Murder at Cape Three Points (29 page)

Dawson tried Dr. Cudjoe again, the pathologist who had done the Smith-Aidoos’ autopsy. This time he got through and a male voice answered.

“Are you Dr. Hector Cudjoe?” Dawson asked

“Yes, I am.” He had an air of self-importance. “Who is speaking, please?”

“Doctor, my name is Inspector Darko Dawson. I’m investigating the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Smith-Aidoo. I believe you did the postmortem, is that correct?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I read your report. It mentioned a gunpowder burn around the bullet entry wound of the man, but not around the woman’s entry wound.”

“And what is your question, Detective?”

I thought it was obvious
, Dawson thought. “Sorry, I didn’t make
myself clear. The report does not state either way: yes, a powder burn is present, or no, none is present. The reason I ask is that if no powder burn was evident, it could mean a single assailant shot the man at close range and then shot the woman from some distance. It could also mean that the primary intended victim was the husband and not his wife.”

“If I did not mention any soot,” Cudjoe said crisply, “then there was no soot. I don’t understand this line of questioning, Detective. It doesn’t seem very useful.”

Dawson felt like rolling his eyes. Another pompous one. “I apologize for troubling you, but by any chance, do you have any photographs available from the autopsy?”

“No. I don’t usually photograph my postmortems.”

“I see. Thank you, Doctor.”

He was about to end the call when Cudjoe added, “However, in this case, someone did take some photos—a doctor visiting from the US at the time I was doing the postmortem. His name is Dr. Taryque. He asked permission to take some postmortem photos.”

Dawson stood up straight. Now he was getting somewhere. “What was he going to do with them?”

“He is a forensic pathologist with thousands of photographs from all over the world,” Cudjoe explained. “He’s working with Korle Bu Hospital in Accra to increase the number of forensic pathologists in Ghana.”

“Did Dr. Taryque offer to send the pictures to you at a later date, Doctor?”

“We had some discussion to that effect, but I didn’t hear from him.”

“Is he still in the country?”

“I don’t think so. He told me he was going back to the States shortly.”

Dawson’s spirit dropped. “Do you have his phone number or email so I can get in touch with him?” he asked hopefully.

“I have his email and both his Ghana and United States numbers.”

Dawson’s heart leapt. Maybe Cudjoe wasn’t so bad after all. He jotted the information down and recited it back to be sure he had them correct. “Thank you very much, Dr. Cudjoe. You’ve been very helpful.”

He tried the Ghana mobile number first. It rang multiple times and then stopped abruptly. Dawson tried the US number. After five rings, a sleepy male voice answered.

“ ’llo?”

Dawson introduced himself and the man muttered in barely a whisper, “I’m in Philadelphia. Do you know what the time is here?”

Dawson felt like a fool. He had forgotten about the four-hour time difference.

“I’m very sorry,” he stammered. “I will call you back later.”

Kicking himself, he hung up. Perhaps he would try emailing first, and if Dr. Taryque didn’t reply, Dawson would call again, this time at a sensible hour.

H
E DIDN
’
T HAVE
to make the call. Two hours later, his phone rang and the screen showed the American doctor’s number.

“Inspector Dawson?” He was wide-awake and cheerful this time, to Dawson’s relief. “This is Dr. Taryque. Were you the one who called earlier on?”

“Yes. Doctor, I apologize for waking you up. I forgot about the time difference.”

“No problem at all. Are you in Accra?”

“No, Takoradi. I believe you were here about four or five months ago?”

“Yes, that’s right. Nice town. How can I help you?”

Dawson liked Taryque’s open, friendly voice. “I’m investigating the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Smith-Aidoo. I don’t know if you recall those names.”

“The oil guy and wife, right? The case had just started when I was there. It’s still unsolved?”

“Yes. Am I correct that you took some photos of these two victims at the postmortem?”

“I asked permission and Dr. Hector Cudjoe, the pathologist in charge, was fine with it. Why, is there some kind of problem?”

“Not at all. I’m working on whether both victims had powder burns at the entry wounds. Do you recall, Doctor?”

“I believe it was only the man, but I can email the pics to you to confirm it, and that way you’ll have them for the case record.”

“That would be great, Doctor. Thank you very much.” Dawson supplied his email and then ended the call.

He sat for a while, contemplating that he had not yet established the exact nature of Charles Smith-Aidoo’s association with Lawrence Tetteh. It was vital that Dawson find that out, because two murders a month apart of men connected to the oil industry was too close a coincidence to accept at face value. Figuring out the connection might even provide insight into both killings. Obviously, he could not go to Superintendent Hammond over this, because the man seemed to want him to stay well away from the Tetteh murder. At some point, Dawson would confront Hammond about that, but first he wanted more ammunition in readiness for his attack.

To whom, then, could he turn for help with the Smith-Aidoo-Tetteh connection? He thought of Jason Sarbah, who had extended an open offer to help if Dawson thought there was something he could assist with. Dawson decided to take Jason up on that and he dialed his number.

“I need some assistance, sir,” Dawson said, after Jason had answered the call and they had exchanged greetings. “I hope you can help.”

“Certainly, Inspector. I’ll do my best.”

“I’d like you to keep this confidential. Charles Smith-Aidoo was in touch with Goilco CEO Lawrence Tetteh months before their deaths. I’m trying to establish the basis of their association with each other.”

“I see,” Jason said, with some hesitancy in his voice. “And where do I come in?”

“Would you have any communications between them, either on paper or email, that I could look at?”

“Oh,” he said, not sounding terribly enthusiastic about the idea. “If that’s available in company records, I’m afraid it’s confidential.”

Dawson wondered what had happened to all that previous willingness Jason had expressed. Why the sudden reticence? Was there something particularly sensitive about this area, and if so, what did it have to do with Jason? On the other hand, Dawson reasoned, it might just be normal protectiveness of company records.

“Please, sir, you did say you would help me in any way you could,” Dawson reminded him.

“That’s true.” He laughed nervously. “I tell you what—let me ask Mr. Calmy-Rey and get back to you with an answer.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” If Calmy-Rey said no, then Dawson was willing to use some more “persuasive” tactics.

“Can you give me a couple of hours to give you the final word?” Jason asked.

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Jason said, his voice lightening. “I wanted to let you know that we can schedule your visit to the
Thor Sterke
rig next week Monday.”

Honestly, Dawson had forgotten about that. Having never flown in his life, he was a little apprehensive about going up in a chopper. Did he really need to go to the rig? What if he found a connection between Charles and Tetteh and that enabled him to crack the mystery? But, he argued, that still wouldn’t eliminate his need as a good detective to familiarize himself with the surroundings into which the Smith-Aidoos drifted. What about photographs? No, nothing beat being there in person. It’s also possible that from talking to people on the rig, Dawson might discover something hitherto unknown. Sure, there was a statement from George Findlay, the oil installation manger with whom Dawson had spoken before the gentleman left for Scotland, but what about other witnesses on the rig?

“Inspector? Are you there?”

“Yes, yes, I’m here. Certainly. Monday will be fine.”

“Good,” Jason said. “I’ll let you know the details. Please remember that your arrival on the rig means some adjustments in the daily schedule, so if you could make every effort to fulfill your plan to visit, as it will be hard to do that in the future.”

“Of course. I understand.”
Well, that settles it
, Dawson thought as he hung up.
I have to go—fear of flying or not.

D
AWSON HAD SENT
Chikata back to Axim to try to track down other members of FOAX besides Quashie Quarshie. By lunchtime he wondered if he was going to hear from Jason about the possibility of looking at any communications between Charles and Lawrence Tetteh. He was surprised when he received a call in mid-afternoon
from a number he didn’t know, and it turned out to be Roger Calmy-Rey himself.

“Jason told me about your interest in seeing these communications,” he said after he’d exchanged greetings with Dawson. He sounded very serious. “It isn’t something the superintendent required from us. May I ask why the interest?”

Calmy-Rey sounded as wary as Jason, and suddenly Dawson felt the need to be just as cautious. Both of them were being cagey. Was it just because of company privacy policies, or was there something else—something about Charles’s association with Tetteh that adversely involved Jason and/or Calmy-Rey?

“It has to do with the investigation,” Dawson said noncommittally while sharpening his voice a little.

Calmy-Rey paused. “Very well. I can provide you with some selected emails, but I can’t release everything because there may be proprietary information included.”

“Whatever you can do is appreciated,” Dawson said.

“Can you meet with Jason around five thirty? I will not be here.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Calmy-Rey.”

D
AWSON ARRIVED AT
the Malgam Office at the appointed time and was escorted straight up to Jason’s office.

“Please, have a seat,” he said to Dawson. He seemed edgier and more distant. “I’ll show you what I’ve got for you.” Jason rolled up a chair next to Dawson and opened up a thin folder. “Mr. Calmy-Rey authorized me to show you these.”

Jason passed the first page to Dawson.

“This is an email from Lawrence Tetteh to Charles in September last year, some months after Mr. Tetteh had become the CEO of Goilco.”

Charles, please see attached Goilco’s new mission statement. I developed it in collaboration with PIAC.

“What is PIAC?” Dawson asked.

“Public Interest and Accountability Committee. It’s a statutory body established to monitor government compliance in the use and
management of Ghana’s petroleum revenues. Tetteh was a stickler for high standards and accountability. Goilco’s role of partnering with international oil companies, enabling the training of Ghanaian citizens in the petroleum industry, and so on are spelled out in the mission statement, but Tetteh added another layer to it, almost like a moral code.”

“Do you have a copy of the mission statement he attached to the email?”

“Yes, I included it in the package.”

Jason’s phone rang from his desk. “Let me get that. Feel free to look through at your own pace.”

While Jason was on the phone, Dawson found the mission statement, a ten-point list with lofty goals like
promulgate, elucidate, and maintain the highest ethical standards of operation in petroleum business and trade.
The last item caught his eye:

To divest Goilco from activities unrelated to petroleum affairs.

When Jason got off the phone, Dawson asked him what that statement meant.

“Over the years, Goilco got involved with some ventures outside of oil,” Jason explained. “For instance, they acquired an interest in Obuasi Gold some years back. Tetteh wanted to put a stop to all that.”

“Seems like that might have antagonized a few people.”

“Including several members of the board of directors.”

Dawson reflected that if he were going to look into this thoroughly, he’d have to talk to all of those board members: a time-consuming process—maybe even time-
wasting
because if it took him and Chikata down a wrong path, they would end up losing precious ground on the Smith-Aidoo murder.

“You’re thinking Tetteh’s death is somehow connected?” Jason asked, as if reading Dawson’s mind.

“Maybe,” he said guardedly. He looked through the rest of the papers in the folder while Jason made some calls. The emails seemed innocuous. There was nothing here and Dawson was very disappointed. He stood up. “May I keep this folder?”

“Yes, Mr. Calmy-Rey said it would be all right to do so.”

“I really appreciate all your help.”

“No problem at all,” Jason said with a smile.

As Dawson left the office suite, he felt as though he had missed something. He remembered what it was as he was waiting for the lift to arrive. He returned to Jason’s office, knocked, and opened the door.

He looked up in surprise. “Back?”

“I was wondering—did Charles have a pen drive?”

Jason looked blank. “I have no idea, Inspector.”

Dawson nodded. “Well, if you come across one belonging to him, please let me know.”

As Dawson walked back to the lift, he reasoned that if Charles had had a personal pen drive, Dr. Smith-Aidoo was the one person who might well know where it was. Dawson was not going to be able to avoid getting in touch with her despite their recent awkward encounter. He would have to put it behind him. When he got outside the building, he called her, his dialing finger hesitating for a moment. She answered and his stomach plunged.

“Good afternoon, Doctor,” he said, trying to sound neutral.

“Hello, Inspector. How are you?” Her tone was uncolored as well.

“I’m very sorry to disturb you,” he said, “but I would just like to ask if you’ve come across a pen drive belonging to your uncle.”