“I’ve heard that a generations-long enmity has existed between members of the Smith-Aidoo and Sarbah families.”
Dawson was intrigued-Sapphire Smith-Aidoo had not mentioned that when she had been giving him her family history. “Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t exactly recall,” Abraham replied, “but back in the 1950s, the Smith-Aidoos and Sarbahs were competing in the timber industry. Maybe there’s been bad blood to the present day.”
“In other words,” Dawson said, a smile playing at his lips, “Jason Sarbah kills Charles and Fiona in a modern version of the generations-long feud between the two families? And then on top of that, Jason gets to replace Charles at Malgam? It seems too convenient. You’ve been watching too many movies.”
They all laughed.
“I’ve been wondering about how the murderer could get two bodies out to the deep sea,” Dawson said. “Do you know anything about fishing canoes, Abe?”
“A little. I own a canoe myself.”
“Oh,” Dawson said, surprised. “What do you use it for?”
“About a year ago I began renting it out to fishermen who can’t buy their own canoes. They’re expensive, now that the price of wood keeps going up. I thought renting the canoe would bring in extra income, but it has been disappointing.”
“In that case,” Dawson said, “let me ask you something-maybe you know the answer. The Malgam oil rig is about seventy kilometers offshore, right?”
“Closer to sixty.”
“Okay. Let’s leave aside where exactly the Smith-Aidoos were shot. How would this canoe with the dead bodies get out that far? Can a fishing canoe go out sixty kilometers?”
“Oh, yes, easily.”
“With an outboard motor, then? You couldn’t possibly row that far.”
Abraham was amused. “City boy, you don’t row a canoe, you paddle it.”
“Sorry. Paddle, then.”
“Fishermen paddle out there all the time, Darko. Have you seen how strong these guys are? You are partly right, though, because in practice many fishermen split up the journey between paddle and outboard motor. Another alternative is use a sail.”
“If someone wanted to steer the canoe to the Malgam oil rig, how long would it take?”
“Six to eight hours. The sea currents are predominantly northeasterly, so if you set out for the rig from, say, Cape Three Points, whether paddling or by motor power, you have to continuously compensate for the current if you want to arrive at the intended destination. Are you thinking that the dead bodies were transported to the rig deliberately to display them?”
“It seems too coincidental that Dr. Smith-Aidoo’s aunt and uncle show up dead at the very rig on the very day she was working there.”
It wasn’t only that. Something else led Dawson to believe that a fundamental message invoking family ties was encoded in the bizarre scene of the canoe bearing two corpses: the old watch found in Charles’s mouth with the inscription blood runs deep. He wasn’t about to mention that to his two hosts, however. For security, some details were best left unrevealed even to relatives-perhaps especially to relatives.
“I think you’re right, Darko,” Akosua said. “It was like the murderer was boasting to Dr. Smith-Aidoo, ‘Look what I did. I killed your aunt and uncle.’ How terrible.”
“Well, if that’s the case,” Abraham said, “whoever got the canoe there knew what he was doing because he had to slip by the fishery protection vessels that are on standby to enforce the five hundred meter no-go zone around the rig.”
“No-go zone?” Dawson asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s the safe operating boundary around the rig to prevent collisions between vessels. It’s standard all over the world, but some Ghanaian fishermen are convinced it’s all a plot to prevent them from getting at the fish that swarm around the rig, especially at night when they’re attracted to the rig lights. So to get at that bonanza of fish, sometimes the fishermen will sneak within the boundary and then their fishing nets get all tangled up with rig installations.” Abraham shook his head and gave a dry, ironic laugh. “The classic battle between tradition and modernity.”
Dawson agreed. That kind of conflict occurred onshore too. Recently, coconut palm farmers had been infuriated by the establishment of a new natural gas plant that meant the destruction of some of their farmland.
“I should introduce you to my fisherman friend Forjoe,” Abraham said. “He’s in charge of the canoe rentals. He can tell you even more about canoes and such.”
An idea occurred to Dawson. “Does he keep a record of the rentals?”
“No, I do. When I collect my portion of the fees he’s charged, I note it down in a book along with the fisherman’s name. It’s a little informal.”
“Did you have any rentals last July?”
“I can check, but I don’t think so. Business was very slow.” Abraham stood up. “I’ll fetch the book.”
He disappeared inside briefly, returning with a notebook and sitting down next to Dawson. He flicked through the pages until he came to July.
“Nothing,” he said, running a finger down the blank page. “Not a single rental the whole month.”
“Any chance Forjoe could have forgotten to tell you?”
“I doubt it. He’s very reliable.”
“Is anyone else you know doing the same thing? Renting canoes?”
“I don’t personally know anyone, but Forjoe will know. I’ll call him tomorrow and then we can go down to the harbor.”
“Good.” Dawson paused a moment. “Did Forjoe know the Smith-Aidoos?”
“I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“No special reason,” Dawson said with a shrug. That wasn’t quite true. In fact, a thought had struck him that Forjoe would have had perfect access to a motor-powered canoe that could transport two dead bodies out to sea. But maybe that was jumping ahead too far.
Chapter 7
ABRAHAM PULLED up TO a wrought-iron gate set in a high brick wall inscribed with a sign that read CHAPEL HILL LODGE.
“I ran out of money,” he said to Dawson as they got out. “That’s why the building is temporarily stalled, but I’m hoping to finish everything by the middle of next year.”
“Why did you call it Chapel Hill?” Dawson asked.
“That’s the name of this part of town. The street we came on used to be called Chapel Hill Road, but it was renamed Shippers Road.”
He opened up the padlocked gate, revealing a neat, square bungalow on a generous plot of land with a smattering of banana trees and two blooming jasmine bushes that lightly perfumed the night air. Abraham had not yet installed exterior lighting, but the street lamp on the corner provided a little illumination.
“It only has the primer coat of paint,” Abraham said, unlocking the front door. “In the end it will be a sun-yellow color.”
Dawson followed him in as he switched on the overhead light of the kitchenette to their left. It had a new house smell.
“I don’t have the cupboards up yet,” Abraham said. “But everything is connected and ready for use-stove, refrigerator, water…”
He lifted the tap handle and after a cough and splutter, water began flowing.
“This is nice,” Dawson said, looking around. “It will be beautiful when it’s finished.”
“Thanks,” Abraham said, smiling.
They went on into the small dining area, which was bare except for three boxes of unpacked materials in one corner. The recessed ceiling lights were in working order and missing only their trim.
“I will bring a table and two chairs for you to sit down and eat on,” Abraham said.
“Don’t worry about that, cousin Abe,” Dawson said. “I can do without.”
“It’s no problem. I’ll get them tomorrow.”
The bedroom contained a wardrobe and a narrow bed.
Abraham snapped his fingers. “Oh, I forgot curtains for the window. I’ll bring some tomorrow as well.”