by Kwei Quartey
“Omale,” Dawson retorted, Ga for “you’re lying.”
They burst out laughing in unison.
At the Timber Market, they went past buyers and sellers haggling over rows of stacked planks and logs. Wood wasn’t all there was. There was a fetish stall with herbs, animal skins, and scary looking skulls. Kayaye walked by with skyscraper head loads, and a young man with a lightweight mike and speaker system slung over his shoulder was going through the market broadcasting a get-tested-for-HIV campaign.
Dawson and Chikata split up but kept within visual distance of each other. If one of them ran into Tedamm, the other should be close by to help.
Dawson caught up with a kayayo and walked alongside her. She was much shorter than he, but the sacks of flour on her head towered over him.
“How are you?” he asked her.
“Fine.” She moved her eyes, not her head, to look at him.
“I’m Darko. What’s your name?”
“Amariya.”
“Beautiful name. From where?”
“Northern Region. Walewale.”
“You like Accra?”
“Life is too hard.” Amariya went one way to avoid an oncoming cart. Dawson went the other. They reunited on the other side. “But in Walewale I can’t make money to support my children, so I have to stay here.”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“His name is Tedamm.”
“Hmm. That man.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Have you seen him?”
“I saw him last week.”
“What about a man called Flash?”
“Him, I know where he is.” She pointed ahead and to the right. “Turn there, walk all the way to the end where there’s no more traders, and you’ll find him. Don’t tell him I showed you the way.”
“I won’t.” Dawson tucked a cedi bill in the fold of the cloth around her waist. “Take care of your children.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Not at all. Be careful.”
Dawson joined Chikata again. “Let’s go and get Flash.”
29
They followed the kayayo’s directions, walking until the heavily commercial section of the market fell behind them. They saw a few girls loitering. Dawson picked one out and beckoned to her. She was about sixteen, as bony and hungry as a stray cat. She approached them a little warily. Maybe she had caught a whiff of policeman.
In Twi, Dawson asked her how much. “Sεn?”
She wasn’t sure if he meant both him and Chikata. “Mmienu?”
“Only me, not him.”
“Four cedis.”
“What’s your name?”
“Thelma.”
“Is Flash there?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Follow us,” Dawson said to Chikata, “but stay out of sight.”
They rounded a corner. There, standing in front of a makeshift tent in a cul-de-sac, was Flash in a crimson shirt and bright green-striped pants. He gave Dawson the up-and-down.
“Who are you?” Flash said, his voice like a frog’s croak.
“What do you care who I am? I just want to have sex with this girl and go.”
Flash grunted, his eyes darting past Dawson’s shoulder to check that there was no one else. Like a policeman, for instance. He held out his hand to Thelma, who was about to give him the fee when Dawson stopped her. He took out his badge, showing it to Flash. “Police. You’re under—”
Flash made a run for it, but he didn’t get far. Chikata appeared seemingly out of nowhere, grabbed him, and swept his feet from under him. Flash went down in a cloud of dust. He coughed and spluttered as Chikata cuffed him.
Dawson turned to Thelma, who was trembling in fear of arrest.
“Listen to me,” Dawson said. “Life as an ashawo is dangerous. These men have diseases that can kill you. Be a porter, or a sweeper, or sell on the street, but not this.”
“Please, I do all those things already,” Thelma said sadly. “Not enough pay.”
“Do you have children?”
“No, please.”
“But you want some, not so?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then don’t do this. If you die, how will you have children? Do you understand?”
“Yes, please.”
Dawson took one of Genevieve’s cards from his wallet. “Go to this place. They can help you. And I don’t want to see you here anymore. Hear?”
She walked away quickly, giving Chikata and Flash a wide berth. Dawson watched her leave and suddenly felt hopeless. Such a hero, aren’t you. As if he was making the slightest difference to what this girl would do with her life. In a week, she’d be back.
He grabbed a plastic chair that had been perched to one side of the tent. He plunked it down next to Flash, who was still on the ground with Chikata standing over him.
“Mr. Flash, I’m Detective Inspector Dawson. Please get up and have a seat.”
Chikata helped him up into the chair.
“We have a few questions for you,” Dawson said.
“I haven’t done anything,” Flash said wildly, his eyes bobbing and jerking.
“Then what were you doing last night at the railway station where Comfort Mahama was killed?”
“I wasn’t at any railway station and I don’t know any Comfort.”
“People saw you there, my friend, so don’t lie to me,” Dawson snapped. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Flash. For every lie you tell, I’ll give you five years in jail. You’ve just told me two lies, so you already have ten years. Next lie, fifteen.”
“You can’t do that,” Flash challenged nervously.
“Oh, yes, he can,” Chikata said without missing a beat.
“You want to spend ten years in jail or not?” Dawson said.
Flash swallowed. “No.”
“Then tell us the truth,” Dawson said, noticing a small crowd of spectators beginning to collect. “If you tell the truth, I’ll let you go. Agreed?”
Flash nodded resentfully.
“Good,” Dawson said. “So, asking the question again, what were you doing last night at the railway?”
“I live around CMB. I was walking home with my friends when I heard that woman scream. When I went there, one man was shining his light on her and I saw it was Comfort.”
“How did you know Comfort?”
“Ashawo.”
“She used your tent?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever cheat you or try to cheat you out of money?”
“No. These girls can’t cheat me. I’m too smart for them.”
“Where were you between seven and ten o’clock last night?”
“Heh?”
“Between seven and ten o’clock last night, where were you?”
“With my friends. We went to a chop bar in Ussher Town.”
“What’s the name of the chop bar?”
“Jesus Is Coming.”
“When will that happen?”
“Eh?”
“Never mind. Maybe you’ll get it later. Where is Tedamm?”
Flash was thrown off by the sudden change in direction.
“We know you know him,” Dawson jumped in. “You pay him out of the money you collect at the tent.”
“Eh-heh.”
“So where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Dawson lifted the hem of Flash’s shirt and snapped his mobile off his belt, thumbing through the address book until he came to “Tedamm.” He dialed the number. Once it started ringing, he held it to Flash’s ear. “Ask him where he is, but don’t say anything about us.”
Dawson brought his ear close to the phone. Tedamm came on the line.
“Yes, Flash?”
“Where are you right now?” Flash asked in Hausa.
“Jamestown. Looking for that boy who hasn’t paid me. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I call you la
ter.”
Dawson pocketed the phone.
“Ho!” Flash cried. “My phone!”
“You won’t need it where you’re going. We’re taking you to the station.”
Flash looked as if he was going to cry. “Oh, Inspector, abeg you. Mepaakyεw, you said you would let me go if I tell the truth.”
Dawson raised his eyebrows. “I never said that. Did I say that, Chikata?”
“I never heard you say that, sir.”
They escorted a protesting Flash along what turned out to be his walk of shame. Men, women, and children jeered at him as he went by, even if they had no idea who he was or what he had done. The fact that he was in handcuffs was enough reason to join in the fun.
Dawson booked Flash into Korle Bu Police Station. Then Sergeant Baidoo drove Dawson and Chikata toward Korle Lagoon, where Tedamm had said he was.
Chikata texted him, whre r u?
“Let’s hope he responds,” Chikata said. “If he isn’t in the habit of texting Flash, he might get suspicious.”
The phone buzzed ten minutes later with the reply nr fi stn.
“Dawson, he’s near the fire station.”
“That must mean the one at Jamestown,” Dawson said.
They were only minutes from the fire station, which was on the north side of Cleland Road, where Jamestown trailed off. On the south side were the beach, the fishing harbor, the slave-era James Fort, and the Accra Lighthouse.
Baidoo pulled over onto the pavement opposite the fire station. Dawson and Chikata got out, heading toward the unoccupied expanse of land between the station, the edge of the lagoon to its west, and the beginning of Agbogbloshie to its north. A developer’s dream was that expensive chalets would one day populate the banks of a crystal clear lagoon. Until then, the Accra Metropolitan Assembly deemed the area off-limits for any new construction. A few unauthorized buildings on the edge of the property had been shut down and condemned, including one warehouse belonging to Woodcrest Services, a gypsum board and acoustic tiling company. When the demolition would actually take place, Dawson thought every time he went past the warehouse, was anyone’s guess. It was like the bola truck on Kojo Thompson Road, the old railway car, or the UTC building—all doing nothing except deteriorating with time and the elements.
“What’s going on up there?” Chikata said.
Two hundred meters to their north, about a dozen boys stood in a circle watching something. Dawson and Chikata faintly heard someone screaming. They broke into a run. Closer, they saw a muscular, shirtless young man kicking a boy on the ground. Rolled in a ball, skinny, and probably no more than about thirteen, he was crying out as he clutched his head, trying to shield himself.
A boy in the crowd shouted, “Tedamm, beat him well!” and a couple others guffawed.
So this is the infamous Tedamm.
Each time Tedamm drew his foot back, he shouted, “You think you can trick me? Eh? You think I don’t know you’re trying to cheat me?”
He kicked the boy again, this time in the head. The boy appeared to lose consciousness. Something expanded in Dawson’s chest, like a parachute opening. The old, terrible rage came out of hibernation. He changed direction in an instant, circled around, and came up behind Tedamm so quickly that few people saw his approach. Left forearm behind Tedamm’s head, right arm across the front of Tedamm’s throat, hand anchored to his left shoulder. Dawson did it very quickly and tightened the noose.
Tedamm was a mass of muscle. He pushed back, kicked his legs in the air, and twisted his body, throwing Dawson off balance. They went to the ground together, Tedamm on top, faceup. He tried to writhe out of Dawson’s grip, but it was steady and deadly. After seven seconds, Tedamm went limp. Five seconds more will kill him.
Dawson didn’t release.
Let him go.
Dawson didn’t release. Time seemed to stop. His hearing deadened and his surroundings darkened.
Suddenly he realized Chikata was screaming at him. Dawson looked up at his sergeant’s terrified face. He released his hold. Chikata pulled Tedamm off. Dawson got to his knees. Tedamm didn’t move.
Chikata’s mouth was open in shock. “Dawson,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”
Dawson slapped Tedamm’s face. His eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up.
“Stay where you are,” Dawson said, pushing him back down. To Chikata he said, “Check if the boy is okay.”
Chikata went to attend to him. Dawson rolled Tedamm over and cuffed him, leaving him facedown. The audience was stunned and silent. They had just witnessed the felling of the most powerful tree in the forest.
30
Dawson and Chikata reported their progress to Chief Superintendent Lartey. Tedamm was ready for interview in the assistant superintendent’s room.
As they left Lartey’s office, Chikata said, “Dawson, at the lagoon today I was really scared.”
“Of what?”
“I thought you had killed Tedamm. That choke hold is dangerous.”
“I admit maybe I went a little too far,” Dawson said, “but look at what he was doing to that kid.” He paused for a moment. “Not that I’m recommending you ever use a choke hold on anyone.”
Chikata nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“Get a shirt for Tedamm before we begin.”
Chikata trotted downstairs, returning with a shirt from the so-called Lost and Found. It was really suspects’ abandoned clothing.
As they went in to talk to Tedamm, Dawson threw the shirt on the table at which Tedamm was sitting.
“Put this on,” Dawson said. “We don’t need to see your chest.”
Tedamm would have sneered, but a sneer was on his face already. He didn’t put the shirt on.
Dawson took the only other chair in the room. He set it down with a bang opposite Tedamm. Chikata stood between Tedamm and the door with a clipboard and paper.
Dawson dropped a folder on the table and sat down. “I said, put the shirt on.”
Tedamm picked it up and threw it over his head in one smooth motion. Not bad for a guy who rarely wore a shirt.
“How are you, Mr. Tedamm?” Dawson asked.
No answer. Tedamm kept his head angled downward, but his eyes were turned up at Dawson like nuggets of red-hot charcoal.
Dawson recited the standard police advisory statement. Nothing worse than an arrestee getting off on a technicality.
“What is your full name?” Dawson asked.
He waited a moment for Tedamm to speak. The man kept his clap shut. Dawson stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair squeaking on the floor.
“Lock him up,” he said to Chikata with a dismissive wave. “I don’t have time for this. We’ll come back sometime tomorrow and see if he’s ready to talk to us.”
He started toward the door.
“Kareem Tedamm.” It came out like the growl of a bush cat.
Dawson returned and sat down again. “Why were you beating that boy?”
“He was supposed to pay me, but he wouldn’t,” Tedamm said. His voice had lost the growl. Now it was surprisingly soft.
“Pay you for what?”
“I found him his job at Makola Market, so he has to pay me.”
“Every week?”
“Yes.”
“So everyone you find a job has to pay you like that?”
“Of course. That’s how it is.”
“So you make a lot of money.”
“Not as much as you.”
“And you also beat up a lot of people, not so?”
“Do you even know how the life is in the streets?” Tedamm challenged. “You have to fight to be on top, and when you get on top, you have to fight to stay there. People fear me—I make them fear me, you hear?”
“You’re a bully,” Dawson said. “That’s all you are. And behind every bully is a coward. If that boy dies from your kicking him in the head, you’ll be charged with murder.”
Tedamm’s eyes met Dawson’s unflinchingly.
“Ebenez
er Sarpong,” Dawson said. “Did you know him?”
Tedamm shook his head.
“Yes, you did,” Dawson said. “You told him he would be sorry if he didn’t leave his shoeshine corner in Lartebiokorshie, but he didn’t do as you told him.”
“And so what?”
Dawson slid one of Ebenezer’s autopsy photographs from the folder to Tedamm’s side of the table. “And so this.”
Tedamm’s gaze flicked down for a moment, and then back up.
“Do you know something about that?” Dawson asked.
“I know he’s dead, that’s all.”
“Not just dead. Murdered.”
“So what are you asking me for?”
“Where were you on Monday night between nine o’clock and midnight?”
“With my friends in Agbogbloshie.”
“What are the names of your friends?”
“Antwi and Ofosu.”
The same names as the two people Issa had told Dawson always followed Tedamm around.
“What about after midnight?” Dawson asked.
“We slept at Agbogbloshie.”
“Did you see Ebenezer Sarpong at any time on Monday night?”
“No.” He blinked.
“You’re lying, Tedamm. I want to warn you about something. There’s a lie detector in this room. No, don’t look up at the wall. It’s not there. It’s right here.” Dawson V-pointed to his eyes. “And in here.” He pistol-pointed to his temple. “So, one more time. Did you see Ebenezer on Monday night?”
“I saw him when he was coming back to his base. I greeted him. That’s all.”
“Did you argue with him?”
“No. About what?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I don’t waste my time with small boys like Ebenezer. He’s dead, and so what? Sorry, but I’m not going to cry for him.”
Dawson brought out a photo of Comfort and put it in front of Tedamm. “Do you know her?”
Tedamm looked down for only a second. “No.”
“More lies. You’ve already forgotten what I said. We know you were with her last night. Someone saw you with her. You, Antwi, and Ofosu. All three of you were with her.”
Tedamm looked at Dawson dispassionately. “It’s a lie. I wasn’t with her.”
“Look at the picture carefully.” Dawson brought it closer to Tedamm’s face. He drew his head back. “Here’s another one. This is how they found her. Comfort Mahama was her name. Is this what you did to her? Threw her away like rubbish?”