by Kwei Quartey
He certainly isn’t shy with his opinions, Dawson thought. “You had a guest here called Chuck Granger, is that right?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” Scott said with a toss of his head. “I threw him out. Obnoxious American. As bad as the Chinese.” He thought that crack was amusing too, so he rewarded it with his own laughter.
“What happened with Granger that you had to throw him out?” Dawson asked, smiling slightly.
“How about drunkenness, carousing into the wee hours of the morning with a bunch of women in his room, and disturbing my other guests? Is that good enough reason?”
“I would say so,” Dawson said. “Interesting place you have here, Mr. Scott. Why is it called Four Villages Inn?”
“We have four rooms,” Scott explained, “and each has the theme of an area in the Ashanti Region—for instance, one room has artifacts from the kente made at Bonwire.”
“I see,” Dawson said. “Very nice.”
“Thank you. But back to Granger. What did you want to know about him?”
“Did you ever hear him discussing anything to do with his mining site?”
“Did I!” Scott exclaimed. “Ha! How could I not? He sometimes paced up and down right here on the veranda or inside the hallway talking on the phone in the loudest and most profane tones possible. ‘Fuck this, fuck that. I need this piece of machinery right now!’ And then he had this reality show filming crew swarming around, and that was a real pain in the ass—even though the Explorer Channel was paying me quite handsomely.”
“I’m looking for names and connections, though,” Dawson said, wanting Scott to focus. “Did you ever hear him threatening to do something to Bao Liu directly or indirectly?”
“Look,” Scott said, “I don’t remember him mentioning this fellow Bao Liu specifically, but Chuck hated the Chinese miners around his site because they were all illegal, and Chuck had had to move heaven and earth to get all his papers—or so he claimed, but that’s another story in itself—and here were these Chinese miners all up in his face, sometimes walking onto his site with their pump-action shotguns and a bunch of Ghanaian thugs. So yeah, since Bao Liu was one of the miners next door to Chuck’s site, so sure, I would say you need to go after Chuck, because he’s a brute of a man who would kill someone and not think twice about it.”
So there was motive, Dawson thought—at least according to Scott. “Do you know where Granger is staying at the moment?”
Scott shook his head. “Don’t know, and don’t care. He could be resting comfortably in Dante’s Inferno as far as I’m concerned.”
He laughed at that too, his belly jiggling with his glee. Dawson couldn’t help joining in. Scott was certainly an interesting man.
Dawson stood up. “Thank you very much for your help, sir.”
“You’re most welcome. Anything else you think of, give me a call.”
He took a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Dawson.
“By the way,” Dawson said, “just out of curiosity, how much is it per night to stay here?”
When Scott told him how much, Dawson almost laughed at how far out of his reach the price was.
Dawson decided to return to Dunkwa in an attempt to find either Granger or Yaw Okoh—or both, if he was lucky, but he had driven barely two blocks when Gifty called him and asked him to meet her at the guesthouse, where she was waiting for the foreman. She didn’t ask Dawson if he could meet her. It was more like a summons from a district court.
He gritted his teeth. “All right,” he said. “I’ll be there soon.”
When he arrived some twenty-five minutes later, Dawson found his mother-in-law in the living room berating a perspiring, sheepish-looking man who was wringing his hands and repeating at intervals, “Yes, please, madam.”
Gifty turned as Dawson entered. “Darko! How nice to see you again!”
They embraced, only barely. She was wearing a fragrance that he admitted was subtle and alluring, and her general turnout was flawless. Still keeping her slim figure, she was dressed in a one-piece iridescent blue and pink wax-print with the prestigious Woodin label. Pink lipstick against her dark, soft skin set off the colors of her dress and made the entire picture very fetching. She was, as always, wearing one of her wigs. Not just any old wig—this was the kind that you had difficulty deciding if it was real hair or not.
She introduced Dawson to the gentleman. “This is Mr. Nyarko, the foreman.”
Nyarko, who had taken the opportunity to mop his brow in the few seconds the heat had been taken off him, shook hands with Dawson. “Good morning, sir.”
“Let’s go to the kitchen,” Gifty said.
There, she directed what needed to be done, and Dawson added a couple words here and there. Nyarko’s basic reaction was, “Yes, I can do it, no problem, madam.”
“Look, Mr. Nyarko,” Gifty said after they’d gone through the whole house, “like I told you before, everything must be ready by Friday. If not, I won’t be using you again. Am I clear?”
“Yes, madam,” he said, nodding vigorously. “No problem, madam. Everything will be ready by all means.”
Dawson didn’t see it happening. It was too much to accomplish in four days. Outside again with Gifty, he said, “Mama, I think we need a plan B in case he doesn’t finish.”
“Oh, he will finish,” Gifty said, pressing her lips primly together.
“I think he’s making a promise he can’t keep,” Dawson said.
She smiled. “Darko, Darko. You can never stop doubting, eh? Always skeptical, never positive.”
“I’m not doubting you, Mama; I’m doubting him.”
“I will be here until the end of the week, don’t you worry,” she assured him. “I will make sure everything goes well.”
“Okay, thank you very much.”
“Because I know you’re busy with all your, em, police stuff,” she added. “What is it you’re doing here in Kumasi again?”
As if she didn’t know. “I’m working on a homicide case, Mama.” What else would I be doing?
“Oh, yes—homicide. That’s right. I remember now.”
Don’t let her get inside your head. “I have to leave now,” he said abruptly.
“Oh, so soon?” Gifty said in fake concern. “I’ll walk you out.”
With Gifty following half a step behind, Dawson returned to the Corolla saying little as his mother-in-law talked about how much she was looking forward to seeing the boys again. Everything about her speech and her manner got on his nerves. How could Christine, a beautiful, loving soul, possibly be her daughter?
“We’ll talk soon, Mama,” he said as he got behind the wheel. He started up the car and sped away without a glance back. He wasn’t going to let Gifty ruin his day.
Dawson’s planned trip to Dunkwa was scrapped again, this time with a call from Commander Longdon.
“Where are you right now?” he asked.
Dawson heard something grave in his tone. “I was on my way to Dunkwa, sir.”
“I think you should come down to the division so we can discuss one or two things.”
“Okay, sir. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
Dawson was uneasy. The commander had sounded tense. A few minutes later, when he got a text from Chikata, Dawson thought he understood why.
looks like will b joining u. just 1 or 2 things more to confirm.
That must be what this is about, Dawson thought. Chikata’s coming up to Kumasi ran counter to Longdon’s recommendations for Obeng’s replacement. Dawson had the uncomfortable sense he was in trouble, a feeling he knew all too well.
•••
Commander Longdon was on the phone when Dawson entered the air-conditioned office, and he gestured to a chair for Dawson to sit down. After a couple minutes, Longdon hung up and began to jot something down in what Dawson guessed was an appointment book.
“I’ll be right with you,” Longdon said quietly, without looking up.
“Yes, sir.”
The commander finished his notation, capped his pen, and leaned back. “All right, let’s talk. How is your progress in the case?”
Dawson gave him a recap. Motives were appearing in different areas and among different people: mute muscleman Yaw Okoh might have wanted to avenge the alleged murder of his brother Amos by Bao Liu. But Dawson wasn’t completely satisfied that Amos’s father was eliminated as a suspect. The pain he felt over the loss of his son had been palpable when Dawson had spoken to him and his wife, and he had indicated that on the morning of Bao’s death, he had risen between four and six in the morning.
“But would that give him enough time to commit the murder?” Longdon asked. “He has to walk to the mining site, kill Mr. Liu, and bury him under all that soil or gravel or whatever it is.”
“It would be close,” Dawson agreed, “but if he had the help of his son Yaw, and he woke up at, say, three instead of four—just using that as an example—he might be able to do it. Yaw would meet him at the site, and they would lie in wait.”
“Ah, so you’re proposing that Yaw and his father were in cahoots. That’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?”
Dawson didn’t necessarily agree. Plots made between members of a family did occur.
“My point is this, sir,” he said. “If Yaw murdered Mr. Bao, he could have done it all by himself, but if Mr. Okoh took part in the murder, then he had to have the help of Yaw. Why? Because Yaw knows how to operate an excavator.”
Longdon rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Ah, I see. How do you know that?”
“Akua Helmsley has a clear picture her photographer snapped of him in an excavator.”
The commander grunted. “That Helmsley woman. She has her hand in everything. Do we know to whom the excavator belonged?”
“The photo was taken around Dunkwa,” Dawson said, “but so many companies have excavators all over the Ashanti Region. It could have belonged to anyone.”
Longdon nodded. “In that case, a big priority is to find this Yaw.”
Dawson appreciated his grasp of the case. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll need some men to help in the search. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dawson was relieved that this was going so well. Maybe he had imagined the tenseness in the commander’s voice on the phone.
“What else?” Longdon asked.
“Well, there is one American guy, Chuck Granger, who has a mining site close to Bao Liu’s.”
“Is it that guy who was in that reality show, or whatever it’s called?”
“Yes, on the Explorer Channel. Granger was living at Four Villages Inn, but when I went there today to meet Mr. Scott, the owner, Granger had already left.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“Did Scott shed any light on the man?”
Dawson nodded. He liked Longdon’s logical progressions. “Scott says Granger hated Chinese illegals trespassing on his mining site, and they did that a lot, apparently—including Bao Liu and his brother, along with his Ghanaian assistants brandishing pump-action shotguns.”
The commander appeared satisfied. “You have a lot to work with. Good job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll get you some manpower in the next couple of days to help you find Yaw Okoh.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
Dawson was halfway standing to leave, but he should have known this had gone too well to be true.
“One other thing,” Longdon said, his tone sharpening.
Here it comes, Dawson thought.
The commander folded his fingers in front of him. “I’ve received word from Central that Inspector Chikata is to join you sometime tomorrow, Wednesday.”
Dawson’s heart leapt. “Oh, wonderful. Thank you, sir.”
“You are a good detective, Dawson, but your problem is that you are arrogant.”
Dawson was shocked. “Arrogant, sir?”
“Yes,” Longdon snapped. “You went over my head to get your man Chikata here, and I don’t like that.”
“Sir, I did not go over your head.”
The commander wagged a finger at Dawson. “Don’t start denying things, Chief Inspector. The best thing right now is to shut up before you get yourself into more trouble. I will let this one pass, but I will not tolerate this kind of insubordination again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. But please, may I say one thing?”
“What is it?”
“The Chikata coming here is not a result of my going over your head. I can assure you of that.”
Longdon took a deep sigh and shook his head. “It’s the end of the discussion, Chief Inspector. You’re dismissed.”
Once he had left the commander’s office, Dawson reflected on the dressing down he had just received. Am I really that arrogant? He thought that was an unduly harsh opinion, one he’d heard on occasion from Assistant Commissioner of Police Lartey as well, but he wasn’t going to worry about it. Right now all that mattered was that he was going to be working with Chikata again. The rest he didn’t care about.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dawson called Dr. Prempeh at Komfo Anokye Hospital. “Good afternoon, Doctor. Please, do you have any word on when the Bao Liu case will be done?”
“We are expecting Dr. Phyllis Kwapong very soon,” he said. “I will let you know as soon as she arrives and I’ll set up a date for the postmortem.”
“Thank you very much, Doctor.”
On ending the call, Dawson realized that Mr. Scott had just been trying to reach him, so he called him back.
“Chief Inspector,” he said, “I found out from one of my contacts that Chuck Granger is staying with a friend in Asokwa, but he’s at the Dunkwa mining site at the moment, so if you can get down there as quickly as possible, that would be ideal.”
“I will—thank you for notifying me.”
“Oh, and Chief Inspector? I would exercise caution with him, okay?”
The sun was out, blasting the earth through a freshly washed atmosphere, and the floodwaters at Dunkwa were receding. Just like the first time Dawson had come to Bao Liu’s mining site in the taxi, he stopped the car at the point the route became impassable.
It was as hot as a plantain grill, but the soil was still as soft and mushy as fermenting kenkey dough. Dawson could see the excavators in the distance working on Granger’s site, but before he reached it, he came to the Lius’. Wei was there, supervising a brand new crew of young Ghanaian guys in the digging, carrying, and washing of gravel, and lo and behold, the XCMG excavator was up and running again.
Dawson came up to Wei, who greeted him with an elaborate show of bowing and scraping. Dawson supposed he didn’t want to chance spending any more time in jail and was being as deferential as he could just for that reason.
“Nǐ hǎo, Mr. Liu,” Dawson greeted him against the drone of pumps and the noise of the excavator.
“Oh, nǐ hǎo, nǐ hǎo,” Wei said, laughing. He seemed to like that.
“How is business?”
“Fine, sir,” Wei said, beaming. “Everything is good.”
Dawson was startled. Wei’s answer had been fluent, but during the interview at the station when Mr. Huang had acted as interpreter, Dawson had been under the impression that Wei had little or no ability to speak English. Perhaps this short sentence just happened to come out right.
“Kudzo and your boys all left you?” he asked Wei.
“Eh?”
“Kudzo gone?”
“Oh.” Wei shrugged and made a face indicating both regret and resignation.
“How is Lian?”
“Fine, sir.�
�
“I would like to talk to her in the next few days when she’s feeling a little better. Can I have her phone number from you?”
Dawson might have said that too fast, because Wei looked confused.
“Lian,” Dawson repeated, then made the universal sign for talking on the phone.
“Ah,” Wei said, laughing. He recited the number off by heart.
He pointed in the direction of Granger’s site. “Mr. Granger over there—does he trouble you?”
“Trouble?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no trouble; no trouble,” Wei said hastily, smiling.
He doesn’t dare rock the boat he’s in, Dawson thought. He doesn’t want any problems. “Okay, thank you. Good luck. Xièxiè.”
As Dawson walked toward Granger’s site, Dawson got a text from Chikata.
evthng cool boss. coming thurs
Dawson texted back, where u staying
friend, Chikata returned.
ok
The timing was good, Dawson reflected, because he wanted Chikata to be there when he went looking for Yaw. For density of muscle combined with agility, Chikata was a very good match for Yaw. Dawson wondered if by “friend” his inspector meant a girlfriend, because that could well be the case.
Nearing Granger’s concession, Dawson could see how much larger it was than Liu’s, and how much more extensively dug up, what with four working CAT excavators. The peaks and valleys were severe, with several shades of soil—red, brown, gray, and the treasured black gravel. Here the mud was treacherous and deep, a little unnerving as Dawson walked along an undulating crest between two plunging pits full of milky-brown water. He thought of Amos falling into a pit like these, and then averted his eyes. Better to watch where he was planting his feet.
He had attracted attention from the workers on the site, and a Ghanaian guy built as solid as an SUV approached them holding a pump-action shotgun with the barrel resting against his right shoulder.
Not the friendliest person, Dawson thought. “Good morning, sir,” he called out amiably, which is the way one should greet a man holding a firearm.
“Morning.” Complete monotone.