With more efficiency than Dawson had anticipated, the commander had provided a police jeep for the expedition within three hours, apparently with DCOP Manu’s blessing.
“Boss, do you know exactly how far it is?” Asase asked.
“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Dawson replied. “What I do know is that when we see the place, we’ll know it.”
But the farther they went, the more Dawson was plagued with an unsettling anxiety over the excursion. He shifted restlessly in his seat as they rounded a sharp corner.
Asase suddenly slowed down. “Sir-”
A black Toyota 4x4 was parked diagonally across the road.
Dawson knew at once what was happening. “Shit. It’s a trap. Back up, back up!”
Asase slammed the jeep into reverse and raced backward. A man in dark clothes and a black mask got out of the Toyota with a pump-action shotgun and began running toward them. He brought the weapon to chest level.
“Get down, get down!” Dawson said.
Asase hit the brakes, and they ducked behind the dash as they heard the shotgun go off. But nothing hit their vehicle and no second blast followed. Dawson popped his head up. “He’s running,” he said. “Drive! Get him!”
Asase gunned the jeep. At first the would-be assassin tried to reach his vehicle, but he looked behind him and saw Dawson and Asase coming too quickly for him to make it. He swerved left and headed for the bush. At the verge, he stumbled and dropped his weapon. As Asase hit the brakes, Dawson swung open his door and jumped out, followed by Asase a second later, both running after the man. Dawson had been a little closer to him to start with, and began to gain on him. Tough shrubbery covered a depression at the side of the road. The man leapt across it, but he had misjudged both its width and depth, and he fell. Dawson put in a burst of speed and jumped into the depression, landing solidly on the guy as he started to scramble up. Dawson pulled him down. They wrestled briefly until Asase leapt in, and he and Dawson immobilized the man facedown.
Dawson fumbled for his cuffs, but Asase had his out already. Together they brought the man’s hands together behind his back and cuffed him.
“Don’t move,” Dawson said to the man, gasping. He needed a second to catch his breath. He looked at Asase, who was pouring sweat. “Okay, we turn him over on three.”
He counted and they flipped the man over. Dawson put his fingers at the base of the mask and ripped it off the man’s face.
“Oh, my God,” Dawson said, flabbergasted. “Obeng. Obeng, why?”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Obeng began to weep. “Mepa wo kyew. I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”
“How could you do this?” Dawson was stunned. “Is someone else with you? Are you alone?”
“Yes, yes, I’m by myself,” Obeng said.
“Are you lying to me?”
“No, please. I swear I’m alone.”
“Let’s take him to the jeep,” Dawson said to Asase.
They pulled Obeng up to his feet and supported him as they climbed out of the depression, which was awkward and took some effort. The sun was ruthless and all three men were soaked with sweat. Asase went back to retrieve the shotgun.
Desperate to understand what was going on, Dawson sat in the back seat with Obeng. “Now, start talking,” Dawson snapped. “Who sent you?”
The sergeant bowed his head. “Please, I need protection,” he said weakly. “If you guarantee that me and my family will not be victimized for telling the truth, I know I can trust you, and I will talk.”
“I will do my best,” Dawson said, not wanting to overcommit himself, “but I’m losing patience now. Who sent you, Obeng? Who ordered you to kill us?”
The sergeant looked down at his hands. He seemed paralyzed.
“Mr. Michael sent you?” Dawson asked.
Obeng shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Then it can be only one other person,” Dawson said. “Commander Longdon.”
Almost imperceptibly, Obeng nodded his affirmation.
In the driver’s seat, Asase recoiled and looked away. “No,” he said firmly. “That cannot be. Not the commander. Excuse me to say it, boss Dawson, but this is a lie. Why the sergeant is accusing ACP Longdon of this, I don’t know, but it has to be this Mr. Michael.”
Obeng grunted, bitter amusement in his expression. “Constable, what you are saying is funny because Mr. Michael and the commander are the same person.”
Asase’s head whipped around and Dawson jerked upright. “What?”
“Yes,” Obeng said, nodding. “One and the same.”
“How is that possible?” Dawson asked skeptically.
“When, for example, a businessman wants to trade in gold,” Obeng began explaining, “a middleman like Mr. Granger will tell the businessman that Mr. Michael will call him about the deal. You can never call Mr. Michael. Granger will inform the people at the mansion-they are all Longdon’s family members-and they will take the number of the businessman, pass it on to the commander, and tell the businessman to wait for Mr. Michael’s call. The commander will call the businessman and arrange the deal. He disguises his voice and tells the guy what time he should go to the mansion. Anytime someone arrives at the mansion expecting to see Mr. Michael, they are told that he is not available but that he has left all necessary instructions to complete the deal.”
“So no one has ever seen the Mr. Michael they think they are speaking to,” Dawson said, “because he doesn’t exist.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “Commander Longdon gives the orders for the robberies after the person has left the mansion. Whether they sold or bought gold, whatever they have on them is stolen and goes back to the mansion. The victim loses twice. When the victim reports the crime, the case goes to the Obuasi Division. What happens with such case is the same thing Mr. Tanbry experienced.”
“In other words, the investigation goes nowhere,” Dawson said grimly.
“The commander will tell the victim about the increase in this kind of crime over the past year,” Obeng continued, “and how the department will do its very best to get to the bottom of it. Some people like Mr. Tanbry are suspicious, and the lady, Akua Helmsley, was getting close to understanding how the scam worked. She was dangerous to Commander Longdon. He wanted to destroy even the slightest threat.”
It was worse than Dawson ever could have imagined. “He had her and Samuels killed?” he asked.
Obeng nodded. Dawson thought bitterly back to the day before when Longdon had called him about Akua’s murder. At the scene, the commander had expressed his outrage. Cold-blooded brutality. It’s a terrible shame. Dawson recalled his words clearly. And all along it was Longdon himself who was responsible?
Could Obeng be lying? Dawson didn’t think so. “Who carried out the ambush on Miss Helmsley and Samuels?”
Obeng looked up wearily. “Two guards at the mansion-the machomen. They did it early in the evening the day before Miss Helmsley and Samuels were found.”
“Where were you?” Dawson asked.
“I was on duty in the charge office that day,” Obeng said.
That would be easy enough to check, Dawson thought.
“You see,” Obeng continued, “the first time I was caught drinking on the job, the commander told me he would spare me from being sacked if I could help him with some simple services, and I’d also get some money out of it. I started being a guard at the mansion one or two times when I was not on duty, and then one day Commander Longdon’s cousin asked me to substitute for one of the guards in a certain kind of operation. I didn’t know what it was until almost the time of the ambush, when the guy I was with said all I had to do was help him get the two men in the vehicle out at gunpoint and then stand guard while he got cash out of the vehicle.”