Free Murder at Cape Three Points by Kwei Quartey

Baah said with a laugh. “They make sanctuary for them and plenty birds too. We should go there?”
    “Okay, but later,” Dawson said.
    They passed a wetland area with a patchwork of glistening pools, woody plants, and swamp grass on either side of the road, and then Effia-Nkwanta Hospital, where Dr. Smith-Aidoo and her father had identified the bodies of her uncle and aunt. Next in quick succession were the high court, the men’s and women’s Sekondi prisons, and the pale green Sekondi Takoradi Metropolitan Assembly (STMA) building.
    They turned in at a sign reading GHANA POLICE SERVICE , REGIONAL HEADQUARTERS , SEKONDI . SERVICE WITH INTEGRITY , and climbed a steep incline to a two-story pale yellow building with the signature GPS blue trim. The hill on which it stood gave a fine view past the corrugated metal roofs of old Sekondi to the blue Atlantic Ocean, the fishing harbor, and the naval base.
    Dawson liked Baah, so he made him an offer to engage his services on a daily basis. They haggled a little and then came to an agreement on the price.
    Dawson went directly to the Homicide Division on the first floor, where the front room was equipped with six desks, four of them with computers. No one paid much attention to Dawson as he came in except one of the men, who looked up at him over the top of his glasses.
    “Morning. May I help you?”
    “Detective Inspector Darko Dawson, from CID Headquarters.”
    The man jumped up to salute. “Oh, fine! Good morning, sah. You are welcome, sah. Superintendent Hammond is expecting you. Please, if you can have a seat. I will tell him you have arrived.”
    He went to a door a few steps behind him, knocked lightly, and then opened it.
    “Please, Inspector Dawson is here from HQ.”
    Dawson heard the reply, “Show him in.”
    The sergeant opened the door wide and stepped partly into the room to allow Dawson to pass and then left, quietly shutting the door behind him.
    Superintendent Hammond looked up as Dawson came in.
    “Good morning, sir,” Dawson said.
    “Good morning. Please, have a seat.”
    He indicated the chair opposite his desk. His grey-peppered hair, which hadn’t been trimmed for a while, was receding from his furrowed brow, where one especially deep crease cut sharply into the middle of his forehead like a canyon. The cold absence of a smile and his failure to make eye contact alerted Dawson that something was wrong.
    “So,” Hammond said with a tense, one-sided smile, “you’re here to show us how to solve a case, is that right?”
    “Pardon?” Dawson said.
    “The Western Region has had thirty-four homicides this year,” Hammond continued in a flat tone. “Headquarters won’t give us a regional crime lab, we don’t have enough crime scene technicians, and there’s a hiring freeze. Our resources are stretched to the limit, yet we’re expected to clear up all these cases in record time. Just four months on the Smith-Aidoo case and already Headquarters is breathing down my neck and sending a junior officer to supervise me.”
    Stunned, Dawson struggled to find the right words. “Sorry, sir, but Chief Superintendent Lartey has sent me here in response to a petition and in assisting capacity only, not to disgrace or embarrass anyone, sir.”
    They eyed each other in silence for a moment. Hammond heaved a sigh, as if he would rather not be bothered. “I see you have the docket with you. Do you have any questions?”
    “Okay, thank you, sir,” Dawson said, now uncertain where to start. “I met Dr. Sapphire Smith-Aidoo last week in Accra. She told me about Jason Sarbah. When you spoke to him, did he blame the doctor or her uncle for the death of his daughter, Angela?”
    The superintendent seemed wearied by the task of having to explain all this to Dawson. “Sarbah didn’t say that directly, but I know he is very bitter about the events that led up to Angela’s death.”
    “Was he your prime suspect, sir?”
    “At the beginning, yes, but his alibi