Children of the Street (27 page)

51

Austin was thrilled that his long-hoped-for discussion with Dawson was finally taking place. They sat in the detectives’ room. Austin seemed distracted by the noise.

“How do you work with all this going on around you?” he asked.

“We get used to it,” Dawson said.

He and Chikata were seated at the table across from Austin.

“I won’t take too much of your time,” Austin said. “I just need a little information on the deaths of these youngsters. Let’s see. The first one was Musa Zakari, then Ebenezer Sarpong, Comfort—I don’t have her last name—and finally Antwi Boasiako. Correct?”

“Correct,” Dawson said. He put the book of proverbs in front of Austin, watching for his reaction. “You know this book?”

Austin picked it up. “I’m not familiar with it. Should I be?”

“I believe so. You spent time reading it in Dr. Botswe’s study when you babysat the house for him.”

“I’m sorry, Inspector, but I’m confused. I’ve never seen this book before.”

“Turn to the first bookmarked page and read proverb number three sixty,” Dawson said.

“All right. It says, ‘No one spits on the ground and then licks up the spittle with his tongue.’ ”

“Yes. Go to the next bookmark. What does the highlighted proverb read?”

“ ‘We must count one before we can count two.’ ”

“What do these proverbs mean to you?”

“Em, well, nothing more than most proverbs mean to me.”

“You took those proverbs and modeled your signature on them, didn’t you? ‘The knee does not wear the hat when the head is available.’ That was for Comfort, so you gouged her knees out. Musa: ‘Count one before we can count two,’ so you chopped all his fingers off except the index.”

“Wait a minute,” Austin exclaimed in sudden realization. “Wait. Now I understand what you’re saying. You think I killed all those people? On the basis of these
proverbs
? But Inspector Dawson, anyone could use any of these proverbs to fit with death. Watch, I’ll turn to any random page and just read any proverb that pops out at me. Oh, look, here’s one that goes, ‘Everyone climbs the ladder of death.’ Now just how fitting is that?”

Austin began to laugh, sounding like a hyena. Dawson stood up and grasped him by the collar, lifting him out of his chair and across the table until their faces almost touched. Abruptly, dead silence fell in the room as all the other detectives dropped what they were doing and turned to watch.

“Listen,” Dawson said, his teeth clenched, “kids are being murdered, and I don’t find it at all funny.”

“Please, no, yes, I’m sorry, Inspector,” Austin wheezed. “I didn’t mean to laugh …” His scar had become moist and shiny.

Dawson let Austin go, shoving him back to his chair. As if a pause button had been released, the other detectives resumed work.

“I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to tell me the truth,” Dawson said.

“Yes, sir,” Austin said, his voice trembling.

“Weekend of Friday, fourth June, where were you?”

“Fourth of June, fourth of June.” Austin rubbed his head. “I can’t remember that specific date, I’m very sorry, Inspector.”

“Okay, try this one: night of Tuesday, twenty-second June.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Austin said, looking relieved. “I was at Dr. Botswe’s dinner party.”

There it was again: the dinner party.

“What time did you leave?”

“Actually, I stayed overnight.”

“Why?”

“I was too drunk to drive. Both Dr. Botswe and I were drunk. I said I was going home, but he wouldn’t let me. He made me sleep in his guest room.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“Gosh, Inspector, I really couldn’t tell you. I have no recollection. I apologize.”

“Can you prove that you didn’t leave the premises sometime around two or three?”

“Inspector, I wouldn’t have been able to even if I’d wanted to, because Dr. Botswe took my car keys away.”

Dawson stood up abruptly. “Let’s go. We’re paying a visit.”

B
aidoo drove them to East Legon, Dawson on the passenger side and Austin in the rear with Chikata. They pulled into the driveway. Dawson hopped out.

“Wait here with him,” he said to Chikata.

He rang the doorbell. Botswe opened the door, surprised to see him.

“Back so soon?”

“Yes, Dr. Botswe. Sorry to disturb again.”

“No problem at all. Do come in.”

Dawson stepped into the foyer.

“I won’t take too much of your time, Dr. Botswe. It’s about Austin. Did he come to your dinner party on twenty-second June?”

“Yes, absolutely. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember what time he left?”

“The following morning. He was so inebriated that I wouldn’t allow him to drive. I had him stay overnight in one of the guest rooms.”

“Any chance he could have left the premises in the middle of the night and returned by morning?”

“How? I took his car keys away from him and kept them with me when I retired.”

“Could he have sneaked into your room at some point to get them back?”

“With my door locked from the inside? Inspector, I don’t want to infringe on your investigation, but if Austin is what you’ve come up with as a prime suspect, then you are really scraping bottom.”

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Botswe,” Dawson said tautly.

“You’re very welcome, Inspector.”

His hands jammed in his pockets, Dawson walked out feeling ridiculous and deflated. Obi was in the driveway putting two yams, a bag of charcoal, and a small, brand-new charcoal stove into the back of his pickup.

“Good afternoon, Inspector.”

“Afternoon, Obi.”

“Please, is everything okay?” Obi said. “You look sad.”

“Oh, not at all,” Dawson said with forced brightness. “I’m doing fine, thank you. Going home?”

“Yes, please,” Obi said, smiling. He gestured at the items in his pickup. “I will be cooking for my family this evening.”

“So I see. Have a nice time, then.”

“Thank you, sir. Good evening.”

Chikata looked inquiringly at Dawson as he got back in the car.

“We’re taking him back home,” Dawson said quietly.

“So you confirmed my alibi, Inspector?” Austin said eagerly from the backseat.

“Yes, I confirmed it.”

“Oh, that is really terrific. Thank you so much.”

As Baidoo started the ignition, Austin said brightly, “On the way home, can I discuss the four murder cases with you for my paper?”

In unison, Dawson and Chikata replied,
“No!”

52

Akosua had given in to necessity. Last night had been her first time as an ashawo at Nkrumah Circle. She had gone to the Beverly Hills Hotel with the client. It took him only about seven minutes to finish. For Akosua, it had been joyless and painful.

But here she was again tonight, soliciting at Nkrumah Circle. She had a kind of numbness of mind, hardly able to believe that this was what she was doing with her life now.

A pickup truck pulled up in front of her, and the driver called out, “Hello, beautiful one.”

She leaned tentatively down to the passenger window.

“What is your name?” he asked her. He was good-looking.

“Jasmine.” That was the name she’d decided on.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

“Thank you. What is your name too?”

“You can call me Chosen. Because I am.”

“How can I make you happy, Chosen?”

“I want you to come to my house for the whole night.”

“Why not let’s go rather to a nice hotel instead?”

“I give you sixty cedis to come to my house, Jasmine.”

Was he serious? That was an outstanding price.

“Look, if you don’t believe me,” Chosen said, “I give you twenty cedis right now if you get in the car, and the rest when we are finished.”

Akosua got in.

Chosen smiled at her. “Thank you. Here.” He gave her twenty cedis.

They drove off.

“I noticed you because you are so beautiful,” he said.

She smiled shyly.

“Are you from Accra?” he asked.

“No, from Kumasi.”

“You live on the street?”

“Yes. I was staying in my stepfather’s house, but he told me not to come back there without money.”

“Well, I think with the money you make tonight, you’ll be able to go back, not so?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said happily. She could hardly believe her luck.

He was driving on Ring Road West toward Obetsebi-Lamptey Circle.

“Where is your house, Chosen?”

“In Jamestown,” he said.

D
awson was drowsily sprawled across the bed half undressed when Christine came out of the shower.

“Look at you,” she said. “If I didn’t know you, I’d say you were drunk.”

Dawson grunted. “I’m defeated, not drunk.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle tomorrow. Go and have your shower.”

Dawson rolled over onto his back. “You know those small charcoal stoves with the grate on top and the air inlet on the side?”

“Yes, what about them?”

“Did your mom ever use one of those in addition to her regular stove?”

“No, but my granny did. Why?”

“Today when we were leaving Dr. Botswe’s house, his manservant Obi was loading up some stuff in his pickup and he had one of those stoves he said he was going to use to cook tonight. But later I remembered he had told me Dr. Botswe had bought him a gas stove years ago, so I was wondering why he’d need the charcoal.”

“I have no idea,” Christine said. “Why is it so important?”

“It’s not really. My mind is just wandering.”

“I remember Granny once burned herself with the grate of one of those charcoal stoves,” Christine said. “Branded her skin with a pattern of lines that looked like jail bars.”

Dawson sat up. “Jail bars,” he repeated.
What was it about the bars of a jail?
He caught his breath. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no.” He leapt to his feet.

“What is it, Dark?”

Dawson pulled on his shoes but left his shirttails flying. “Have to go.” He kissed her. “I love you more than you even know.”

A
s Dawson moved off in Christine’s car, he called Dr. Botswe with a question. Nobody picked up. Dawson’s next call was to Chikata. No answer.

He was at Obetsebi-Lamptey Circle now. He took Ring Road West toward Jamestown.

Chikata called him back within five minutes.

“Is Baidoo close by with the jeep?” Dawson asked him.

“Yes, he lives in the same barracks as me, and the jeep is parked here.”

“Meet me at Jamestown near the fire station—around where I took Tedamm down.”

“What’s going on?”

“Can’t talk right now. Just come as quickly as possible.”

Dawson slowed as he came to the edge of Jamestown east of the fire station. He pulled over to the side, mounting the curb, and got out his flashlight, although he didn’t switch it on just yet. A nice sea breeze seemed to be directing the smell of the lagoon away from Dawson, which he appreciated. He ran to the second building along the border of the no-building zone. It was the shuttered Woodcrest Services gypsum and acoustic tiling factory. In a tight alley along its right side, Dawson saw a black pickup truck parked. He went to the front door of the factory, which faced the east bank of the lagoon. It was sealed with a strong padlock. No way he could get through that.
How do I get into this place?

Dawson pressed his ear against the door but didn’t hear anything. He trotted around to the left side of the building, praying, praying there was an opening somewhere.

He switched on his flashlight now. Thirty meters away, there was an overflow channel built off the lagoon to help reduce flooding in the rainy season. Agbogbloshie was on the other side of the channel.

Dawson turned his attention back to the building, walking along the wall with his flashlight on.
Not a single window
. But there was a door. It was wooden, shut solid with a dead bolt. He couldn’t do anything with that either.

He jumped as he saw a massive rat appear from nowhere. God, how he hated rats. The creature scampered away. Dawson went a little farther along to see where it had come from. It was an opening in the wall near the ground, a spot where the brick had been damaged a long time ago and never repaired.

He knelt down and put his ear to the opening. He heard a slight whistle of wind, meaning there was cross ventilation. But thin as he was, the aperture was not large enough to get through.

He tugged at the edge of the hole, and some of the brick came away. Encouraged, he pulled and rocked the brick again, and came away with another piece. The hole was higher than wide. If he turned sideways … He got only as far as his hips.

He heard a woman moan. He strained his neck to look around and for the first time detected a faint light coming from a room beyond the one he was halfway into. He wriggled and rocked.

Shit
.

He came back out a bit and removed his belt. Every little thing counted. He tried again, pushing with his feet and swiveling his hips … push, swivel; push, swivel.

He was through. The room was filled with the dark, rusty hulks of old machinery, and the floor was littered with metal and old raw material from the gypsum and tiling.

There was the woman’s moan again. He moved as quickly as he could to the far wall without tripping on anything. He peeped round the corner to the adjoining room.

It was small and hot. Its floor was blotched with thick red paint. Dawson suddenly realized it was dried blood, like in an abattoir. A naked, gagged woman was tethered to the far wall, her back toward Dawson. Beside her on the floor was a butcher knife with a long, wide blade.

Obi was bending over the charcoal stove he had bought earlier, fanning the charcoal red hot. He picked up the grate with two pairs of tongs and turned toward her.

“Put that down,” Dawson said.

Obi saw him, dropped everything, and bolted out of the room. Dawson followed, turning a sharp right. He knew where Obi was going. To the dead-bolted door.

By the time Dawson got there, it was wide-open and Obi was gone. Dawson came out, swinging his flashlight beam in an arc.
No one
. He ran around to the front of the building, but Obi wasn’t there either.
Where did he go?

Then he understood. The overflow channel. Dawson ran to the side of it and shone his flashlight.
Nothing
. And then he saw him. Obi was swimming across. His head bobbed up for a second and then ducked under for a long time. He was a strong swimmer, and he could hold his breath. Swimming after him was not the way Dawson was going to catch the man. He ran back to the car and jumped in. If he could drive around to the other bank, he would be there to welcome Obi as he got out.

He couldn’t find the ignition key.

He leapt out again, alarms screaming in his head as he dug in his pockets.

What did you do with the key?

Shit
. The hole in the wall. He sprinted back to the side of the factory. At the hole, he saw the key where it had fallen out of his pocket on the other side. He went partially through the hole and grabbed it.

But he had lost too much time. He shone his flashlight across the channel again and saw Obi getting out on the other side. He had slipped out of Dawson’s grasp. Dawson let out a long shout of rage and frustration. And then, as Obi came up to the top of the bank, powerful headlight beams switched on and silhouetted him. Raising his arms, he slowly went to his knees in surrender.

“It’s okay, Dawson,” came Chikata’s cheerful voice from across the channel. “We’ve got him.”