Dzamesi looked up for responses, and a short discussion followed. When a space opened up in the chatter, Dawson said, “Please, sir, what will be my role during these raids?”
Dzamesi was taken by surprise. He looked at DCOP Manu, who in turn looked at Longdon. “Do you usually send your detectives on such raids?” she asked.
The commander shook his head. “For safety reasons, we do not.”
“That seems sensible,” the commissioner commented.
“Is this not a special case, though?” Manu came in. “The chief inspector has been investigating the death of a Chinese man at one of the illegal mining sites that will be included in the upcoming raids. I would say that, in fact, it’s imperative that he be in attendance.”
“Why?” the brigadier-general demanded, frowning.
Let’s see how she handles this, Dawson thought, with growing admiration.
“Not only must Mr. Dawson witness this raid in order to make his final investigatory report complete,” Manu said confidently, “he has gathered some very useful and specialized knowledge about these miners and the galamsey sites. For example, the chief inspector knows how many workers were at the mine where the Chinese man died, and he knows their names. This is important because we might have to question some of the people we round up, and Mr. Dawson can assist with this. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the goal of these raids is not just to uproot and terrify people. Are we not also seeking information?”
“That is true,” Dzamesi conceded with hesitation.
“Right,” Manu said. “In addition, the chief inspector has familiarized himself with the workers in the adjacent mine, which belongs to the American, Chuck Granger. This is detailed information that we don’t have, and I suggest that it would be valuable at the time of the raids.”
Some muttering and throat clearing took place. Dzamesi finally answered heavily, “All right. Chief Inspector Dawson can be involved in the raid in observation status only.” He looked at Dawson sternly. “I want to make that clear. You will not play any active role.”
“Yes, sir,” Dawson said. “Please, if you don’t object, will you allow Constable Kobby to accompany me? Apart from this being a learning experience for him, he was the first policeman on the scene of the murder, and I believe he deserves it.”
Dzamesi flipped his palms upward, looking at Longdon. “That’s up to you, Commander.”
Longdon opened his mouth.
“It’s a good idea,” Manu said, putting the words into it. “Thank you, Commander.”
And now, Manu and Dzamesi were even, Longdon was squashed, and Dawson held the DCOP’s negotiation skills in very high regard. She had argued successfully for Dawson’s inclusion, and he made a mental note to thank her later in private. As for Longdon, he sat rigid with his mouth shut and his jaw tightly clamped.
The rest of the meeting was tying loose ends, and at the close, Dawson wondered, Are we finally doing something about the illegal Chinese miners? Or was this just window dressing for the benefit of Ghana’s president? An even more cynical thought struck Dawson. Maybe even the president was merely putting on a show, and this national inquiry would end up buried in the same lifeless cemetery with all the other worthless presidential task forces, blue ribbon commissions, and parliamentary subcommittees.
CHAPTER FORTY
When Dawson reached Akua Helmsley by phone, evening was approaching.
“I need to talk to you,” he told her.
“I’m on my way to The View,” she said. “I’m meeting someone but I’m early, so I have a little time. Can you come there?”
“I can be there in about an hour,” Dawson said. “I’m coming up from Obuasi.”
On the way, he called Christine to let her know he would be making a stop before getting home.
“Okay,” she said, “but remember you promised to help the boys with their homework?”
“Yes. I’ll try to be as quick as possible.”
As he entered The View on the top floor of the building, Dawson’s suspicions were confirmed: a Ghana Police chief inspector couldn’t afford to eat or drink here. The room was large and airy. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided the view for which the place was so famously named. The floors were solid wood, as were the impeccably laid tables at which customers, most of them expatriates, sat and talked, ate and drank. Business was light at this early hour, so a couple of the black-and-white uniformed waiters were attending to just three tables, while the others hovered around the bar.
Dawson saw Helmsley sitting alone at bar on the other side of the room, and he walked across.
“Nice to see you, Chief Inspector,” she said, as he sat down.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m on my way home, so I’ll have to make this quick.” He wanted to establish the strictly business nature of the meeting at the outset.
“Of course,” she said. She wore a sheer white top and tight black slacks. Her hair was elegantly swept back. She smelled like heaven must smell, and he was beset by guilt. He should be treating Christine to a place like this, rather than meeting another woman here.
“I’m having wine,” she said. “Would you like something?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
She ignored him and lifted a finger to the bartender. “One Malta, please.”
“Thank you,” Dawson said. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.” She took a sip of her wine. “So. What’s on your mind, Chief Inspector?”
He waited for the bartender to finish pouring. “It’s about Tommy Thompson.”
“Ah, yes?”
“You said you went to see him at the Accra office?”
“I did.”
“My partner Philip Chikata-you remember him-went to PMMC to talk to him. He claims you’ve never stepped foot on the premises.”
She chortled. “I’m not surprised.”
Dawson could tell she genuinely wasn’t, as if he had told her it rained in Kumasi. For his part, he was taken aback by the mildness of her reaction.
“Tommy Thompson is a liar,” Helmsley said coolly. “Furthermore, he is trying to discredit my name. I’m sure he said some really unpleasant things about me.”
Dawson said nothing in response, but yes, she was right.
“Whether you believe him or not,” she continued as he watched her facial expression, “I know I don’t need to tell you there are some very nasty men out there who cannot stand having a woman snooping around the way I do.”
“And the whistle-blower?” he asked her. “Is he or she one of the disgruntled employees fired over the last year or so?”
She shook her head decisively. “No. The person is working at PMMC right now.”
“I see.”
“Contrary to popular gossip,” Helmsley said, “I don’t sensationalize my reports, nor did I sleep my way to my position, Chief Inspector.”
“I never thought that,” Dawson said, a little hurt.
“I appreciate your saying so. Anyway,” she said with a backward flap of the hand, “that’s neither here nor there. I’m glad you’re here, because there is something I want to ask you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Speaking of whistle-blowers,” she said, “would you be willing to be one, should the occasion arise?”
Dawson’s Malta arrived. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he said, as the bartender poured. “In what regard?”
Helmsley paused, waiting for the bartender to leave, and gave a quick glance around. “I want to look into galamsey corruption at the highest levels of the police force.”
“Why do you want to do that?”
“That’s like asking you why you want to solve crime,” she objected, but she was smiling.