“Yes, you are sadly correct. Seems like she was returning on the same route that you were when you were robbed.”
“Ah, sweet Jesus,” Tanbry whispered. “They killed her straight up, man. They fuckin’ killed her.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Michael, man. Him and his goons. Go get ’em, Inspector. They fuckin’ killed her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Old devils were creeping back and burrowing under his skin like determined earthworms in the soil after a rain shower. His head knew he was blaming himself too much, but his heart begged to differ.
He left a note on the desk for Christine and the boys saying he would be back soon. Loathing himself more every passing minute, he got into the jeep and traveled from Melcom Road north to the Asafo Interchange. From there, he made a right, found a spot to park at the edge of Asafo Market, and went in and bought a cap with the Manchester United Football Club logo, and a pair of shades even though it was now dusk. Then, reasonably disguised, he took a walk toward the Neoplan bus station. Just before he got there, he made a sharp left down a narrow lane.
How did he know this place? He had heard of it, and then it was just a matter of following his nose. No, not the stink of urine in the alley-the other smell, sharp and distinctive and, yes, so familiar. Guys were languishing against the walls of the passageway, which opened up into a covered patio filled with smoke. A least a dozen men were sitting around casually puffing on joints, and fat ones too. A lot bigger than what one generally gets in Accra.
A guy with a clean-shaven head and built like a fort gave Dawson an up flick of the head, which identified him as the go-to. Dawson asked him about prices and found that wee was cheaper here than in Accra. Darko stood and smoked, daydreaming and floating, his stresses melting away. No good reason to give this herb up, really. Nothing wrong with indulging from time to time.
He had random thoughts, some of them making him laugh to himself. Like an undecided hummingbird, his mind flitted through a brightly lit field of characters: Bao Liu; his brother, Wei; the American man Chuck, who looked like a school-yard bully; Liu’s wife, delicate Lian; Yaw Okoh and his morose father; Obeng and Commander Longdon… Dawson drifted back to Wei and something he had said. What was it? Something that didn’t quite fit. He lost it. It was gone.
Dawson looked at the joint. Still quite a bit left. It was wonderful, yet he felt sick. He looked to his right and offered the rest of it to a guy who had finished his own but was looking wistful for more. He took it with a mellow smile. “Medaase.”
He didn’t want to go home smelling of smoke, so Dawson bought a new T-shirt on the way out of Asafo Market and exchanged it for the one he had on, which he handed to a random youngster sitting idly watching the world go by.
Dawson walked around the streets to clear his head, absorbing the noise of market sellers and blasting loudspeakers, the sight of merchandise in all its unrelated and colorful glory, and the smell of food cooking. He was ravenous, that much he knew. As for the wee smoking, he was neither angry nor pleased with himself. Small wonder, he thought sarcastically. You’re still high. Later, he would be disappointed with himself, and it could mean he would not shake his despondent mood for a few days. You don’t have a few days. He bought some Orbit peppermint gum, went back to the car chewing, got in, and headed back home.
That evening, after Sly and Hosiah had gone to bed, Christine and Dawson sat together on the sofa. He had refrained from talking about the bad news until now.
“By the way,” she said, as if reading his mind, “I heard about Miss Helmsley. I’m sorry, Dawson. I know you admired her.”
He nodded. “Thank you. Yes, I did.”
She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. “And I owe you an apology for the other night-insinuating that you and her had anything more than a professional relationship. It was foolish talk.”
“It’s okay,” he said, gently running his fingers through her elaborate weave. “It’s nice to know you still get jealous.”
She chortled softly. “Yes, but I could do better. What happened, Dark? To Helmsley, I mean.”
“It was an ambush,” he said. “She and her driver were shot in cold blood at close range.”
“Oh my goodness. Awful.” She shuddered.
“If only I had found out where she was going,” he said, “I might have saved her.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know you want to save everyone, but you can’t.”
“Yeah, so you claim.”
She raised her head to look at him, and he was grinning. They laughed.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for the TV remote, “let’s find a movie to watch.”
Predictably, Christine fell asleep leaning against Dawson about halfway through the action movie, which starred a bunch of actors he had never heard of.
“Come on, sleep machine,” he said, switching off the TV at the conclusion and shifting her off his shoulder. “Time for bed.”
He shifted her and she groaned in protest, staggered up, and went sleepily to the bedroom.
Wednesday morning came and went, and it wasn’t until half past twelve that Commander Longdon called Dawson in for a meeting.
“The shooting of Miss Helmsley is having widespread repercussions,” he said, folding his fingers together on his desk. “Her father is well-known and quite wealthy, and the Helmsley family are well connected with the British diplomatic corps. As you can imagine, it’s important to handle this at the highest level. I had a meeting with DCOP Manu this morning, and she informed me that she will assign three detectives from Regional Headquarters to the case. In other words, they will be in charge of the investigation from this point on. Our role will be supportive only. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” he said insincerely. He wasn’t going to passively wait around for these three detectives to get to work.
“Do you have anything new I should know about?” Longdon asked.
“Yes, I do, sir,” Dawson said, aware that he had to handle this delicately. “Akua Helmsley mentioned to me that she was writing a story about the rash of armed robberies in the Obuasi area involving gold that foreigners had bought. Did she contact you about the matter at all?”
“No,” Longdon said, shaking his head. “I have never spoken to the woman.”
Dawson jumped slightly as he received an electric jolt to his left palm. Why was the commander lying?
“She didn’t come to see you about four days ago?”
“Not at all. Why?”
“I believe that she was ambushed as she was returning from a visit to Mr. Michael, the gold dealer mentioned in Sergeant Obeng’s report,” Dawson said. “What do you know about this man, Michael, sir? Is his business legitimate?”
“As far as I know, yes. What is your interest in him?”
“I think he should be questioned in relation to the murder of Helmsley and Samuels. Sir, I know you want Regional to handle everything, but it will take them some time to get up to speed in this case, and time is of the essence. I want to go to Mr. Michael’s place to question him.”
“When?”
“Today. Now.”
The commander looked uncertain. “I will have to clear it with DCOP Manu, and I will let you know shortly.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. May I check back with you in about an hour?”
Longdon sighed wearily. “Yes, Dawson. You may.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Constable Asase had done almost a month of driving duty in the past, so he was fit to be at the wheel of the Tata jeep when he and Dawson started out from Obuasi to Pakyi. They got to the now infamous left turnoff and continued on the dusty laterite road. Asase handled the rough ride with ease, dodging cavernous holes and skillfully navigating treacherous muddy patches.