“Well, I suppose it’s goodbye then. If you’ll allow me a hug? A safe one, this time?”
He laughed, hugged her, and returned to the rear passenger seat of the BMW.
As they drove out after the Jaguar, Chikata lowered his voice and said, “By the way, that night I saw her coming out of the house crying …”
“That topic is off limits,” Dawson said firmly.
“Yes, massa,” Chikata said humbly, but he stole an impish glance sideways at Dawson.
The driver moved them through the heart of the city that Dawson had become quite fond of and to the outskirts sprawling with exuberant housing construction.
“Massa,” Chikata said, shifting sideways so that he could face Dawson directly, “there’s something I don’t understand. How did you know it was Richard Sarbah, and how did you know to look for a photograph revealing the pocket watch?”
“Richard told me that on Monday, the seventh of July, he and Forjoe went to Tarkwa together, and Forjoe confirmed that,” Dawson said, adjusting his position as well, “but last night, as I was thinking about the case, I remembered that Forjoe had told me that Monday is one of the busiest days of the fishing week and no fisherman misses it. That sparked my suspicion and when I recalled that Forjoe had used the same wording as Richard regarding the trip to Tarkwa, I considered that Richard might have coached Forjoe and that it was possible they were in cahoots. It fit perfectly, because Forjoe was that fisherman we were seeking who knew how to navigate the sea.”
Chikata was nodding, and then he laughed happily and exchanged a handshake with Dawson. “You have done well.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “And as for the pocket watch—well, it was the one clue we didn’t pay much attention to, even though its inscription ‘blood runs deep’ was pointing the way to family ties. I thought that if Richard was the murderer, then the watch must have been handed down to him, most likely by his father. At first I was only looking for a chain on Tiberius’s vest that would indicate he used a pocket watch, but there it was clearly exposed—the entire watch, identical to the one found on autopsy.”
Chikata digested that soberly for a while. “Why did Richard do it?”
“Revenge,” Dawson replied firmly. “But it was revenge on the part of the Sarbah family rather than for himself alone. The Smith-Aidoos have over the generations been like a curse to the Sarbah family. Richard was taken away from Tiberius as a result of Bessie’s marriage to R.E. Aidoo; Richard’s half siblings, Simon and Cecil, despised him.”
“And then there was the accusation by Simon that Tiberius had murdered Bessie and R.E.,” Chikata chimed in. “That really ruined his father’s reputation, which drove him to alcoholism and suicide.”
“Correct,” Dawson said, nodding approvingly at his sergeant’s valid point. “But the very last, painful straw for Richard to watch his beloved granddaughter, Angela, die. And why did she die in his opinion? Because Charles refused Richard’s request for financial aid, and Sapphire turned Jason and his wife away from the private clinic. And as if that tragic death was not anguish enough, according to Richard, Jason came perilously close to the same fate as his grandfather’s: suicide.”
“He must have been full of anger and pain,” Chikata said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” Dawson agreed. “He told me he would do anything for his boy Jason, and that’s exactly what he did. He took revenge on the Smith-Aidoos on Jason’s behalf and that of an entire generation of Sarbahs.”
Chikata looked pensively out of the window at the view of the lush forest they were passing. “There is one thing Richard was right about,” he said. “Blood really does run deep.”
Chapter 42
THE CHRONICLE HAD THE headline:
PROBE LAUNCHED INTO PETROLEUM
INDUSTRY CORRUPTION
Minister of Energy Accused
The full text of Lawrence Tetteh’s letter was in all the papers and their corresponding websites. The Daily Graphic had the sub-headline, BNI Director Arrested. In the UK, the dailies had concentrated more on Malgam Oil and Roger Calmy-Rey, whose picture was plastered everywhere as the Malgam stock price plummeted.
Lartey had received a commendation from the Inspector General of Police and was to be awarded some kind of plaque for upholding the values of “service with integrity.” He was now almost certain to move up to Assistant Commissioner of Police very soon. How did he do it? Dawson wondered. Lartey had turned something that had at first looked like a potential disaster into a bonanza for himself.
Hammond too, was being recognized for heroism in saving another officer’s life. Of course, it didn’t really happen that way, but it kept away questions about Forjoe and how he came to be in possession of an illegal firearm.
Dawson shrugged. Hammond and Lartey could have their accolades. He didn’t care. For him, all that was important was that he, Christine, Sly, and Hosiah were safe, and no one would be threatening their lives. What was more, the prospects for his promotion to chief inspector were now very good.
HE PULLED UP to the front of his father’s house on his new motorbike, parked, and went into the yard. A house girl he didn’t know was sweeping the front porch.
“Good morning,” Dawson said in Ga. “Is my father in?”
“Yes, please. He’s sleeping.”
Dawson went through the tiny, unkempt sitting room, thinking it needed some fresh air. He knocked softly on the bedroom door and slowly pushed it open.
Jacob was in bed, and the room was dark.
“Papa.”
Jacob propped up on one elbow, and with some difficulty sat up and squinted through the dimness. “Who is that?”
“Darko.”
“Has something happened? Is it Cairo?”
“No, everything is fine. I came to see you.”
“Oh,” he said brightly. “You are welcome. Sit down. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Dawson replied, studying his father with curiosity. “Are you sick?”
“No, I was just resting.”
“Why do you have all the curtains drawn?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Dawson got to his feet again. “This is not good for you.”
He thrust aside the window curtains. As the light streamed in and he saw his father in full view, he was horrified by his profound weight loss. The man was melting away.
“Papa,” he said gently, “aren’t you eating?”
Jacob clicked his tongue resignedly. “Hunger doesn’t come anymore.”
“What about some akasa?” Dawson suggested. “You always liked that.”
Jacob grunted. “Maybe.”
“I’ll go and buy some for you, eh?” Dawson said. “And you can have your bath. Do you have water?”
“I think the girl filled some buckets yesternight. There’s none coming from the taps today.”
“I can get your bath ready, if you like.”
Jacob stood up a little unsteadily. “No, no, it’s all right. I can do it myself.”
“Okay,” Dawson said doubtfully. “Do you want akasa or some kenkey?”
Jacob grinned, and Dawson winced as he realized that his father had also lost a few teeth since the last he had seen him.
“You can have the kenkey, and I’ll take the akasa,” he said, looking hard at Dawson as if he had just noticed something. “It seems you’re not so thin anymore. You have muscles now.”
Dawson laughed, pleased. What man didn’t want muscles? “Really?”
“Yes,” Jacob said with a grin. “Have you been doing some exercise?”
“A little. I try to play soccer on the weekends. Lift some weights too.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s good.”
“Okay, well, anyway,” Dawson said awkwardly, “go and have your bath and I’ll bring your breakfast.”
Jacob headed to the door, his gait wavering. Dawson moved protectively closer to him.
“Walking is not so easy for me these days,” Jacob complained.
�
��I’ll help you, Papa. I’m sorry I’ve been away from you so long.”
Jacob stopped and looked at Dawson with a smile. “A father never needs an apology from his son. He only needs his love.”
“It’s true, Papa,” he said, his eyes cast downward as he thought of Sly and Hosiah. He looked up again. “Here, hold on to me, and I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
Jacob leaned against him, and slow step after step, father and son walked together once again.
Glossary
Adinkra: visual symbols originally created by the Akan of Ghana representing concepts or aphorisms. Often used in fabrics, pottery, logos, and advertising.
Akasa: porridge made from slightly fermented corn dough.
Ananse: a cultural figure in Ghanaian folklore taking the form of a spider that is variously cunning, wise, or foolhardy.
Awurade: God, Lord (Fante).
Bola: Trash.
Bra ha: Come here (Fante).
Cassava: starchy tuberous root that can be roasted, boiled, or fried. Tapioca comes from cassava.
Cedi: Ghanaian monetary unit, abbreviated GHS.
Cembonit: Fiber cement material used in building and roofing.
Chaley: familiar and friendly term similar to buddy, pal, bro’, dude, etc.
Chop: eat.
Fante: language and people mainly in the southwestern regions of Ghana.
FPSO: Floating, Production, Storage, and Offloading. A floating vessel used by the offshore industry for the processing of hydrocarbons and storage of oil.
Fufu: starchy food such as plantain or cassava pounded and moistened into a soft, glutinous mass.
Ga: Language and people of southeastern Ghana in and around the capital, Accra.
Juju: used loosely to refer to magical beliefs, witchcraft, spells, supernatural powers and the ascribing of such powers to objects (fetishes).
Kelewele: spicy cubes of ripe plantain deep-fried till crispy.
Kenkey: fermented corn meal.
Mbira: a musical instrument in the lamellophone family with staggered lengths of narrow pieces of metal mounted on a wooden soundboard.
Mepaakyew (may-pah-CHEW): please.
Oburoni: White person or more broadly, a Westerner.
Ofaine: Please (Ga).
Paa: very much, too much.
Palava: An argument, or trouble arising from an argument (corruption of palaver, from Portuguese palavra, talk)
Pesewa: 100 pesewas = 1 cedi.
Sakawa: Internet fraud.
Tadi/Taadi: Abbreviated form of Takoradi, third largest city in Ghana (informal).
Tea bread: white bread with a hint of sugar.
Tom Brown: a porridge made from roasted corn flour.
Tro-tro: Van or minivan used for public transportation.
Wee: Marijuana.
Acknowledgments
WHILE WRITING A NOVEL is ultimately a solitary endeavor, an author must often reach out to others for help. In writing this work, I first owe a large debt of gratitude to Well Engineering Supervisor Fraser Lawson of Tullow Oil, Ghana. Without his tireless assistance, I would not have been able to describe the oil rig scenes and related technical details in the novel. Thanks to George Cazenove and Gayheart Mensah of Tullow for giving me the go-ahead to get in touch with Mr. Lawson. It should be noted, however, that the entirely fictional oil company Magnum Oil, its activities, and the fictional operations with government officials in this novel are no reflection whatsoever on Tullow Oil.
I’m grateful to Chief Superintendent James Kofi Abraham of the Ghana Police Service (GPS) in Sekondi-Takoradi for taking time out of his work to explain how police procedures and investigations are organized in his city.
As always, many thanks to my friend Detective Lance Corporal Antwi Boasiako of the Criminal Investigations Department, Accra. He has consistently assisted me in navigating the GPS and making the right contacts.
Rear Admiral Sampa Nuno, Chief of Ghana Naval Staff, helped me with technical aspects of sailing in and navigation of the Gulf of Guinea.
I thank Peter Baah, my driver while in Takoradi, for giving me the benefit of his thorough knowledge of his hometown.
Thanks also to L. Renée Dankerlink for providing me with information on the Roko Frimpong murder case in Ghana, on which some details of this novel were based.
To editor Judy Sternlight, heartfelt thanks are rendered for her perceptiveness and insight. To my Soho Crime editor, Juliet Grames, a big thank you for warmly welcoming Darko Dawson and me to the Soho family.
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