary of what might be coming.

  “Recently,” Emma said, “we’ve heard that your brother, Fifi, might have sexually abused Araba as a child and teenager. Do you know anything about that?”

  Dele’s self-assured mien collapsed before Emma like a monument severed.

  “Who told you that?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “Augustus Seeza. He said Araba had told him.”

  “He is a liar!” Dele said, leaning forward and back again as if her spine was momentarily failing her.

  “Please, why would he make that up, Auntie Dele?”

  “Because he wants to implicate the family in something disgusting. That’s all.”

  Dele folded her arms and stared at the floor.

  Emma let some moments pass. “Auntie Dele,” she said softly. “I beg you. You came to us for help, now I need your help in return. We can’t move further if we don’t have the truth.”

  Dele remained in the same position for a while, and then released a long, loud sigh. “What’s the point? We’ve been living the lie for so long, we Tagoes.”

  “Auntie, when did you find out?”

  “When Araba was seven or eight.” Dele shook her head and shuddered. “I could tell something was wrong from the way she was beha
ving. And one day, when I was helping her bathe, she kept shielding herself down there. When she finally allowed me to look, I saw she had been hurt.”

  Dele seemed to cringe.

  “Auntie, did you confront your brother?”

  She shook her head. “How? Me, a girl, and younger than him?” Without weeping audibly, tears streamed down her cheeks and dissolved in her lap. “But I tried to protect her however I could. I would often have her stay the night at my house, even if Fifi objected. And now she’s gone. I’m so sorry, Araba.”

  In the room’s silence, Emma could hear Dele gulping down further tears. “Auntie, you didn’t tell anyone?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I couldn’t shame the Tagoe family. I think I was trying to protect Araba from that shame, too.”

  “Yes,” Emma said. But she was dismayed by Dele’s lack of action.

  Dele looked up at her. “Do you think less of me now?”

  Emma shook her head. “No, because I can understand the pain of such a secret in the family.”

  “A terrible stain.”

  “Auntie, do Miriam and Oko know?”

  “We’ve never discussed it, but I’m certain Miriam does. As for Oko, I’m not sure.”

  “Please don’t be offended, but did you come to us at the agency to protect your family from disgrace? To shift the blame elsewhere?”

  “Oh, no!” Dele cried. “That’s not it at all. I just want them to get that bastard Seeza for murdering my niece. I know he did it. Those last days were hell for Araba. He was tormenting her to stay with him, but she wanted to break away. That’s why he killed her.”

  “Augustus tells us they were very happy together in their last days. Lady Araba visited him at his home on the final Saturday afternoon before her death, and she seemed full of life.”

  Dele shook her head. “That can’t be true, because I was receiving distress calls from her all the time in the two weeks preceding her murder.”