The Missing American

by Kwei Quartey

The IGP was puzzled. “Is this an emergency meeting? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “A situation of high emergency has arisen, sir. Please, if you can come now? I will wait here for you, sir.”

  “Well, yes, of course,” James said, mystified. “Give me a moment. I’ll get dressed.”

  President Bannerman’s soul was shattered in a thousand pieces, like crystal on a stone floor. In the sanctuary of his office with James Akrofi and Commissioner Andoh, Bannerman played Sana’s video again. There it was: Akrofi accepting money from Nii Kwei, a sakawa boy of note.

  “That is you in the video,” Bannerman said, turning to James. “Is that not so?”

  The IGP was frozen in place. He stared at the president, his mouth opening as if to speak, but nothing came out.

  Bannerman was in visible pain. “But, why, James? Why? I trusted you. This is a devastating betrayal. We’ve been friends, colleagues, partners . . .” He trailed off, words failing him.

  “I feel shame,” James whispered. “I’ve felt it for a long time.”

  “But what use was that shame if it still allowed you to go on doing what you were doing?”

  James bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. I can assure you right here and now—even take an oath—that I will stop using my position to enable the sakawa systems that infiltrate our society and our neighborhoods. I pray you will pardon me, sir.”

  Bannerman was trembling. “No!” he cried. “No. I can’t do that, James. Can’t you even see how immoral that would be? What will the people of this nation say? That certain individuals are above the law? That my relatives and cronies can get away with the same corruption I’ve been preaching against like an evangelist? No, James, that I cannot do. To maintain my integrity and that of my government, I must do the right thing. Commissioner Andoh, please take over.”

  James looked at Andoh. “Am I under arrest?”

  Andoh put his hand lightly on the IGP’s shoulder. “Yes, sir.”

  NINETY-FOUR

  The morning after Sana’s sensational film, the newspaper headlines screamed out who the infamous “Godfather” was. The IGP himself. Some papers branded him “Sakawa-In-Chief;” “Head Con Man;” “Inspector Greedy of Police;” and a host of other names.

  When Emma got to work, the workroom was alive with discussion about Sana’s TV event, which had broken all previous viewership records. The number of corrupt officials identified had been staggering, but nothing topped the revelation that the IGP, who, word had it, was being confined at a secret location, had been profiting from online fraud. Mr. Sowah came to the workroom to join the discussion, but he also had an announcement.

  “DCOP Laryea called me to say they’ve arrested Mr. Ponsu at the Togo border. He was trying to sneak back into Ghana unnoticed.”

  Emma and everyone else clapped.

  “So, have we wrapped up the Tilson’s case?” one of the detectives asked.

  “In a funny way, yes,” Sowah said, giving Emma an amused, bemused look. She smiled sheepishly. “The point is,” he continued, “they have two solid, independent confessions from the twins which corroborate well with each other. Ponsu doesn’t stand a chance. And so, it turns out Ponsu was so bothered by Gordon Tilson and our very own Emma coming close to the truth, he had to get rid of them. Luckily, Emma came out of it alive.”

  Before Emma could object, they gave her a standing “hip-hip, hooray” cheer.

  Getting back to work was difficult for everyone in the office. It felt more like a day to sit around and gossip about everything that was going on.

  Her phone rang. It wasn’t a number she recognized.

  “Hello?”

  “Emma, it’s me, Nii Kwei.”

  “My God,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “In Accra,” he said cryptically. “I just wanted to call you to find out how you are.”

  “I’m fine, thanks to you. I know you called Bruno and then he called Sana. I want to say thank you for that. How are you too?”

  “I’m good. I heard Ponsu and the twins are in custody.”

  Emma suspected he knew that from DI Damptey. “Yes. They murdered Mr. Tilson.”

  “I feel sorry for what I’ve done,” Nii Kwei said. “I’m going to sell my Audi so I can return Mr. Tilson’s money to his son.”

  “It’s the honest thing to do,” Emma said. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll talk soon.”

  He ended the call abruptly. Emma reflected what an odd situation this was. Nii Kwei was a criminal, but he had also played a large role in saving her life. She was glad he hadn’t told her where he was, thus avoiding a possible conflict of interest for Emma. If anyone asked her if she knew where Nii Kwei was, she could truthfully answer that she didn’t.

  She sat thinking about the case. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  At the end of the day, Emma got hold of Yahya, the driver, on the phone. He sounded happy to hear from her.

  “Madam, long time!” he said, laughing. “How are you, please?”

  “I’m well, Yahya, and you?”

  “Oh, by God’s grace, madam.”

  “Did you manage to find a new job?” she asked.

  “Yes please. Now I’m a driver for the director of the State Housing Company.”

  “Wow, that’s so great. Congrats.”

  “Thank you, madam. I’m very happy. Please, how is the case of the white man going?”

  “We are getting somewhere with it, but I wanted to ask you something that might help us some more.”

  “By all means, please.”

  “You remember when we met and you were talking about how you took Mr. Gordon to see Mr. Ponsu?”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “You said Mr. Ponsu told the American man he should be afraid of someone. I don’t quite recall the exact words.”

  “Eh-heh, yes. I remember it very well. The white man tell Mr. Ponsu, ‘do you think I’m afraid of you?’ and then Ponsu too said to the white man, ‘there are people before me you should be afraid of.’”

  “Okay. And then?”

  “The white man say, ‘what do you mean?’ and Mr. Ponsu just laugh and tell the white man, ‘you will see.’ And then we left and that was all.”

  “I’ve got it,” Emma said. “Thank you very much.”

  “You are welcome, madam. God bless you.”

  When Emma was off the line with Yahya, she went down the hall to Mr. Sowah’s office, but only Beverly was there restocking the printer with new paper. “He’s already gone for the day,” she said.

  Emma stopped to think for a moment, and then she called Dazz.

  NINETY-FIVE

  At almost ten-thirty at night, light streamed from Edwin’s windows, indicating he was home. Once Emma had reached Dazz, it had taken a while to find his uncle, who had absent-mindedly switched off his phone.

  Edwin was surprised when he opened his door to find Laryea, Dazz, and Emma.

  “How are you, Edwin?” the DCOP said. “May we enter, please?”

  “Of course,” he said, stepping aside to let them in. “Is something wrong?”

  “Let’s sit and talk for a moment,” Laryea said.

  They went to the sitting room. Edwin looked tense and suspicious as he and the others took seats in a square formation.

  “What’s going on, sir?” Edwin asked Laryea.

  “Sorry to disturb you so late,” the DCOP said. “It’s about the firearm you have in your possession.”

  Edwin appeared puzzled. “Firearm, sir? Which firearm is that?”

  He’s probably sold it already, Emma thought with a doomed feeling. We’ll never find it now.

  “Someone witnessed you on Saturday night offering to sell a long-range rifle to one of your party guests,” Laryea said. “You and the man were see
n in the upstairs bedroom with the weapon out in the open on the bed.”

  “Who told you that, sir?”

  “That’s not important right now.”

  “No, I’m very sorry, sir. There must have been some mistake.”

  Laryea nodded. “Then you don’t mind if we search your bedroom?”

  Edwin’s eyes twitched. “On what grounds? Excuse me to say, sir, but don’t you need a search warrant?”

  The DCOP smiled. “No, Edwin. Section 2.1.1 and 2.1.2 of the Ghana Police Procedure manual states that a police officer above the rank of Assistant Superintendent of Police may conduct a search without a warrant if he or she believes that a person has concealed an article that has been stolen or unlawfully obtained, or an article in respect of which a criminal offense has been, is being, or about to be committed.”

  Emma sensed Edwin’s panic, but he was still shielding it well.

  “Okay,” he said, quickly shifting tactic. “Yes, I do have a rifle, but it’s completely legal and I have a permit to use it from the Ministry of Interior.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so before?” Laryea asked, frowning at Edwin. “I mean, if it’s been legally obtained, what were you worried about?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Edwin stammered. “Sorry, I just got a bit confused.”

  The DCOP stood up. “Show us the way to the item, please.”

  In silence, they trooped up the stairs to the same bedroom Emma had seen Edwin and the other man haggling over the weapon. Emma doubted very much that it was legal. One had to apply to police authorities for ownership of a gun before the purchase could be made. Of the two million or so firearms floating around Ghana, only about half were registered correctly.

  Edwin unlocked one of the closets in the bedroom, removed the case, and placed it on the bed.

  “Open it, please,” Laryea said.

  Edwin undid the clasps along the side of the case and flipped up the lid. Close up, the weapon looked formidable to Emma. Laryea studied it for a while. “There’s an empty space where the handgun should be,” he observed. “Where is it?”

  “The handgun didn’t come with the set,” Edwin said at once.

  Laryea grunted, shut the case again and snapped the clasps closed. “Edwin, we will have to check the veracity of your statement and conduct a further search for that handgun,” he said. “We’ll start here.”

  Edwin stood and watched as Dazz and his uncle looked through drawers and closets. That wasn’t difficult, because Edwin had still not finished unpacking all the boxed materials from the move. That was where the work really was, and it took over an hour to carefully search through the crates and boxes in the bedrooms, sitting room, and garage. In the end, Laryea and Dazz were satisfied that there was no handgun in the house.

  “What now, sir?” Edwin asked the DCOP.

  “We will need to confiscate the weapon while we run a check on it. We will let you know tomorrow and if everything is correct, we’ll return your property to you intact.”

  “Very good, sir. Thank you.”

  NINETY-SIX

  At eleven the following morning, Dazz, Courage, and Emma hung around the CID general detectives’ room waiting for news on the status of Edwin’s weapon. Their mood was somber and Emma understood how the two men must be feeling. Edwin was their colleague. It was demoralizing that he was under investigation for illegal possession of a weapon. Emma wondered how they felt about her. She was the one who had alerted Dazz about Edwin’s rifle and his apparent move to sell it, and then he had called his uncle. They must have been experiencing mixed feelings, she suspected. But they had nothing to chastise her about. The law was the law, criminality was criminality, and they knew that.

  Dazz’s phone rang. He listened for a moment then turned to Courage and Emma. “The DCOP is ready to talk to us.”

  They all filed into his office feeling anxious. In the room with Laryea were Damptey and Quaino.

  “Have you been in touch with Edwin this morning?” Laryea asked Dazz.

  “No, sir,” Dazz replied. “What’s happening, sir?”

  Laryea was grim. “His weapon is illegal. DI Damptey has been at the Ministry of Interior all morning long. No such long-range rifle is registered.”

  Emma glanced at Damptey and thought, goodness, so you really are good for something.

  “It likely came in concealed at a port of entry,” Laryea said, crossing to a cabinet in the corner of the room. He removed a bulletproof vest. “Dazz and Courage, get your gear on. We need to go for Edwin. I’m worried he has the missing handgun on his person.” Laryea held out a spare vest to Emma. “That’s for you.”

  But when Laryea, Dazz, Courage and Emma arrived at Edwin’s home, he did not appear to be in. His car was gone from the garage and no one answered their repeated knocking. A constable with a battering ram had accompanied them, but the DCOP didn’t want to take that measure yet.

  “Try his phone again,” Laryea suggested to Dazz.

  Dazz did, but shook his head. “It’s off.” He looked at Emma.

  “His mother’s place,” she said. “Mrs. Akrofi.”

  The fact that Josephine was Edwin’s mother was no longer a news item for the DCOP. He had not known beforehand, but Dazz had now informed him.

  Laryea nodded. “You’re right. Let’s go there now.”

  Edwin’s vehicle was parked in the Akrofis’ driveway.

  “He’s here,” Courage said.

  They piled out of the car and knocked at the front door. It opened and a young woman looked out. She appeared terrified already and her alarm visibly grew as she saw the armed policemen.

  “Who are you?” Laryea asked her.

  “Araba,” she whispered. “The house girl.”

  “We would like to come in, Araba.”

  She opened the door wide and stepped aside to let the visitors in.

  “What’s wrong?” Laryea asked her. “You’re shaking. We’re not going to harm you. Are you afraid of us?”

  “No please,” she said in her tiny voice. “It’s just that a certain man called Edwin came and he’s holding a gun. He took Madam Josephine with him into the bedroom.”

  “The missing handgun,” Dazz muttered, looking at Emma. Her heart plunged.

  “Show us the bedroom where they are,” Laryea said curtly.

  They followed Araba upstairs and she pointed to the end room. “They are in there.”

  Laryea lowered his voice. “Thank you, Araba. Please return downstairs to a safe area. Do you have servant’s quarters?”

  “Yes please.”

  “Then go there and remain until we tell you otherwise. Emma, for now, please stay at the bottom of the stairs for safety.”

  Emma complied, but not completely. She stopped halfway down the stairs so she could still see and hear what was going on. Laryea and Dazz went to the bedroom door first while Courage and the constable hung back.

  “Edwin!” Dazz called out into the door. “Chaley, what’s up? How be?”

  Silence.

  “We just want to check on you to make sure you’re fine.”

  Edwin replied, but from where Emma stood, she couldn’t hear what he said.

  “Are you in there with Mrs. Akrofi?” Dazz asked.

  This time, Edwin shouted his answer. “I’m with her. Don’t come in. I’m armed.”

  “We just want to talk to you about everything that’s going on,” Dazz said.

  Silence.

  Laryea beckoned to Dazz and they pulled back to where Courage and the constable stood.

  “Ask Araba if she knows there’s a long ladder you can use to take a quick look through the window from the outside to see what the situation is.”

  As Courage hurried downstairs and Dazz and Laryea returned to the bedroom door, Emma took a calculated risk and sneaked back to the top of
the stairs. She wanted to be closer to the action. But she stayed low and flat.

  “Edwin,” Dazz called out again. “Is the door locked? May we open it and enter? We don’t want any problems. We just want to chat with you, okay? Please.” Dazz waited for an answer, but none came. That could mean Edwin was undecided and considering options. “Chaley, we’re friends, right?” Dazz continued. “I know you’ve had some tough things happen in your life, but you’re a good man. You’ve come a long way and you’re one of our best policemen. I’ve seen that with my own eyes. Please, Edwin.”

  Dazz looked at Laryea, who signaled him to keep going. Keep the pressure on.

  “Edwin,” Dazz continued, “chaley, we can make it fair so that everything will come out right for all of us and no one has to get hurt. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. What’s troubling you?”

  “The door is open,” Edwin said.

  Laryea whispered something to Dazz and he relinquished his automatic weapon to the DCOP, who stood out of sight in a small alcove in the hallway a few meters from the bedroom door. Courage had returned from outside shaking his head to indicate no ladder. He took a position next to Emma but insisted she back down a couple steps.

  “I’m not armed, Edwin,” Dazz called out into the bedroom. “I’m going to open the door now, okay?”

  Emma saw Dazz shut his eyes for a second, as if sending up a quick prayer. He pushed down the door handle and slowly opened the door.

  NINETY-SEVEN

  Edwin had Josephine close beside him on the sofa, his left arm loosely around her waist. His right hand held a semi-automatic pistol. Josephine, in a house dress and headscarf, sat rigid and terrified.

  “Hello, Dazz,” Edwin said.

  Dazz stood with his hands clearly visible. “Hi, Edwin. How are you?”

  Edwin snorted. “Funny question. I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “The rifle is unlicensed, I know. And this handgun too.”

  “Put it down and let’s talk,” Dazz said.

  Edwin laughed. “Are you forgetting I’m a SWAT guy? I know about negotiation tricks. You’ll get me to drop the gun and then you’ll arrest me. You’re not taking me anywhere. And Mummy is not going anywhere either.”