“Yes, I do,” Chikata said, nodding. “He would be the right person to ask. Meanwhile, though, when and how do we bring Yaw in? That’s the part I’m interested in.”
Dawson smiled. Chikata liked action. “Commander Longdon says he can give us a couple men to hunt for him. I wanted that to happen by the weekend, and look-it’s already Thursday.” Dawson felt some frustration. “We should go upstairs to see the commander shortly to find out what is going on with that.”
“Do we have other suspects, boss?”
“Yaw’s father too had a strong motive to kill Bao,” Dawson said. “I can tell he loved Amos very much and his death has been very tough to take. If I were Mr. Okoh, I think I would want revenge for my son’s murder.”
“Did Mr. Okoh have opportunity to commit the crime?”
“Yes. He normally wakes up before dawn-let’s say at five-but on that day he could easily have woken up earlier to get to Bao Liu’s mining site on time. His ten-year-old nephew, who sometimes accompanies him to the farm, was suffering from a high fever, so he’s not able to say for sure what time his uncle left the house. Mrs. Okoh was with him trying to make the fever go down, and she probably wasn’t keeping exact track of time either, under those circumstances. We are talking about a difference of only an hour or so.”
“Is it still worth questioning her?” Chikata asked.
“It would not hurt, and it will be easier now that you’re here. You can engage the man while I talk to his wife.”
Chikata nodded. “Okay, boss.”
“Now,” Dawson continued, “there’s another person of interest-an American guy who has a mining site near Bao Liu’s property. He hated the way Liu and his crew used to come over to his concession to try to intimidate him. If you talk to the guy you’ll get the feeling he would have no compunction in getting rid of someone he doesn’t like. He acts like he couldn’t care less about the Chinese brothers near his mining concession, but I don’t believe him. We need to confirm his alibi. He says that he was in Accra Thursday to Friday visiting with Tommy Thompson, the head of PMMC.”
Before Dawson could continue, the doorway was darkened by Longdon’s shadow as he walked in. Both the inspector and chief inspector stood up in acknowledgment.
“Good morning, sir,” Dawson said. “Inspector Chikata has just arrived.”
“Very good,” Longdon said, in a businesslike fashion. “Welcome.”
The two shook hands, and Chikata offered him his chair.
The commander waved it away. “I’m not staying long. Just an update, Dawson, I will have two constables available to accompany you and Inspector Chikata when you go looking for the suspect Yaw Okoh.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“When are you planning to do it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Night?” Longdon asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes, sir,” Dawson said, “because the suspect’s whereabouts during the day seems to vary, but it looks like he stays at one permanent location at night.”
“All right, then.” Longdon handed him a sheet of paper. “Here is the information on the two officers.”
The Dunkwa officer was Kobby, and Dawson was happy about that because he liked the constable. The other officer’s name was Asase.
“Thank you, sir,” Dawson said.
“You’re welcome. I won’t be in the office tomorrow, but you may call me if needed for any emergencies.”
With that, Longdon left and Dawson stared after him in some surprise.
“What’s wrong?” Chikata said.
“He was more pleasant than I expected.”
Chikata grinned slyly. “Because he knows he has to be if he doesn’t want a report to go up the chain.”
Dawson made a rueful face. “My junior officer is treated with respect. Me? I’m a bad boy.”
Chikata started to giggle.
“Shut up,” Dawson snapped. “Not funny.”
“Sorry, sir,” the inspector said, trying to straighten his face. It didn’t last. Within seconds, he began to laugh again.
Dawson balled up a piece of paper and lobbed it at Chikata, who successfully dodged the missile. It was good to have him back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dawson had called Kobby in Dunkwa to confirm the plan to apprehend Yaw Okoh, and the constable had sounded eager to go-almost thrilled. Now Dawson wanted to meet Asase, the other officer who would be joining the team. He was stationed at Manhyia Divisional Headquarters in Kumasi.
Chikata had arrived in a shiny black jeep with gleaming chrome wheels. The driver was a constable who would leave the vehicle behind and return to Accra with one of the couriers who transport valuable and confidential documents between the police departments of various cities.
On the way to Manhyia with Chikata, Dawson put in a call to Tommy Thompson, the director of PMMC, but he didn’t answer and he didn’t have voice mail. Dawson moved to the next item on his list.
Allen Botswe was a professor of criminal psychology at the University of Ghana, specializing in crime in sub-Saharan countries. He answered almost immediately and recognized Dawson’s voice at once, which was good, considering that a year had passed since they had last spoken. Dawson told him about Yaw and his circumstances, and asked Dr. Botswe if it was conceivable that the death of Amos was so traumatic that Yaw could have become mute as a result.
“Almost anything is possible, really,” Botswe said slowly. “This would be a kind of conversion disorder, that is a neurological symptom such as blindness or paralysis in response to a severely stressful event. It’s a defense mechanism to cope with psychological trauma. I confess that although I’ve seen cases of blindness and paralysis, I haven’t come across the inability to speak, but for instance, Yaw’s muteness could be an attempt to neutralize the horrific thought of his brother’s loud screams for help.”
“But for months after the event?” Dawson asked skeptically.
“It could happen. There’s really no time limit to an individual’s response, but I agree with you that this gentleman could be using muteness as a subterfuge. I’ve never seen that. It’s very interesting. Keep me posted.”
“I will,” Dawson said. He ended the call and gave Chikata an account of the conversation.
“So it’s not juju, eh?” Chikata said as they pulled up to the station and parked. “It’s this conversion reaction or whatever it’s called?”
“Conversion, diversion, perversion,” Dawson said as they alighted. “I don’t care. I just want the guy to talk to us and tell us if he killed Bao Liu or not.”
Manhyia Divisional HQ, painted an attractive pale peach with dark blue trim and comprising two separate buildings, was several times larger than Obuasi’s division. Dawson and Chikata walked into the right-hand section station, and Dawson was startled by what he saw. Behind the counter doing paperwork was Sergeant Obeng in uniform. Back at work already?
Obeng saw him and jumped to his feet with a salute. “Morning, sir,” he said crisply.
“Morning, Obeng,” Dawson said, and he realized he must have betrayed his surprise in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here now.”
“Yes, sir. On desk duty, sir.”
“I see. I’m looking for Constable Asase.”
“Yes, massa,” said the man at the far end of the counter, standing up straight. “Morning, sir.” He was in his midtwenties, smallish in stature and impeccably dressed in shirt and tie and dark slacks. Dawson couldn’t remember the last time he had worn a tie.
“Good morning,” Dawson said. “I’m Chief Inspector Dawson, and this is Inspector Chikata. You’ll be assisting us tomorrow in a police operation at Dunkwa. You’re aware?”