Read Online Murder at Cape Three Points by Kwei Quartey - Free Book Online

the Malgam oil rig, how long would it take?”
    “Six to eight hours. The sea currents are predominantly northeasterly, so if you set out for the rig from, say, Cape Three Points, whether paddling or by motor power, you have to continuously compensate for the current if you want to arrive at the intended destination. Are you thinking that the dead bodies were transported to the rig deliberately to display them?”
    “It seems too coincidental that Dr. Smith-Aidoo’s aunt and uncle show up dead at the very rig on the very day she was working there.”
    It wasn’t only that. Something else led Dawson to believe that a fundamental message invoking family ties was encoded in the bizarre scene of the canoe bearing two corpses: the old watch found in Charles’s mouth with the inscription blood runs deep. He wasn’t about to mention that to his two hosts, however. For security, some details were best left unrevealed even to relatives—perhaps especially to relatives.
    “I think you’re right, Darko,” Akosua said. “It was like the murderer was boasting to Dr. Smith-Aidoo, ‘Look what I did. I killed your aunt and uncle.’ How terrible.”
    “Well, if that’s the case,” Abraham said, “whoever got the canoe there knew what he was doing because he had to slip by the fishery protection vessels that are on standby to enforce the five hundred meter no-go zone around the rig.”
    “No-go zone?” Dawson asked. “What’s that?”
    “It’s the safe operating boundary around the rig to prevent collisions between vessels. It’s standard all over the world, but some Ghanaian fishermen are convinced it’s all a plot to prevent them from getting at the fish that swarm around the rig, especially at night when they’re attracted to the rig lights. So to get at that bonanza of fish, sometimes the fishermen will sneak within the boundary and then their fishing nets get all tangled up with rig installations.” Abraham shook his head and gave a dry, ironic laugh. “The classic battle between tradition and modernity.”
    Dawson agreed. That kind of conflict occurred onshore too. Recently, coconut palm farmers had been infuriated by the establishment of a new natural gas plant that meant the destruction of some of their farmland.
    “I should introduce you to my fisherman friend Forjoe,” Abraham said. “He’s in charge of the canoe rentals. He can tell you even more about canoes and such.”
    An idea occurred to Dawson. “Does he keep a record of the rentals?”
    “No, I do. When I collect my portion of the fees he’s charged, I note it down in a book along with the fisherman’s name. It’s a little informal.”
    “Did you have any rentals last July?”
    “I can check, but I don’t think so. Business was very slow.” Abraham stood up. “I’ll fetch the book.”
    He disappeared inside briefly, returning with a notebook and sitting down next to Dawson. He flicked through the pages until he came to July.
    “Nothing,” he said, running a finger down the blank page. “Not a single rental the whole month.”
    “Any chance Forjoe could have forgotten to tell you?”
    “I doubt it. He’s very reliable.”
    “Is anyone else you know doing the same thing? Renting canoes?”
    “I don’t personally know anyone, but Forjoe will know. I’ll call him tomorrow and then we can go down to the harbor.”
    “Good.” Dawson paused a moment. “Did Forjoe know the Smith-Aidoos?”
    “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
    “No special reason,” Dawson said with a shrug. That wasn’t quite true. In fact, a thought had struck him that Forjoe would have had perfect access to a motor-powered canoe that could transport two dead bodies out to sea. But maybe that was jumping ahead too far.

Chapter 7
    A BRAHAM PULLED up TO a wrought-iron gate set in a high brick wall inscribed with a sign that read C HAPEL H ILL L ODGE .
    “I ran out of money,” he said to Dawson as they got out. “That’s why the building is