“Sure.” Granger picked up his phone. “Give me yours, Mr. Dawson, and I’ll text you Tommy’s info.”
“Thank you.”
While Granger was doing that, Dawson got a better look at the room. Framed photos of Granger and his family-wife and two pretty teen daughters-stood on his desk. He had a coffee maker on the other side of the room, and in one corner, a pump-action shotgun.
Such a lot of guns around here, Dawson thought.
“Can I give you a tip, Mr. Dawson?” Granger asked, leaning back with hands behind his head, elbows wide and knees apart.
“Of course.”
“Look, I didn’t like Mr. Liu, but I got better stuff to do than worry about a little piece o’ shit like him. You looking for someone who could have killed him, you gotta look at folks who hated his guts.”
“Tell me more.”
“You heard about that one guy Liu dumped into a pit.”
Dawson nodded.
“Yeah, I figured you’d know. Young guy, had a nice girlfriend, hardworkin’ honest family, you know? And now Liu goes and kills the boy. Who do you think was really, really upset about that? His dad, his mom, and most especially his younger brother. From what I heard, those two boys were like this.” Granger held up his hand with his index and middle finger intertwined. “Shit, if Liu did that to my brother? Hell to pay.”
Dawson nodded. “Yaw has been mute since his brother’s death.”
“Mute, my ass.” Granger snorted. “He’s just getting away with murder. Can’t interrogate him if he won’t speak, right?”
Right. Dawson was interested in Granger’s analysis, even if crudely offered. “It’s been suggested that an excavator was used to bury Mr. Liu under layers of soil.”
Granger shrugged. “Well, Yaw knows how to operate excavators. I’ve seen him myself. And he’s damn good too.”
“But Bao Liu’s excavator was out of order that day.”
“Hey, you can bring an excavator over from practically anywhere if you give yourself enough time, Inspector. I mean, they’re all over the place.”
“Including one of yours,” Dawson pointed out. “And you’re right next door to the Lius’ mining site.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s just an observation.”
“If Yaw used one of our excavators, we would know, because the engine would have been warm when we got to work that morning-and it wasn’t.”
“How would you know? I thought you said you were in Accra.”
“I was, yes,” Granger said quickly. “But my guys would have reported something like that to me. I mean, I know you’re trying to get something on me,” Granger added, “and it’s your job and all, but seriously, you’re wasting your time. You need to concentrate on-what’s his name?-Yaw. Don’t be fooled by this ‘I can’t speak’ crap. He’s one smart, calculating dude, that guy.”
Maybe Granger is right. Dawson stood up. “Thank you, sir.”
“Yeah, anytime,” he said, not sounding like he meant it.
As he prepared to leave, Dawson noticed three keys with the CAT logo hanging from hooks in a corkboard on the wall. A fourth hook was empty. “You always use Caterpillar excavators?” he asked Granger.
“Yeah, the real thing,” he said, with a confident nod. “Not any of that cheap Chinese crap the Lius have.”
“Your excavators are all at work now,” Dawson observed. “So these are spare keys?”
“Yeah,” Granger confirmed, looking slightly puzzled by the question.
“Where’s the fourth key?” Dawson asked.
“One of the guys is using it.” Granger sighed, sounding tired. “I dunno where the original went. It sucks the way you gotta keep your eye on every little thing around here. Anyway, don’t wanna bore you with stuff you don’t need to know.”
“No problem,” Dawson said. “Are you traveling back to the States anytime in the near future?”
“I don’t plan to. Why?”
“Because I might need to talk to you again.”
“No problem, man.”
In fact, Dawson was certain he was going to meet up with Granger again. He just didn’t know under what circumstances.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When Dawson was done with Granger, he took the opportunity to drop in at the Okohs’ home in the hope that they had seen Yaw recently or talked to him. As Dawson walked to the house, a young boy went by laughing as he pushed a little girl in a rickety homemade go-cart.
Dawson called out at the door.
“Yes?” someone replied from inside.
Dawson waited a moment, and a teenage girl came to the door wiping her hands on a towel. It looked like she had been washing clothes.
“Good afternoon. Are Mr. and Mrs. Okoh in?”
“No, please,” she said. “They have gone to farm.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Dawson thought that although he didn’t know exactly where the Okoh farm was, it couldn’t be too far away from the bridge where Amos had met his end.
“Ei! Hello, Mister!”
Dawson turned at the female voice. It was Miss Smoothie emerging from between two crumbling brick houses. Her hair done to cornrow perfection, she sashayed up to Dawson with an exaggerated swing of the hips and slipped her arm into his.
“So you have come here again, eh?” she said, her tone dripping with honey.
“Yes.”
She slipped her hand into his. “Darko, how are you? I’m Queenie.”
Her fingers were playing with his and he gently withdrew them.
“Ah, Queenie! Can’t you leave him alone?”
Dawson turned again. This time, it was Queenie’s hairstylist, who had appeared out of nowhere and was walking up to them.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, smiling. “Please, is she troubling you?”
Dawson smiled too. “No.”
“You see?” Queenie said coyly. “I’m just talking to him.” She looked Dawson over with approval. “Hm, Darko. Such a fine man from Accra. Do you have a wife?”
“Yes, I do.”
Queenie pouted. “Where is she?”
“Gyae, gyae!” the hairstylist scolded her, using the Twi word for “stop it.” To Dawson she said, “She has so many boyfriends already.”
“Adwoa, you are telling lies!” Queenie dismissed her friend with a backward flap of her hand. “Don’t mind her, Darko. It’s not true. Did you come to Dunkwa to see me?”
“But did you invite me?” he challenged back.
Adwoa laughed gleefully. “Eh-heh, Queenie, what’s your answer?”
“Maybe the two of you can help me,” Dawson said, the idea striking him on the spot. “Do you know Yaw Okoh?”
Queenie looked away, pressing her lips together. The hairstylist looked at her and burst out laughing.
“What?” Dawson asked.
Queenie glared at her friend. “Don’t say anything!”
Adwoa immediately turned to Dawson and spilled the beans. “She wanted to be his girlfriend but he won’t even look at her.”
“Adwoa!” Queenie protested, as her friend giggled convulsively at her expense.
“Do you know where I can find him?” Dawson asked, skipping the fun.
“He lives in the bush,” Queenie volunteered.
“Do you know the place?”
She nodded, and Adwoa grinned. “She used to follow him there.”
“No, I didn’t,” Queenie said, sulking.
“Can you take me?” Dawson asked, assuming her denial was an admission.
“Yes, we can go,” Adwoa said, before Queenie even had a chance to speak up.
Dawson and the two women tramped through the bush and ended up at the banks of the Ofin. A felled tree across a narrow segment of the river created a partial damming effect on the milky water, providing them a crossing to the other side. Dawson immediately named it Fallen Tree Bridge. As a result of the recent storm, most of the tree trunk was submerged.