“Jesus Is Coming.”
“When will that happen?”
“Eh?”
“Never mind. Maybe you’ll get it later. Where is Tedamm?”
Flash was thrown off by the sudden change in direction.
“We know you know him,” Dawson jumped in. “You pay him out of the money you collect at the tent.”
“Eh-heh.”
“So where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Dawson lifted the hem of Flash’s shirt and snapped his mobile off his belt, thumbing through the address book until he came to “Tedamm.” He dialed the number. Once it started ringing, he held it to Flash’s ear. “Ask him where he is, but don’t say anything about us.”
Dawson brought his ear close to the phone. Tedamm came on the line.
“Yes, Flash?”
“Where are you right now?” Flash asked in Hausa.
“Jamestown. Looking for that boy who hasn’t paid me. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I call you later.”
Dawson pocketed the phone.
“Ho!” Flash cried. “My phone!”
“You won’t need it where you’re going. We’re taking you to the station.”
Flash looked as if he was going to cry. “Oh, Inspector, abeg you. Mepaakyεw, you said you would let me go if I tell the truth.”
Dawson raised his eyebrows. “I never said that. Did I say that, Chikata?”
“I never heard you say that, sir.”
They escorted a protesting Flash along what turned out to be his walk of shame. Men, women, and children jeered at him as he went by, even if they had no idea who he was or what he had done. The fact that he was in handcuffs was enough reason to join in the fun.
Dawson booked Flash into Korle Bu Police Station. Then Sergeant Baidoo drove Dawson and Chikata toward Korle Lagoon, where Tedamm had said he was.
Chikata texted him, whre r u?
“Let’s hope he responds,” Chikata said. “If he isn’t in the habit of texting Flash, he might get suspicious.”
The phone buzzed ten minutes later with the reply nr fi stn.
“Dawson, he’s near the fire station.”
“That must mean the one at Jamestown,” Dawson said.
They were only minutes from the fire station, which was on the north side of Cleland Road, where Jamestown trailed off. On the south side were the beach, the fishing harbor, the slave-era James Fort, and the Accra Lighthouse.
Baidoo pulled over onto the pavement opposite the fire station. Dawson and Chikata got out, heading toward the unoccupied expanse of land between the station, the edge of the lagoon to its west, and the beginning of Agbogbloshie to its north. A developer’s dream was that expensive chalets would one day populate the banks of a crystal clear lagoon. Until then, the Accra Metropolitan Assembly deemed the area off-limits for any new construction. A few unauthorized buildings on the edge of the property had been shut down and condemned, including one warehouse belonging to Woodcrest Services, a gypsum board and acoustic tiling company. When the demolition would actually take place, Dawson thought every time he went past the warehouse, was anyone’s guess. It was like the bola truck on Kojo Thompson Road, the old railway car, or the UTC building-all doing nothing except deteriorating with time and the elements.
“What’s going on up there?” Chikata said.
Two hundred meters to their north, about a dozen boys stood in a circle watching something. Dawson and Chikata faintly heard someone screaming. They broke into a run. Closer, they saw a muscular, shirtless young man kicking a boy on the ground. Rolled in a ball, skinny, and probably no more than about thirteen, he was crying out as he clutched his head, trying to shield himself.
A boy in the crowd shouted, “Tedamm, beat him well!” and a couple others guffawed.
So this is the infamous Tedamm.
Each time Tedamm drew his foot back, he shouted, “You think you can trick me? Eh? You think I don’t know you’re trying to cheat me?”
He kicked the boy again, this time in the head. The boy appeared to lose consciousness. Something expanded in Dawson’s chest, like a parachute opening. The old, terrible rage came out of hibernation. He changed direction in an instant, circled around, and came up behind Tedamm so quickly that few people saw his approach. Left forearm behind Tedamm’s head, right arm across the front of Tedamm’s throat, hand anchored to his left shoulder. Dawson did it very quickly and tightened the noose.
Tedamm was a mass of muscle. He pushed back, kicked his legs in the air, and twisted his body, throwing Dawson off balance. They went to the ground together, Tedamm on top, faceup. He tried to writhe out of Dawson’s grip, but it was steady and deadly. After seven seconds, Tedamm went limp. Five seconds more will kill him.
Dawson didn’t release.
Let him go.
Dawson didn’t release. Time seemed to stop. His hearing deadened and his surroundings darkened.
Suddenly he realized Chikata was screaming at him. Dawson looked up at his sergeant’s terrified face. He released his hold. Chikata pulled Tedamm off. Dawson got to his knees. Tedamm didn’t move.
Chikata’s mouth was open in shock. “Dawson,” he whispered. “What are you doing?”
Dawson slapped Tedamm’s face. His eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up.
“Stay where you are,” Dawson said, pushing him back down. To Chikata he said, “Check if the boy is okay.”
Chikata went to attend to him. Dawson rolled Tedamm over and cuffed him, leaving him facedown. The audience was stunned and silent. They had just witnessed the felling of the most powerful tree in the forest.
30
Dawson and Chikata reported their progress to Chief Superintendent Lartey. Tedamm was ready for interview in the assistant superintendent’s room.
As they left Lartey’s office, Chikata said, “Dawson, at the lagoon today I was really scared.”
“Of what?”
“I thought you had killed Tedamm. That choke hold is dangerous.”
“I admit maybe I went a little too far,” Dawson said, “but look at what he was doing to that kid.” He paused for a moment. “Not that I’m recommending you ever use a choke hold on anyone.”
Chikata nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“Get a shirt for Tedamm before we begin.”
Chikata trotted downstairs, returning with a shirt from the so-called Lost and Found. It was really suspects’ abandoned clothing.
As they went in to talk to Tedamm, Dawson threw the shirt on the table at which Tedamm was sitting.
“Put this on,” Dawson said. “We don’t need to see your chest.”
Tedamm would have sneered, but a sneer was on his face already. He didn’t put the shirt on.
Dawson took the only other chair in the room. He set it down with a bang opposite Tedamm. Chikata stood between Tedamm and the door with a clipboard and paper.
Dawson dropped a folder on the table and sat down. “I said, put the shirt on.”
Tedamm picked it up and threw it over his head in one smooth motion. Not bad for a guy who rarely wore a shirt.
“How are you, Mr. Tedamm?” Dawson asked.
No answer. Tedamm kept his head angled downward, but his eyes were turned up at Dawson like nuggets of red-hot charcoal.
Dawson recited the standard police advisory statement. Nothing worse than an arrestee getting off on a technicality.
“What is your full name?” Dawson asked.
He waited a moment for Tedamm to speak. The man kept his clap shut. Dawson stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair squeaking on the floor.
“Lock him up,” he said to Chikata with a dismissive wave. “I don’t have time for this. We’ll come back sometime tomorrow and see if he’s ready to talk to us.”
He started toward the door.
“Kareem Tedamm.” It came out like the growl of a bush cat.
Dawson returned and sat down again. “Why were you beating that boy?”