16
Saturday morning, Christine and Hosiah went shopping with Granny Gifty, leaving Dawson to do a few things around the house. About noon, he headed to Nima, picking up a Daily Graphic on the way. All Saturdays had a certain quality about them, a feeling of release from the chains of the workweek, the freedom to relax and browse. In neighborhoods like Nima, there was an increase in crowds moving back and forth and an upswing in buying and selling: fabrics, food, clothes, shoes, pots, pans, building materials, tools, cosmetics, and electronics.
Dawson made his way to Daramani’s place. He tried the door, hoping in vain that Chikata had carelessly left it unlocked after his search. Two doors down, a woman was washing clothes in a wide metal bowl with a pot of stew bubbling beside her on a charcoal grill. Dawson greeted her.
“Do you know Daramani who lives there?” Dawson asked her, pointing to his door.
She flicked perspiration from her forehead. “Yes, I know him.”
She was probably in her forties. Her voice was raspy, like sandpaper. Her name was Sheila.
“I’m from CID,” Dawson said. “I’m trying to find out a little bit about him. Can you help me?”
She might cooperate, she might not. It was luck of the draw.
“If I can help you, I will,” she said.
“Thank you. Were you here the night of Saturday before last?”
She shrugged. “I’m always here at night.”
“Do you remember seeing Daramani with another man around ten o’clock?”
She shook her head. “By that time, I’m inside. But maybe my son saw something. As for that boy, he stays up too late playing cards with his friends.”
“Is your son here?”
“Yes, but he’s sleeping.” She got up. “Please, let me wake him up for you. Lazy boy.”
The ratty door, which didn’t fit in its frame, slammed behind Sheila as she went inside yelling, “William! William!”
Glancing through the dirty, unraveling mosquito netting in the top half of the door, Dawson made out one larger and one smaller room, but they were both small.
Sheila returned in a huff. “He sleeps until late, then he gets up and listens to that crazy music, and then he goes out with his friends.” She shook her head. “Oh, Ewurade.”
William came to the door and propped it open as he leaned against the jamb. Chunky, around twenty, he was wearing a red T-shirt with I ♥ AMSTERDAM written across it in blue and white.
“Good afternoon, William.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“The gentleman wants to know about Daramani,” Sheila said to her son. “Two weeks ago on Saturday night, weren’t you playing cards with your friends?”
William nodded. “Yah. Every Saturday.”
“Where do you play?” Dawson asked him.
“We take a small table over there.” He pointed to a small alcove on the farther side of Daramani’s door, where there was a little shop selling snacks and cold drinks.
“How many of you altogether?”
“Three. Me and Alex and Houdine.”
“And you played from what time to what time?”
William chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “From about ten to after midnight.”
“Did you see Daramani during that time?”
William’s focus suddenly shifted as a buzz came from his pocket. He pulled out his phone and read the text message with a salacious grin.
“The gentleman is talking to you, William!” Sheila cried, appalled. “Don’t disrespect! Can’t you leave that thing alone for even one second?”
“Sorry,” William said, sheepishly pocketing the phone. “Please, what did you say, sir?”
“Between ten and midnight, did you see Daramani?”
“Wait. Let me think. There was one night he came with another guy… I think it was that same Saturday night. Yah, I remember they had a cart, and we asked them what they were doing and they told us they had taken something to some man in Maamobi.”
“Did they go into Daramani’s house together?”
“Yes. We asked them if they wanted to play cards, they said no, but could we watch their cart and we said okay, no problem.”
“About what time was that?”
“A little past eleven-we hadn’t been playing that long.”
“The guy with Daramani, do you know his name?” William shook his head. “No, he didn’t say.”
“What did he look like?”
William shrugged. “Shorter than me, and skinny.”
“Did you notice a gap in his teeth?”
“I don’t really remember that.” He smiled slyly. “If it’s not a girl, I don’t pay so much attention.”
“Oh, my Lord, help me,” Sheila said, rolling her eyes.
Dawson had an impulse to smile himself. “Did you see the friend come back out from Daramani’s room at any time?”
“Around midnight, I think.”
“By himself?”
“Yes. He took his cart and left.”
Good. “And Daramani didn’t come out again?”
“Oh, yah, he did.”
Not so good. “Do you know where he went?”
“No.”
“Did you see him come back?”
“No, but you should ask my two friends. They wanted to play another round, but I was tired, so I went to bed and left them out here.”
“How can I get hold of them?”
“Alex has a mobile. I can call him, if you like.”
“If you please, yes.”
William speed-dialed the number, waiting as it rang. He shook his head. “No answer. Maybe he’s sleeping.”
Sheila looked at Dawson. “You see now? They’re all like that.”
“I’ll text him too,” William said, dispatching a lightning-quick SMS.
“Thank you, William. If he doesn’t respond in the next couple minutes, leave a message that I’m trying to get in touch with him. I’ll give you my CID office number, if you would let Alex have it too.”
Dawson exchanged numbers with William, chatted for a little while more in case Alex answered, but he didn’t.
“Thank you, Sheila. Thank you, William.” He shook hands with them in turn. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Dawson left them in high spirits. Not every question was settled yet, but things had the right feel now. He was back in stride.
17
Monday morning after he arrived at work, Dawson read the Daily Graphic’s front-page article headlined ARREST MADE IN LAGOON MAN’S KILLING, with an account of the discovery of “incriminating evidence in the Nima habitation of one Daramani Gushegu, a previous associate of the deceased victim.” The presumed name of the victim had been withheld pending results of DNA testing.
Chikata’s name was all over the article, whereas “Detective Inspector Darko Dawson, his immediate superior, was not available for comment.” Dawson laughed at that. Had they really tried to reach him?
Alex had still not called.
Chikata came into the office looking pleased with himself. Some of the other detectives who had read the newspaper account began congratulating him in a playfully teasing fashion.
“Ei, Chikata! So now you’re the big man in town, eh?”
The detective sergeant grinned, showing his beautiful white teeth.
“How was your weekend?” he asked Dawson.
“Fruitful. But I’m sure not as fruitful as yours.”
Chikata caught the sarcasm. “Dawson, I’m sorry. I’m sorry this Daramani is, or was, a friend or whatever he is to you, but what do you want me to do? If the man has done something wrong, then we have to investigate it. Isn’t that right?”
“Did I say otherwise?”
“But then why are you annoyed with me? You don’t want me to be the one to find out anything, or what? It has to be only you who gets the glory?”
“Not at all.” Dawson’s desk phone rang. “One second. Let me get this. Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Dawson?”
“Speaking.”