“Yes, sir,” Asase said coming forward. “Commander Longdon has informed me.”
“Okay. Please be at the Obuasi Divisional Headquarters by four tomorrow afternoon, and we will proceed to Dunkwa from there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Outside, Dawson was so lost in thought that at first he did not hear Chikata speaking.
“Boss?”
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“Something wrong?”
“It’s Obeng,” Dawson said, as they got back into the vehicle. “How is he back at work so soon? I expected this to go before the disciplinary board, but it seems Commander Longdon decided to deal with the matter himself.”
“Maybe he’s on official probation,” Chikata suggested, “and that’s why they want him at one of the main divisions so they can watch him better.”
“Could be,” Dawson said doubtfully. It still seemed odd, however. He pushed the matter aside for the moment. He wanted to stop over at the guesthouse to see how work was progressing. Its state of readiness-or lack thereof-was a looming issue. In two days, Christine, Sly, and Hosiah were to arrive in Kumasi.
The door to the guesthouse was open, and Dawson and Chikata were greeted by the sounds of hammer and chisel. A heavily perspiring foreman Nyarko was at work installing the toilet, one worker was in the kitchen, and a third was working on the electric switches.
“Good morning, Mr. Nyarko,” Dawson said, as Chikata wandered off to watch the electrician.
He looked up. “Oh, morning, sah!”
He rose with a bit of a grunt and offered his right wrist to Dawson rather than his dusty hand.
“So, how is it going?” Dawson asked.
“Everything is fine,” the foreman said. “Only the plumbing is not good at all. We have to lay some new pipes. The ones here are the old style and they are also too narrow.”
“That sounds like a lot to get done,” Dawson said, even though he didn’t want to be the perennial pessimist.
“Oh, it will be okay,” Nyarko said reassuringly, in such a way that Dawson wasn’t in the least bit reassured. “Please, what time will your family be coming?”
“Saturday morning,” Dawson said keenly.
“Ah, okay. No problem.”
“No problem?” Dawson echoed.
“No problem, sah.”
“Okay, then I will call them to let them know that everything will be ready. Has Madame Gifty been here this morning?”
“No, please. She told me she will come at ten o’clock.”
No matter that it’s past that now. “All right,” Dawson said. “Do you need anything? You have enough water to drink? You are sweating so much it looks like you have been in the shower.”
Nyarko laughed. “Thank you, sah. We have plenty water to drink. Thank you very much.”
As Dawson walked away with Chikata, he called Christine. “Nyarko says the place will be ready, but I don’t see how.”
“But Mama said-”
“I don’t care what she said. I’m not taking the risk of you and the boys arriving here on Saturday with no place to stay. We’ll just get our own temporary place in Kumasi somewhere.”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know, Christine,” he said as he got back in the jeep, loathing the irritation in his own voice. “I have to think about it.”
“Okay, then call me back.”
“What’s up?” Chikata asked as Dawson ended the call.
“You know anywhere my family can stay in Kumasi for a few days, in case this place isn’t fixed up by Saturday?”
“Not exactly, but the friend I’m with should know. I’ll ask him.”
“Thanks,” Dawson said, as he pulled into traffic. A funny thought struck him. “Maybe we should have asked some Chinese to fix up the house. They would have finished by now.”
He and Chikata began to laugh, even though it was a bad joke, but after quieting down, the inspector sucked on his teeth. “The Chinese, they will finish the work quickly, but they’ll give you some fucking shit equipment that will break in two weeks.”
Dawson looked back at him. “What do you think of Chinese people?”
“I just don’t trust them.”
Dawson’s phone rang. Akua was calling.
“Good morning, Chief Inspector. Are you in Kumasi by any chance?”
“As a matter of fact, on the way out.”
“Could you possibly meet me at the hotel?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“I have some information that might interest you.”
They joined Akua Helmsley beyond the pool by the tennis courts, which were empty of players for the moment. Dawson introduced Chikata to her, and then they got down to business. She appeared to Dawson more preoccupied than usual, and he noticed she glanced around a couple of times as though checking that no one was in the vicinity to eavesdrop. A light breeze was blowing, and the sky was a brilliant blue. Somehow Akua enhanced it.
“I’ve been in Accra the past four days looking into something,” she said. “You know of the PMMC?”
Dawson nodded. “Precious Minerals Marketing Company. What’s up with them?”
“A whistle-blower within the company got in touch with me last week,” she said. “I went to Accra to see if there was any truth in the claim the person was making.”
Dawson was interested. “A whistle-blower?”
“Yes. Let’s call him or her ‘X-Factor,’” Helmsley said. “X-Factor is high up in PMMC and has integrity, so I’m inclined to believe the tip.”
“And X-Factor says what?”
“That the PMMC knowingly buys gold from illegal Chinese and Ghanaian galamsey miners.”
Dawson frowned. “What?”
“The figures the PMMC renders to the Ministry of Lands, Forestry and Mines for annual gold sales and revenue include illegally mined and traded gold.”
“No way,” Dawson said. “The PMMC is a trading company whose only shareholder is the government. They can’t be sanctioning illegal gold.”
“One would hope not,” she said, “but let me ask you something. Why are so many galamsey sites operating with impunity all over the Ashanti Region? How can an illegal mine right outside of Dunkwa-on-Ofin, for example, operate in full view of everyone?”
“Because we can’t keep up with the sheer number of these Chinese illegals flowing into the country,” Dawson said. “They number in the tens of thousands. It’s the military and police special forces like SWAT, which Inspector Chikata has been involved with recently, that are needed to eject these thousands of people. That takes a lot of resources, and then how do you make sure they don’t come back?”
“Resources so scarce that the authorities can’t even allocate contingency for effective, targeted raids?” Akua challenged.
“But raids have been done,” Chikata put in.
“They’re not genuine raids, Inspector Chikata,” Akua said earnestly. “They’re carried out just to prove to Ghanaians that the government is doing something. They catch a few Chinese scapegoats, photograph them for the papers, and then release them.”
“So what are you saying?” Dawson asked.
“I’m saying that there’s a consistent pattern of collusion with the police and other authorities and the Chinese illegals,” she replied.
Dawson snorted. “Ghana Police Service is not even organized enough to get such an elaborate scheme going.”
“But you admit that it’s something we need to investigate, right?”
“We?” He smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m investigating a murder, not a corruption scheme.”
“But the murder might be related to the scheme,” she pointed out.
She had Dawson’s attention again. “Explain.”
“To stay in business and not be harassed by the police and immigration officials, the miners have to sell their gold to the PMMC at below market price. It’s a quid pro quo. But not everyone agrees to that and Bao Liu was one. For that, they could have disposed of him and put his more amenable brother in charge.”