Dawson thought back to the details of Tetteh’s case. Reportedly, the day of the Tetteh shooting, his stepbrother, Silas, had stopped by one afternoon to see him at his home in Accra’s affluent Labone Estates. Charity, his faithful housekeeper, who knew Silas from previous visits, had opened up the front gate for him. Silas had told her he preferred to leave his car parked on the street. After darkness had fallen, Charity was in the servants’ quarters when she heard a gunshot. She looked out of the window, which faced the driveway, and saw a man she identified as Silas fleeing down the driveway.
Fearing the worst, Charity ran inside the house and found Tetteh lying on the sitting room floor in a pool of blood with a devastating head wound. At the pending trial, Silas’s defense lawyers were likely to cast doubt on the housekeeper’s reliability and truthfulness. Could she clearly have identified the man running out of the house from where she was in the servants’ quarters? It had been dark, and eyewitness testimony could be notoriously inaccurate. Since she usually took Sundays off to visit family, why had she stayed at home that particular Sunday?
What bothered some people, and Dawson agreed, was that Silas appeared to be a scatterbrain-a marginal man barely conducting his own affairs. He didn’t fit the profile of a murderer who had executed this quick, clean killing. Moreover, if he had come to see Tetteh with a plan to shoot him, why did he stay so long, arriving late afternoon and leaving after dusk?
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.
HE 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?”