“Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo. She was a member of the Sekondi-Takoradi Metropolitan Assembly. He worked for Malgam Oil as director of corporate affairs. The canoe came drifting in full view of the Malgam rig. As if that wasn’t enough, their niece, Sapphire Smith-Aidoo, who is a physician, was on duty on the rig at the time this all happened.”
Dawson frowned. “What a bizarre story.”
“It is. The bottom line is the murder is still unsolved, and the doctor filed a petition with CID Headquarters last month asking us to investigate, and the director general has approved it. Someone has to go to Takoradi, and I have decided it will be you. Superintendent Hammond is the regional crime officer in charge at Sekondi HQ. You’re to report to him once you get there.”
“And when am I to leave, sir?”
“Monday.”
“Please, Hosiah goes home from the hospital on Tuesday. Can I leave on Tuesday instead?”
Lartey paused and then acquiesced. “Yes, all right-but directly after he returns home. There’s no time to waste. I want this cleared up quickly. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My assistant has left the docket in your desk at headquarters, so read it and get up to speed.”
“I’ll do that, sir.”
“Chikata will join you in Takoradi on Friday. He hasn’t done a case outside Accra, so I would like him to have some free rein. I expect you to give him the benefit of your experience.”
“Of course.” That was fine with Dawson. In fact, he would be glad to have the detective sergeant with him. He could be a handful, but Dawson was fond of him. When Chikata had begun working with him years ago, he had been cocky and incompetent, but he had improved so much that Dawson trusted him completely now.
“One last thing,” Lartey said. “Dr. Smith-Aidoo works in Takoradi but has been in Accra the past three days. I told her to get in touch with you this afternoon after I spoke with you, so she will be calling to fill you in with the details of the case.”
“Okay, sir.”
“That’s all, Dawson.”
“Have a good weekend, sir.”
Lartey grunted and ended the call abruptly. Dawson’s heart was heavy. Now he had to face his wife and his two sons, one of them barely out of major surgery, and tell them he was going away. It would not go down well.
Chapter 2
THE SOMBER MOOD AT Hosiah’s bedside was thick enough to chop into pieces. Dawson was despondent, and Christine was furious about the Takoradi assignment, but as Hosiah stirred and woke up again, they did their best to put away their glum frame of mind and keep their son in good spirits.
As Christine propped him up on his pillows, Dawson’s phone buzzed, and the screen showed a number he did not know. His guess was that it was Dr. Smith-Aidoo, and he was right.
“Has Chief Superintendent Lartey briefed you about the death of my aunt and uncle?” she asked him, after mutual introductions. Her voice was as distilled and clear as crystal, and Dawson immediately liked it.
“He has,” he said, “but, Doctor, I’d like to meet with you as soon as possible. Chief Lartey was very brief, so I will need to get more details from you.”
“I was hoping you would say something like that. I’m eager to meet as well. I’ve heard about you-the serial killer case from a year ago made you famous.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t like to dwell much on past achievements, so he moved on. “I should caution you that I might ask uncomfortable questions or things you’ve already gone over with the previous investigators.”
“I expect that and look forward to it. I just want whoever did this to my aunt and uncle to be captured and brought to justice. Where are you right now? Can we meet in the next couple of hours?”
“I’m at Korle Bu. My son Hosiah has just had heart surgery.”
“Chief Superintendent Lartey mentioned that. I understand Hosiah is doing well?”
“Yes, thank you, Doctor.”
“God bless him. I’m so glad. I can meet you there. I assume Hosiah is in the Cardiothoracic Center?”
“Yes.” He gave her the room number.
“Who was that?” Christine asked as Dawson hung up.
“The doctor I was telling you about.” Dawson explained. “The niece of the victims. She’s going to come here so we can talk about the case. You’ll have to pick Sly up, and I’ll stay instead.”
She pressed her lips together with displeasure. It hadn’t been long since Lartey’s call, yet the case was already intruding, turning things upside down like a disruptive houseguest.
AN HOUR OR so later, Christine left to get Sly. With afternoon traffic building toward rush hour, it would be a while before they returned. As Dawson read a favorite Ananse comic with Hosiah to pass the time, his gaze shifted to the door where two women were entering. The first was the matron-the senior nurse-whom Dawson knew. She was buxom, but the other woman was tall, with fair, copper-colored skin. She wore a black trouser suit with a glimpse of an indigo blouse at her neckline. Her face was heart-shaped, and her head was crowned with luxuriant black curls. Tiny freckles dotted both cheeks like sprinkles of cinnamon.
“Inspector Dawson,” the matron said, “you have a visitor.”
He stood up. “You must be Doctor Smith-Aidoo.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
They shook hands.
The doctor moved closer to the bed. “And this is Hosiah, the perfect patient I’ve heard so much about? How are you, young man?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” he said softly and deferentially.
“Matron tells me you’re a very brave boy.”
He smiled bashfully.
“He is very good,” the matron confirmed, beaming at him.
“Wonderful.” Smith-Aidoo looked at Dawson. “Can we talk for half an hour or so? The matron will have her staff keep a special eye on Hosiah. They all adore him anyway.”
“Sure,” Dawson said. He ran his hand lightly over his son’s head. “I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Hosiah nodded. He wasn’t troubled.
Dawson thanked the matron and followed Dr. Smith-Aidoo to a private room not in use. It was comfortably air-conditioned. Two chairs were available next to the neatly made-up bed. They sat down facing each other. She crossed one elegant leg over the other. He could not help staring at her hazel eyes. They were clear and bright, but he could see a certain sadness hanging within them like clouds marring the sun.
“I’m very sorry about what happened to your aunt and uncle,” he said.
“Thank you. I’m grateful you’re taking the case. To tell you the truth, I’ve been in Accra this week to personally pressure the director general of CID and Chief Superintendent Lartey. I didn’t want to take the risk that the written petition would not be enough.”
“As you see it, Doctor, what has been the problem with the investigation so far?”
“I have nothing whatsoever against Superintendent Hammond,” she said emphatically. “I like him personally, but obviously he needs help. He has had four months and has made not even a single arrest.”
“You’re aware that there’s no guarantee that I’ll solve it either?”
“No guarantees, but I have faith in you.”
“Thank you. You were very close to Charles and Fiona, Doctor?”
Her eyes softened. “They meant everything to me. My father, Brian Smith-Aidoo, is Uncle Charles’s brother, but Auntie Fio and Uncle Charles really brought me up.”
Not uncommon in Ghana, where the extended family’s role is prominent, Dawson reflected, but in a murder case, it could be a crucial detail.
“How did that come about?” he asked.
“My mother is a schizophrenic,” she said matter-of-factly. “By the time I was eight, she had become so violent that my father could barely manage her. She particularly picked on me. Once she almost strangled me, and on another occasion she fractured my forearm by twisting it.” She winced, as if she were living through the experience again. “My father asked Uncle Charles and Auntie Fio if they would take care of me for a while. He kept my brother, Trevor, with him. Eventually he had my mother institutionalized at a psychiatric hospital in Manchester.”