Dawson went into the alcove of the bedroom. A chaise lounge and coffee table were by the window, which provided a marvelous view of the beach.
A small bookcase with a varied selection stood against one wall. The larger books were on the top and paperbacks were on the lower shelves. Calmy-Rey appeared to enjoy reading detective novels.
The hardcovers on the top shelf were all serious, with titles like Statistics for Business and Economics and Oil Rig Design, which was the largest of them. Dawson idly wondered how many types of oil rig designs existed. He should have been diligently conducting the search of the room, but he pulled the book from the shelf with some curiosity. Had he never had a tour of the Thor Sterke, he probably would not have been the slightest bit interested.
He glanced at Calmy-Rey and noticed he appeared rigid, as though bolted to the ground, as he watched Dawson. He rested the book on the coffee table and opened it to the title page, and then to the first chapter, after which he attempted to turn to the midsection. In fact, no midsection existed. Beyond a certain point, the pages did not turn. They were stuck together like a block. A slim metal lockbox rested in a cavity cut into a block. The book was actually a disguised safe.
“What is in here?” Dawson asked Calmy-Rey in surprise.
He hesitated. “A weapon.”
“What kind of weapon?”
“A pistol. I have a permit for it from the Minister of Interior, so it’s perfectly legal.”
“I’m sure it is,” Dawson said. “Do you have a key to open this box?”
For the first time, Calmy-Rey’s eyes took on an air of cold hostility.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I keep it taped to the underside of the cabinet in the bathroom.”
Hammond went there, found the key, and returned.
“Note that in the inventory, please,” he said to Chikata, showing him the small key. “Found affixed with tape to the bottom of the mirror cabinet.”
Hammond opened the safe. Cushioned in soft, black velvet, the semi-automatic pistol was the most precisely made weapon Dawson had ever seen, and if such a thing could be beautiful, this was. The grip was matte black, contrasting with the hard shine of the brushed stainless steel barrel and slide, along which was the proud manufacturer’s label. SPHINX AT.380-M MADE IN SWITZERLAND.
“And what do you use this for?” Dawson asked Calmy-Rey.
“Self-defense, of course. Have you noticed that armed robbery is becoming rampant in this country?”
“Have you ever killed anyone with it?”
“Fortunately, I’ve never had cause to.”
Dawson’s left palm tingled. “I think, Mr. Calmy-Rey,” he said, “that we need to talk a little more about this down at the station.”
Chapter 37
BY DAYBREAK THE FOLLOWING day, Calmy-Rey had been in police custody for eighteen hours. DeGraft had agitated for an immediate interrogation the day before, but Dawson had resisted, refusing to allow the lawyer to drive the proceedings. Dawson needed time to digest the case and prepare for the interview. If his questioning was sloppy, Calmy-Rey might well slip from his grasp with DeGraft’s wily assistance. In any case, a little bit of detention in jail might urge Calmy-Rey to confess.
Dawson had ascertained that the oil executive had followed procedure and licensed the Sphinx pistol in Accra, filling out the correct forms A1 and A2 and paying the hefty fee to eventually receive the final permit from the Minister of the Interior.
Chikata had returned to Accra to submit the weapon to the forensic lab for fingerprints and ballistics. He was to ask his uncle to pressure the lab’s director to expedite the process. Without an incriminating result from the lab, Dawson might not have enough to detain Calmy-Rey much longer. Counsel would certainly press for his release and once Calmy-Rey left local jurisdiction for the UK, any investigation of his involvement would become very difficult, and they might never get the man back.
THE INSPECTOR’S OFFICE at the Beach Road station was available for the interview. With a constable on guard at the door, Dawson sat at the desk opposite DeGraft and his client.
Calmy-Rey did not appear to have slept much. With grey stubble growing like nascent plant shoots, he appeared older and more haggard, but Dawson suspected that DeGraft had advised him to put on his best face. Calmy-Rey was polite, even friendly as he answered Dawson’s preliminary routine questions-full name, date of birth, and places of residence in Ghana, the UK, and Switzerland.
“We are investigating the death of Mr. Lawrence Tetteh, the CEO of Goilco, who was killed last June,” Dawson continued, “and the deaths of Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo, who were killed about one month later.”
“Can you make it clear to my client why you’ve arrested him?” DeGraft snapped, opening his hands in a this is ridiculous gesture.
“We have some new information I will be happy to disclose in short order,” Dawson said pleasantly. “But first, I would like to establish one or two facts. Is that okay?”
“Yes, yes, carry on,” DeGraft said.
“When did you first meet Mr. Tetteh?” Dawson asked Calmy-Rey.
“About three years ago when he took over as CEO of Goilco.”
“Did you have much contact with him over that period until his murder?”
“I make it a point to keep in touch with our partners,” Calmy-Rey said, nodding, “even if it’s just to say hello or meet for a drink. It’s important.”
“Why is that?”
“We don’t work with companies; we work with people. It’s our culture at Malgam to maintain close relationships. As the CEO, I set that tone.”
“That’s laudable. Did you have occasion to visit Mr. Tetteh at his residence in Accra?”
Calmy-Rey shook his head. “No, we always met at restaurants and so on.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last April or May-about two months before his untimely death.”
Dawson looked down at his notes and then up again. “You didn’t see him in June at all?”
“Not that I recall.”
Dawson nodded. “Okay.”
He jotted a couple items in shorthand on a plain sheet of paper in the docket. He didn’t shield his notes from Calmy-Rey or DeGraft, but his handwriting was almost illegible in any case.
“Mr. Calmy-Rey,” Dawson continued, “when and where did you acquire your Sphinx pistol?”
“I bought it in Switzerland several years ago. It’s a classic.”
“I see,” Dawson said with interest. “I understand gun sales and ownership are legal there.”
Calmy-Rey smiled tolerantly. “Highly legal. The Swiss people are the country’s militia. Gun ownership and training are required.”
“So, of course you’re very familiar with the use of all kinds of guns, including handguns like your Sphinx,” Dawson said, leaning forward slightly.
“Absolutely.”
“You’re a dual citizen of Switzerland and the UK, correct?”
“Yes, although I spend more time in the UK.”
“What is the reason for having the Sphinx here in Ghana?”
“As I believe I told you at the house yesterday,” Calmy-Rey said with some impatience, “for self-defense, Inspector. I don’t intend to suffer at the hands of thugs attacking me in my home or my car, and on occasions when my wife and children visit me, I make every effort to protect them against marauders.”
“Have you ever fired your weapon here in Ghana for any reason?”
“No,” he said, quietly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
“I said no, I haven’t.”
Dawson took his time writing that down in quotation marks.
“This morning,” he said, putting his pen down, “I was thinking how Mr. Tetteh could have been in many ways like your father.”
Calmy-Rey pulled back as if being prodded in the face with a garden fork. “Like my father? Why do you say that?”