Murder at Cape Three Points (27 page)

“Who uses this door?” he asked.

“Sometimes when people used to come to visit the house, they pass here to go to the beach. ’Specially the white people.”

“Which white people used to come here?”

“One Mr. Cal—… Cam—”

“Calmy-Rey?”

“Eh-heh, that one. Him and his wife.”

“How many times were they here?”

“Anyway, I’m not so sure. Three times or so.”

“When was the last time they came here?”

Gamal turned the corners of his mouth down, thinking. “Please, maybe some six months.”

“And who else? What about one white man with red hair, they call him Mr. Reggie Cardiman?”

Gamal shook his head slowly and sucked his teeth three times in a row. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, now, what about the Ghanaians? Do you know one Jason Sarbah?”

Gamal seemed unsure, so Dawson described what Sarbah looked like.

“Oh, yes,” Gamal said, nodding vigorously. “I know the one. He too, he come here one time to make argument with Massa Charles.”

“You heard them arguing?”

“It was that man Sarbah cause the
palava.
At that time, I was in the kitchen, so I heard what he said.”

“Did he threaten Massa?”

He shook his head again. “No, he was just shouting say why Massa don’t give him money.”

That confirmed Jason’s desperate quest for funds to save Angela, his daughter.

“Who else used to come here?” Dawson persisted. He didn’t want anyone left out.

“Another man too,” Gamal said, “but now I forget his name. One night, I came to the garden to get the water hose. I heard some people talking behind that bush.”

He pointed to a large jasmine bush with its fragrant, star-shaped white flowers. “I went there with my torchlight, and I found the man with the madam.”

“You say you found the man with Madam. Doing what?”

Gamal looked away, apparently deeply embarrassed. He was squirming with so much discomfort that Dawson decided to move on. “Was Massa Charles at home at that time?”

“No, please.”

“But he was in Takoradi?”

“Yes, please.”

“You say you can’t remember the name of the man who was with Madam. Can you describe him?”

“A little fat. Not so tall. At that time, I didn’t know him, but some two months after Massa and Madam die, when I was walking in Takoradi town with my friend, I saw that man again, and I ask my friend if he know who the man is. My friend say the man own one stationery shop in Takoradi.”

“Stationery shop. Which stationery shop?”

“They call it Abraham Stationery. It dey for Kofi Annan Road, near Barclays. The man who own that store be the man who was with Madam.”

Dawson’s blood turned to ice.

Chapter 25

H
E SAT IN THE
lodge sitting room with his elbows on the table and his head between his hands.
A little fat, not too tall. He owns the Abraham Stationery Store.
The words kept echoing. Gamal had described Dawson’s cousin. Two people—DeSouza and Chikata’s fellow partygoer—had claimed that Fiona had been having an affair with a “businessman” in town.
Is it Abraham? It must be a mistake
, Dawson thought desperately, but no matter which way he tried to twist it, he came right back to his cousin.

He went to the kitchen as he heard light knocking on the door, opened up, and was surprised to see Dr. Smith-Aidoo on the step.

“Good evening, Inspector. Gamal told me that you came by earlier, so I thought I would return the favor.”

“Thank you very much, Doctor. Please come in.”

He invited her to take a seat in the sitting room and he sat opposite her. She was dressed in a sleek, all-black pants suit.

“Long day at work, Doctor?”

“Yes, very much so. I just returned from Kumasi yesterday. I’m sorry I missed your calls.”

“No problem. I just wanted to update you on our progress.”

Not that he had an enormous amount to tell her, but Dawson knew that keeping in close touch with her at each stage of the game was the best way to maintain good relations. He suspected that Superintendent Hammond had failed to do that, perhaps giving the doctor a false impression that he was doing little or nothing in the case. After briefing her for a few minutes, Dawson had a question for her.

“I hope I don’t offend,” he said, “but my sergeant and I have both heard that your Auntie Fiona might have been having an affair with a local businessman. Do you know anything about that?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to be naïve, but I would never have thought it of her. I suppose I’m idealizing her. This local businessman—do you know who?”

“Not yet.”

An awkward pause hung briefly in the air. Dr. Smith-Aidoo hurried to fill it. “How’s Hosiah recovering from his surgery?”

“Very well, thank you. You’ve never mentioned a husband or children. I hope you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind. No children, never been married, and not attached. I was seeing a fellow physician for a while, but he turned out to be too domineering. Wanted to get married and start me churning out the babies like a factory. I’m not ready for that. I’d like to set up my own practice in Takoradi before that ever happens.”

“I wish you the best. I imagine you’ll be very successful.”

“Thank you.”

His mbira, which was resting in the corner by the window, had caught her attention. “Do you play?”

“A little.”

“May I see it?”

He gave it to her and sat down again while she examined it.

“It’s wonderful,” she said, looking up at him. “I love mbiras. Where did you get this one? From the Northern Region?”

“No, I made it.”

She looked at him half disbelievingly. “Really?”

“I’ve been making them since I was a boy.”

“Oh my. Intelligent
and
talented.” She laughed playfully, and he recognized she was behaving differently toward him. She was more open, less guarded, and she was being flirtatious. He felt a disturbing twinge of excitement and made himself look away from her lovely face, framed by the soft lighting in the lodge.

She held the mbira out to him. “Play something, maestro.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

He played a lively piece with a recurring rhythmic theme. She sat
forward, watching and listening intently, and applauding when he was done.

“Now I’ll play something with a different mood,” he said. “It’s an old tune I learned when I was a kid.”

This piece was more melodious, the notes blending with less of the traditional mbira discordance. For a while, he was lost in the composition. When he looked up again, tears were streaming down Dr. Smith-Aidoo’s face. He stopped playing.

“Are you okay, Doctor?”

She covered her face with her hands and began to weep. Dawson kneeled beside her, touching her arm.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t stop seeing it …”

“Is it the canoe?”

She nodded, trying to say something but choking on the words. Her body leaned toward him, and he supported her as her arms went around his shoulders.

“Something about the melody brought back memories.” She was sobbing. “I miss them. I miss them so much.”

She held on to him tightly, and he waited for her weeping to run its course.

“Better?”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It’s okay.” He made a slight movement to separate, but she wasn’t letting go. Instead, she allowed her full weight to push against him. He tried to shift his position but lost his balance and sank to the floor with her on top of him.

Then he didn’t know what was happening. He was on his back, and she was frantically kissing his neck and his face, her sweet breath coming fast. Her hand was in his shirt feeling the curve of his pectorals and stroking his abdominal muscles. She opened his shirt, kissed his chest. He thought he heard her whisper, “Please, I need it.”

She straddled him so he felt the heat and softness of her crotch against his rigidity.

She unbuttoned her blouse and unsnapped her bra, exposing her round breasts, succulent yet firm with large, dark areolas that were in shocking contrast with her fair skin. She was unforgivably lovely.
Maybe he touched her breasts, maybe he didn’t, but he turned his head away and covered his eyes as she opened undid his belt, and unzipped him. He felt like he was watching himself in a dream from a perch high up on the wall. His head was swirling. She tucked her fingertips in his waistband and gave a gentle tug. He lifted his hips slowly, and she eased his trousers and briefs down. She wrapped her fingers around his stiff shaft and gently stroked up to the tip. It responded, surging up to strike her palm and bouncing back to his belly with a soft thud.

Dawson opened his eyes with a vision of Christine standing across the room.

He gasped.
What am I doing?

“No.”

Pushing Fiona off to the side, he scrambled up frantically, hastily stuffing himself back in and zipping his trousers.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry. I can’t.”

She was lying on the floor, staring up at him in bewilderment.

“I can’t,” he stammered. “Sorry. Please go, Doctor. Sorry.”

He left her, went into the bedroom, and shut the door. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head between his hands. He was hyperventilating and his chest was tight.
What are you doing?
A wave of nausea went through him.

He held his breath, listening for her. Was she still there? For a terrifying instant, he was afraid she would come into the bedroom. Finally, he heard the front door close as she left.

Had he touched her? He might have, but only her breasts. She had made him hard, and he had let her. Was that adultery?

You don’t get involved with
anyone
in a murder case.

He sprang up with a sudden desire to take a shower, but as he began to remove his clothes, he heard knocking on the door. No, he thought. Was she back? He stood where he was, paralyzed. His phone rang. It was Chikata.

“Dawson, are you there? I’m outside your door.”

What a relief. “Okay, I’m coming.”

He opened up the kitchen door and Chikata came in. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just saw a woman leaving in tears.”

“Oh,” Dawson said, avoiding Chikata’s eye. “That’s Dr. Smith-Aidoo. We were talking about the case, and she got sad thinking about her aunt and uncle.”

“I see,” Chikata said, regarding him with some curiosity. “She’s beautiful.”

Dawson’s face was burning as he turned away abruptly. “Let’s talk about the case.”

“Sure, but first, how was the underwater training?”

Dawson laughed with relief. “I passed.”

He gave a blow-by-blow account to exclamations of amazement from Chikata.

“So you’re now qualified to visit the rig?”

“Yes,” Dawson said. “I’ll be going in a couple of days.”

They occupied their usual spots at the sitting room table.

“First,” Chikata said, “I went to Axim with Baah to meet this Quashie Quarshie. It took us almost two hours to find him. How this guy could have anything physically to do with the Smith-Aidoos’ murder is hard to imagine. He’s a very small man who had polio as a child. One leg is much shorter than the other, and sometimes he has to use a wheelchair because he’s in pain.”

“What about his personality?”

“He’s very passionate about the organization’s mission statement of sustainable living and protecting the coast from oil pollution and all that, and he says he’s also a pacifist.”

“What about his associates?”

“I thought it was a big organization, but it’s only him and his wife and a part-time accountant, and they work out of a very small office. Quarshie says money is hard to come by these days. The wife was there, but not the accountant. I have his phone number, so I can get in touch with him. They meet once a month—sometimes it’s well attended by fishermen and environmentalists, but other times they have only a few people coming in.”

“Could any of the fishermen or the other attendees have a motive to kill the Smith-Aidoos?” Dawson asked.

“I asked Quarshie that question—I phrased it a little differently—and he said he’s witnessed a lot of anger from some fishermen, but he
had contact information for only a few. I can try to track them down tomorrow.”

“Okay, good work. Did you get to Kweku Bonsa, the fetish priest?”

“Yes, but I didn’t talk to him. He was having one of his ceremonies—dancing to the beat of drums, spinning around in a trance while his assistants were sprinkling him with chalk powder. It was going on for hours, and I was told that Bonsa would be too weak afterward to talk to me. They told me to come back tomorrow.”

A
FTER A LITTLE
more discussion, Chikata left and Dawson hurried to the bathroom to finish what he had been about to do before the interruption. He pulled off his clothes and took a shower. He lathered and rinsed three times, trying to wash the sin away.

Chapter 26