“From what I’ve read, he and your father shared a stubborn commitment to honesty and transparency in all your business dealings.”
“Yes, I suppose you could say so.”
“Honesty, integrity, making sure everything was above board. In fact, wasn’t your father, Ulysses, known as the humanitarian capitalist?”
“Yes, he was,” Calmy-Rey said.
“Inspector Dawson,” DeGraft chimed in, sitting up to his full height, “this banter is a waste of time. Please get on with something more substantive.”
“Sorry, I digressed a little bit. At any point in your career, Mr. Calmy-Rey, did your father ever suggest to you that you had been dishonest?”
Calmy-Rey’s face showed a flash of irritation. “No, why? What does this have to do with anything?”
He glanced at DeGraft, who said sharply, “Please, Inspector. What is all this?”
“Did Mr. Tetteh?”
“Did Mr. Tetteh what, Inspector?” DeGraft snapped. “What are you asking Mr. Calmy-Rey?”
“Did Mr. Tetteh ever accuse you of dishonesty?”
“No,” Calmy-Rey said angrily. “He didn’t.”
“Did you know of any plans he had to do so?”
“No, Inspector.”
“Let me put it another way. Was he going to make an announcement about Malgam Oil falling below ethical standards or engaging in corrupt practices?”
“Not only is that ridiculous,” Calmy-Rey said fiercely, “I don’t see how Mr. Tetteh would have made that kind of allegation.”
“You don’t know of any document with such accusations, then?”
Dawson saw that Calmy-Rey was gripping the edge of the table. “No, Inspector,” he said sharply. “No, I don’t.”
“I’d like a moment alone with my client, Mr. Dawson. Please excuse us.”
“Of course.” Dawson got up. “Let me know when you’re ready to continue.”
He left the room and went out onto the porch of the little police station. Calmy-Rey had been getting a little agitated, and DeGraft was no doubt advising him to play it cool and not to lose his temper. Many factors affected a suspect’s ability to withstand an interrogation: the inherent stress, lack of sleep, the discomfort of the cell. Calmy-Rey had undoubtedly never experienced anything as unpleasant as a jail.
The desk sergeant came out to the porch.
“Please, Inspector Dawson. They are ready.”
He rejoined DeGraft and Calmy-Rey, who had a determined smile on his face.
“Are you okay?” Dawson asked, taking his seat.
“Just fine,” DeGraft said. “Please, try to be as straightforward and forthcoming as possible, Inspector Dawson. Mr. Calmy-Rey has important affairs to attend to.”
“Of course, of course,” Dawson said, elbows on the table and fingers interlaced. “Mr. Calmy-Rey, what would be the consequences for you and your company if Mr. Tetteh were to make an accusation in the papers both here and in the UK that Malgam Oil was a corrupt, unethical company in bed with several corrupt, unethical government officials?”
“But Malgam Oil is simply not a corrupt company,” Calmy-Rey said with forced lightness.
“Do you know Terence Amihere, the Minister of Energy?”
“How would I not know the minister who is the most central government official the oil industry deals with?” Calmy-Rey said haughtily.
“What was your relationship with him? Cordial, friendly?”
“Yes, all of that.”
“If I were to say that you arranged for Malgam Oil to pay him two hundred thousand dollars in return for his agreement that the oil companies should not be compelled to compensate fishermen for any oil spills, what would you say?”
“Now just you listen to me, Inspector Dawson,” Calmy-Rey said, raising his index finger. “I’ve held back all along, but I can’t anymore. You are a small fry around here. Understand? Rank of inspector? Insignificant. You’re nothing. I know many people in the high echelons of the government, and you’re going to be very sorry when they hear about this kind of slanderous language you’re leveling at me.”
“I have something I would like you to read and comment on,” Dawson said, taking out a copy of Lawrence Tetteh’s letter. Calmy-Rey frowned as he warily took the three sheets of paper and began to read them with DeGraft.
“This is nonsense,” Calmy-Rey, sliding the letter back to Dawson. “Utter nonsense.”
“Where did you get this?” DeGraft demanded.
“From a pen drive belonging to Lawrence Tetteh. He told Charles that he was about to reveal this corruption scheme along the lines you see in this letter. I put it to you that Charles reported this to you.”
Looking mystified, Calmy-Rey shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
“Your trusted director of corporate affairs wouldn’t immediately let you know about something as scandalous as this?” Dawson challenged. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Okay, yes-he did mention something about it.”
“What action did you take?”
“Well, I spoke to Mr. Tetteh, and I persuaded him to retract it, which he did, and the matter was resolved.”
“When did you speak to him?”
“Three or four days before his death,” Calmy-Rey said, as if it should have been obvious to Dawson.
“Did you speak to him in person, or on your mobile?”
“On the mobile.”
Dawson’s palm tingled again. The man was a liar.
“Is it the same mobile we retrieved from your house?”
“Yes.”
Dawson opened his folder again and took out a sheet of paper. “Here is a list of calls you made in the six weeks preceding Mr. Tetteh’s murder. Please, would you look at that?”
Calmy-Rey looked coldly at it. “And what of it?”
Dawson slid another piece of paper over to their side of the table. “This is Mr. Tetteh’s number. Can you show me where it is on that record?”
“Why, yes of course,” Calmy-Rey said, pointing. “Right here.”
“Correct,” Dawson said. “But that’s twenty-four days prior, not three or four, as you said. Mr. Calmy-Rey. Why are you lying to me?”
“Please, Inspector,” DeGraft snapped.
“I’m not lying,” Calmy-Rey exclaimed. He turned to DeGraft. “Calvin, I’m not lying. This is absurd. Why can’t you control this man?”
“Why did you say you spoke to Mr. Tetteh on the phone three or four days before his death when you clearly didn’t?” Dawson asked.
“I forgot, that’s all. It’s been several months, Inspector. Evidently I talked to him in person.”
“Three or four days before he was murdered, right?”
“Yes,” Calmy-Rey said, gritting his teeth.
“So that would be on Wednesday or Thursday of that week.”
“I don’t have a calendar with me, Inspector.”
Dawson was ready for him with the calendar on his phone. He pointed out the Sunday that Tetteh had been murdered. “When did you speak to Mr. Tetteh?”
“Well, like you say-Wednesday or Thursday.”
“What exactly did you say to him?”
“I asked him if he would hold onto the article a little longer while I order an internal investigation.”
“What was his response?
“He said he would be happy to cooperate with me.”
“And all this happened while you were at Tetteh’s office.”
“Yes.”
“I put it to you that you did not talk to him at his office.”
“Of course I did,” Calmy-Rey said defiantly.
“This is going nowhere, Inspector,” DeGraft said. “You have nothing on my client. I demand you release him right away. This arrest has no merit.”
“If you had gone to find Mr. Tetteh at his office three or four days before his death,” Dawson said, “you would not have found him there.”
Calmy-Rey stiffened as if a bolt of electricity had passed through him. “What do you mean?”
“He was away in Côte d’Ivoire all that week. He got home Friday evening and did not go to the office at all. I know this from his housemaid.”