Sleep Well, My Lady

by Kwei Quartey

  “Good, good,” Peter said eagerly.

  Jojo popped in the thumb drive and launched the footage of the dark car approaching the rear gate, which automatically opened and let the figure in black in.

  “Do you recognize that vehicle?” Jojo asked. “Or the person who entered the complex?”

  Peter brought his eyes closer to the screen and shook his head. “Not really, no. Hold on.”

  He pulled down a large security register from the shelf behind them and plonked it on the counter. “This is the record for last year.” Muttering dates, Peter turned the pages until he came to the right spot. “Second of July, right? Evening shift, seven fifty-five—one vehicle, a Mazda, entered; eight-oh-five, a Toyota Camry; and then something at eight thirty-three . . .” He peered at notes, moving his finger across the page. “What does that even say? I know who made this entry.” Peter leaned out of the sentry room and yelled, “Sako!”

  Gangly Sako came trotting up. “Yes, boss?”

  “What is this you wrote here?” Peter demanded. “Why is your handwriting so bad?”

  Sako stared at the entry, apparently having difficulty deciphering his own scribble. “Okay, the type of vehicle was a BMW, black in color; name of the driver, Ansong; purpose of visit, I wrote ‘Doctor.’”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Peter asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Sako said, rubbing the back of his head as he tried to recall.

  “And where is the plate number?” Peter asked sharply, “I’ve told you several times, Sako, you have to make your entries clear and complete. Just noting it’s a black BMW isn’t enough. We need more information about it.”

  “Sorry, boss,” Sako said, looking down. He snapped his fingers. “Please, I remember now. It was a guy driving—no passengers—and he told me he was a doctor making a house call to one of the residents.”

  “Doctor? House call?” Peter said. “Which house?”

  Sako shook his head. “He didn’t say. I remember thinking he seemed strange because he was wearing a cap pulled down over his face and didn’t really look like a doctor—from the way he was dressed, I mean.”

  “And because of the cap,” Jojo said, “you couldn’t get a good look at his face, right?”

  “Yes please,” Sako responded.

  “Is it common for doctors to make house calls here?” Jojo asked.

  “Not common, but it does happen sometimes,” Peter said. He shrugged. “These rich people can afford it.”

  “You were on duty too that night,” Jojo said to him. “You don’t remember seeing this vehicle or the driver?”

  Peter shook his head. “I was probably in the other booth and not paying attention to vehicles entering. We take turns in the booths.”

  “I see,” Jojo said, thinking that was plausible. “And you said you did a patrol of the complex at ten thirty?”

  “Yes,” Peter said, “and I didn’t spot that vehicle anywhere at that time.”

  “Yes,” Jojo said, “because, by then, it had left. Let me show you.”

  The trio watched the 9:56 p.m. footage in which the car appeared and the dark figure got in. After some delay and back-and-forthing of the car, it drove out of the rear gate.

  Peter shook his head. “I don’t know who that might be, but the whole thing is suspect. This so-called doctor proceeded directly to the back gate to let in the second person, who then went somewhere in the complex and returned at nine fifty-six to where the guy in the car was waiting.” His voice shook a little. “Do you have any footage showing the driver also getting out of the vehicle?”

  “No,” Jojo admitted, “but that doesn’t mean he didn’t.”

  The three men looked at each other for a moment, and then Peter said, “Okay, Sako, you may go.”

  “Thanks, brother Sako,” Jojo said, smiling at him.

  “Can you send the video to me?” Peter asked Jojo. “I want to look at it carefully again at home.”

  “No problem.”

  Peter clenched his fist. “We have to get these people.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  Twelve and a half months after

  In the briefing room, Sowah had an assignment for the team. “All of us, including myself, will again watch the CCTV footage with the figure in black, and then try to match it to our suspects. Gideon? Explain our little experiment.”

  “Okay,” Gideon said, “I have photos of all our suspects. Those of the Tagoe and Seeza families are ones that we took ourselves, while others, like the pic of Bertha Longdon, Samson, and Susan Hayford, I got from the Internet. I turned their images into silhouettes so you won’t know who you’re looking at, and I also reduced the dimensions to approximately the size of the mystery person in the footage. The silhouettes are numbered, so all you have to do is rank them in the order you think they most match the mystery person.”

  For a moment, everyone simply stared at Gideon. Then Walter said, “I feel like I’m back in secondary school and about to take a test.”

  Jojo put up his hand. “Please, teacher, may I ask a question? How many hours do we have for this exam?”

  “Kwasea,” Gideon said, laughing as he passed around sheets of paper for the exercise. Then, with the whole team standing behind him, he brought up the silhouette pattern on the left side of the laptop screen as the footage played on the right.

  “My advice,” Sowah said, “is not to think too hard about your answers. Write your very first impressions, and then put your responses on the table.”

  Quietly, everyone wrote down their choices and dropped them on the pile. Sowah gathered them up and scanned them for a moment. “Very interesting. We have most votes for silhouette number four. Who is that, Gideon?”

  “Susan Hayford,” Gideon responded, referring to his key.

  “What?” Jojo exclaimed.

  “Seriously?” Emma said in surprise. “Come on, now.”

  “In second place,” Sowah continued, “number six.”

  “That’s Father Tagoe,” Gideon said.

  “More like it,” Emma muttered.

  After that, there was little unanimity among the choices.

  “Boss,” Jojo grumbled, “I’m sorry, but this is not a good test at all. It hasn’t gotten us anywhere.”

  “Why do you say that?” Walter objected. “Maybe it means we should look more closely at people like Susan Hayford and Bertha Longdon.”

  “We knew that already,” Jojo pointed out.

  “This could reinforce it,” Walter said valiantly.

  Sowah raised a hand. “If anything, this exercise has taught us that it isn’t what we see that matters, it’s how our brains process it. We’re all looking at the same images, yet we interpret them differently.”

  “Oh,” Jojo said, with sudden enlightenment. “I see what you’re saying.”

  Emma was curious about something else. “Gideon, how did you change the photos to silhouettes?”

  “Oh, easy,” he said. “Let me show you. I can use the photo I took of Dr. Caroline Seeza when she accompanied Augustus into the room the day we interviewed him.”

  Emma, who had never met Caroline Seeza, thought the doctor looked both eye-catching and professional with a teal stethoscope draped around her neck, a pale-yellow pants suit, and pearl earrings.

  “I just use a software called Silhouette. Watch.”

  With a few clicks, Gideon turned the doctor into a dark shape and then sized it down.

  “I think she looks like the mystery person,” Emma declared.

  “Not at all,” Gideon said, laughing. “Not even close.”

  Sowah’s phone rang. “Yes, good morning, Professor Kingsley. I’m fine, and you? You have the results?” He glanced up at the others, who had turned silent and were watching him intently. “Oh, really! Fantastic. Yes . . . okay. Than
k you so much.”

  He hung up and looked around at the team members. “There are two sets of DNA on the metal clip. One is Lady Araba’s, which we were expecting, but the other belongs to someone else. That someone is a woman.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  One day before

  As Julius enjoyed an afternoon doze in his favorite chair, Caroline and Augustus watched TV in the sitting room. Out of the corner of her eye, Caroline saw her son frequently check his cell phone. Then it rang, and he leapt up to leave the room while answering. “Hello? Hey, how are you?”

  Caroline glanced at her husband, who was safely snoring away, and got up quietly to peep into the hallway, where Augustus was speaking in hushed tones into his phone. Caroline stayed out of his sight but within earshot.

  “Where are you now?” Augustus was saying. “Oh, okay. So, Monday is the big day, eh? What time is your show? So, you’ll need to leave at around seven.” He paused for a while, and then, “Araba, it’s so good to hear your voice. Honestly, baby, I’ve tried to stop thinking about you, but I can’t—no, wait, hear me out. I’m not thinking about sex. I . . . I just want to see you . . . but why did you call me, then? Because of my text? You could have ignored it, right?”

  There was another pause, and Caroline could faintly hear Araba’s voice on the other end.

  “What time will you be home tomorrow night after the party?” Augustus asked. “No, I’m just asking. I just mean, well, don’t stay too long. You need to be fresh for Monday . . . Yes, that sounds good. If you leave the party around nine, you can get home and go to bed early. I just wish you could do that with me.” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.”

  When Augustus returned to the sitting room he started as he saw Caroline waiting in the doorway with her arms folded.

  “What is the spell this woman has on you?” she said coldly.

  Augustus glowered at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You and Araba are still talking. I don’t believe this. After all we’ve said, all the progress we’ve made.”

  “You were eavesdropping?” Augustus said angrily. “I’m a grown man, Mama. Stop treating me like a child.”

  He sat down in sullen silence for a few minutes, then got up to leave. Caroline heard his bedroom door slam upstairs. Then stop acting like a child.

  That night, as they prepared for bed, Caroline said to Julius, “He’s been talking to Araba.”

  Julius turned to her. “What?”

  “Augustus. I overheard his conversation with Araba this afternoon.” Caroline curled her lip in distaste. “‘I love you, baby, I can’t stop thinking about you,’ and on and on. Ugh.” She shook her head in disgust.

  Julius heaved a long sigh, got into bed, and closed his eyes to think. He opened them again. “I give up. I don’t know what to do with him.”

  Caroline sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. “There’s nothing the matter with Augustus. The trouble—all of it—is Lady Araba. She keeps manipulating him, twisting him around, stretching him to the limit, and soon he’s going to snap.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Thirteen months after

  Dr. Jauregui welcomed Emma into her office with a warm smile. “Come in, come in. Welcome.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I would stop by. I hope you’re not too busy?”

  “The medical students will be here in a moment,” Jauregui said, “but we have a little time. Have a seat. Water?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you, Doctor.”

  Jauregui handed her a bottle of water from the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. She sat down. “So, how are things? Did you complete the radio program?”

  “Um, well, that’s partly why I’m here today,” Emma said sheepishly. “I want to make a confession and also apologize.”

  Emma told the doctor the truth. No, she wasn’t Jasmine Ohene, a reporter with Citi-FM, she was a private investigator who worked for the Sowah Detective Agency.

  Jauregui began to laugh. “Why didn’t you just say so? I still would have tried to help.”

  “Well, I know that now,” Emma said, “but before I got here, I didn’t. Some people don’t like the sound of ‘private investigator.’”

  “Some don’t like radio reporters either,” Jauregui pointed out.

  “True,” Emma conceded. “But anyway, that’s all irrelevant now because I found you here instead of someone who would’ve put obstacles in my way, so I want to thank you for that.”

  “You are most welcome, Emma,” Jauregui said. “It was a delight meeting you. Do you have any updates?”

  Emma gave her the follow-up on the metal clip and the DNA findings.

  “A woman, huh?” Jauregui asked. “Intriguing. Of course, that still doesn’t mean the murderer was a woman. We don’t know if the metal clip is directly connected to the murder or just happened to be there.”

  “That’s a good point,” Emma said. She then related the saga of the mysterious CCTV footage that Gideon and his friend had managed to recover.

  “You’re all doing very good work,” Jauregui said. “Keep at it. You’re going to solve this.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  They heard the clamor of voices outside in the vestibule.

  “My students are here now, so I should get going,” Jauregui said, rising from her seat. “But please, stop by again whenever you have time. Or maybe we can get a drink one of these days. Do you drink?”

  “No please, Doctor.”

  “Agh,” she said, pulling a face of regret. “Maybe I can change your mind on that. Nothing like a good, cold beer.”

  Emma laughed and was still smiling as she made her way to the front entrance through the powerful odor of formaldehyde and a crowd of fresh-faced, excited medical students, some of them in their short white jackets and all of them wide-eyed and innocent looking.

  Emma got to the door and left. Fifty meters along, something struck her. She returned to the building, trying to spot one of the students she had noticed. There he was. She circled around to him. He was an impossibly tall young man with a light beard that didn’t seem to want to grow out fully. He wasn’t bad looking, Emma thought.

  “Hello,” she said. “Please, do you mind if I look at the stethoscope around your neck?”

  “Sure,” he said, taking it off and handing it to her. “It’s brand-new—I’ve hardly used it.”

  Emma could see that. It was shiny, black, and free of any signs of wear and tear.

  “You like it?” the medical student asked.

  “Yes, but I’m curious. Why are there two tubes instead of one?”

  “One tube goes to the right ear, the other to the left—like stereo channels,” he explained. “It’s a better system than one tube.”

  “And these two metal clips,” Emma said, “one high up and another one almost at the tip where this thing is, whatever it’s called.”

  “The diaphragm and the bell,” he said. “For listening to different heart sounds and all that. And the clips are to keep the two tubes separated and prevent them from knocking against each other, which would prevent you from hearing well.”

  “I see.” Emma peered at one of the clips and read off what was written on the side. “Littmann. Is that the make of the stethoscope?”

  “Yes,” the student said, his eyes fixed on her face. “It’s one of the best-known brands.”

  “You realize you won’t have much use for it in here, right?” Emma said with a wink. “None of the bodies here have beating hearts.”

  He laughed. “I know, but I just bought it, and I’m guarding it with my life.”

  “Got it,” Emma said.

  “My name is Robert,” the student said, extending a hand. “And you?”

  “Emm
a.”

  “Would you like to go out with me, Emma?”

  “Thank you, but I have a boyfriend,” she told him with a neutral expression.

  “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed.

  “Have you ever heard of Prestige stethoscopes?”

  “No,” Robert said, “but I can google it for you.” He whipped out his phone and typed it in. “Hey, you’re right! How did you know?”

  He showed her the screen display of multiple Prestige stethoscope styles.

  Emma fingered Robert’s stethoscope. “Very strong material,” she observed.

  “Yes, the thicker the tubing, the better the quality. I can tell you more if you give me your number.”

  Nice try, she thought. “Sorry, I don’t think my boyfriend would be very happy with that. But thank you. You’ve no idea how helpful you’ve been.”

  FIFTY-NINE

  Hours before

  “It’s eight o’clock,” Caroline whispered to Julius. “Time to get going.”

  As they passed by Augustus’s room, they heard his TV blasting an action movie, his favorite genre—the bloodier, the better.

  Outside, Julius took in his wife’s appearance—black jeans, a black hoodie, and a backpack were decidedly not her style. She did own such clothing, but she rarely wore it.

  As they settled into the BMW, Julius cleared his throat. “What are you going to do?”

  “The less you know, Julius, the better,” she replied.

  “What’s in the backpack?”

  “Quiet,” she said. “I’m thinking.”

  He shut up.

  About five minutes away from their destination, Caroline said, “You remember Trasacco Valley, right?”

  “I’ve been a few times, but not recently,” he said.

  “I’ve been there on quite a few occasions to make house calls,” Caroline said, “so I know it well. There’s a back entrance to the complex. I want you to drop me there. Then drive around to the front. At the gate, tell them you’re a doctor making a house call. They never question that. Don’t forget—wear your cap low. Then follow the signs to the rear gate. Approach it slowly and it will slide open by a sensor mechanism. I’ll enter and proceed from there. There’s a large tree next to the shed on the right-hand side. Park your car behind it and wait for me to come back. Got it?”