“I don’t know,” Dawson said heavily. On impulse, he called Christine just to say hello.
“You don’t sound so good,” she said.
“We’re stuck,” he replied glumly.
“That means you’re about to have an epiphany,” she said encouragingly. “Happens every time.”
“I hope you’re right.” He told her he missed her and that she should kiss the boys for him and then hung up. A few minutes later, he gasped and buried his face in his hands.
“Massa, what’s wrong?” Chikata said, leaning forward with concern.
“Awurade, something is the wrong with me,” Dawson moaned.
“What?” Chikata said in alarm. “Are you feeling sick?”
Dawson turned to him. “Don’t you see? It’s not Smith-Aidoo’s pen drive we need, it’s Tetteh’s.”
Chapter 33
BAAH GOT DAWSON AND Chikata to Accra in two hours. He didn’t know the big, messy capital at all, so they directed him to Labone Estates. The houses here were large and gated. The schools nearby, like Ghana International School, were posh and top of the line. They were looking for 27 Labone Crescent, Lawrence Tetteh’s address. After a bit of wandering around, they found it-a relatively short, curved street with a T-junction at either end. Between 17 and 23, no house numbers were evident, but 25 popped up all of a sudden and Baah overshot number 27. Dawson got out and walked back, gazing up at the high security wall, which was painted in rich tangerine. He pushed the button at the side of the sturdy double gate, and after a few moments, a woman cracked it open. She was slight, mid-thirties with coarse features, and hair singed by cheap relaxants.
“Good afternoon.” He greeted her with the smile he used when he thought the person he was addressing might prove useful.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“I’m looking for one Charity. Is she here?”
“Yes? I’m Charity.”
“Oh, very good. Mepaakyew, my name is Darko Dawson. You were Mr. Tetteh’s housemaid, not so?”
“Yes, please,” she said, a little warily.
“Can I talk to you about what happened to him?”
Fear moved across her face like a quick wave. “Please, are you from the police?” she whispered, glancing surreptitiously behind her.
“I work at CID.”
She seemed unsure exactly what that meant. “Please, they told me not to talk about it to anyone.”
“Who told you?” he asked gently.
She swallowed and shook her head, backing up slightly. She had already said too much.
“I know you worked for him for many years,” Dawson said quickly to avoid losing her. “You were faithful to him until the end, and I admire you for that. We should keep caring about him, even though he is dead. We have to find out who really killed him.”
A woman’s voice yelled from the house, “Who is it, Charity?”
“Please, I’m coming,” she called back and then leaned toward him to whisper, “The Madam is calling me. I can’t talk now. I will close at six o’clock to go to my sister’s house in La. Wait for me near the Morning Star School, and I will come there.”
She shut the gate quickly.
Dawson trotted back to the car to report. Six o’clock was another four hours from then, so they went to the corner and bought some roasted corn from a vendor. They stood under the shade of a frangipani tree.
“Have you noticed,” Chikata said, munching hungrily, “that rich neighborhoods always look deserted?”
Dawson nodded, demolishing the last of his corn. “It’s because they’re all inside counting their money. Come on, let’s go to the Internet café.”
On the way there, they passed the highly rated Morning Star School, where they were to meet up later with Charity. Dawson prayed she would show up. He and Chikata entered the Danquah Circle Busy Internet and paid for an hour each of computer time. The gigantic, air-conditioned room was full of people furiously surfing at row after row of computer cubicles, including, no doubt, dozens of Sakawa boys, the infamous young Internet swindlers who could make as much as two thousand dollars in a good month. Dawson mentally shook his head at the thought of making that kind of money. He logged onto one of the machines while Chikata used the in-house Wi-Fi on his laptop.
Dawson did a search on Lawrence Tetteh and came across a You-Tube conversation between Tetteh and TV host David Ampofo. At the time, Tetteh had just taken over as CEO of Goilco after having worked for oil companies in Dallas for a number of years. He looked distinguished and professorial in wire-rimmed glasses and a dark suit. He had a stubborn jaw and a pendulous bottom lip. He said he planned to make Goilco a world-class oil and gas organization. In doing so, he was committed to transparency and honesty.
“Do you believe you have an equitable relationship with your partners-Malgam Oil, for example?” Ampofo asked him with his legendary intensity. “And with your counterpart Mr. Roger Calmy-Rey?”
“Yes, I do. I believe that Mr. Calmy-Rey and I share similar values and goals.”
Standard party line, Dawson thought, a little disappointed. He had expected something less conventional, more radical, from Tetteh. He looked up Roger Calmy-Rey and found a short Wikipedia biography.
Roger William Calmy-Rey (born 1950) is the son of the late Ulysses Calmy-Rey, founder of Malgam Oil, one of Europe’s largest businesses.
Career
Educated at Harrow School in Harrow, northwest London, and London University where he studied Political Science. He joined Malgam Oil in late 1973 at the urging of his father. He became the CEO in 1987 on the death of his father, Ulysses Calmy-Rey.
After that, Dawson found multiple interviews with and profiles of Roger Calmy-Rey by online publications like the Independent.co.uk. Calmy-Rey believed strongly in the future of oil in Africa, he said. He wanted his company to be in the continent for decades to come, while building relations of mutual respect between Malgam and its African host countries like Ghana and Uganda.
Dawson was now on a searching streak. He tried “Sarbah” and got a GhanaWeb.com article about Jason Sarbah’s appointment as Malgam Director of Corporate Relations, replacing the deceased Charles Smith-Aidoo. Other links to the Sarbah name were of no importance.
Dawson stared at the screen and brooded as doubts lingered about what he and Chikata were venturing into. How dangerous might it be to delve into a corruption scheme involving the BNI and people in high positions? If Tetteh and Charles were killed for what they knew, was Dawson setting himself up for the same fate? Most of his panic had to do with his family. Was he being overdramatic in thinking he might be about to endanger the lives of Christine and the boys? He didn’t think so.
He got up, signaling he was stepping outside to Chikata, who was showing a pretty girl how to log on as she coyly feigned ignorance. Dawson went to the far brick wall of the car park to call his mentor, Daniel Armah, but he didn’t pick up. Armah had long retired from the police service, and now ran a private detective agency in the city of Kumasi.
Dawson was tempted to call Christine as well, but she would be able to tell from his voice that he was worried about something, and that would inject anxiety into her. He wanted to see her, but this was not the time.
He caught a whiff of smoke and immediately recognized its sharp sweetness. Someone was puffing on marijuana in the alley behind the wall. Dawson had an intense desire to smoke some himself. He went back inside the Internet café to get away from temptation.
STANDING NEXT TO Baah’s taxi, Dawson waited at the north end of Morning Star School. He had sent Chikata to the opposite side of the building when it had occurred to him that he didn’t know which of the two approaches Charity would use. It was six o’clock. The schoolchildren were all gone for the day. Four staff cars remained in front of the building. No sign of Charity yet. He called Chikata. “Nothing?”