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

head, eyes, lips, tongue, breasts, genitals, or internal organs. Sometimes the blood may be drained as well. The sacrifice victim is often selected for his or her perceived purity or unspoiled nature—a child, or a virgin, for example. In that regard, Charles Smith-Aidoo doesn’t quite fit the bill, but it still doesn’t rule out a bloody ritual. Were any other body parts missing?”
    “No, but I should have told you that an old pocket watch was found stuffed in his mouth with the scrawled inscription, ‘blood runs deep.’ ”
    “Aha,” Botswe said, his tone changing from interested to intrigued. “Fascinating. The murderer might have been trying to invoke family ties, the old watch indicating generations past, maybe a vendetta, something terrible done to his family member or members, or to an ancestor. He is deeply embittered and vengeful. A human sacrifice aspect could be separate but related to the family issue. My feeling is you should look very closely at the Smith-Aidoos’ family history, or one tied up with theirs—specifically ancestral tragedies or murders. When you do that, you may find the answer to this killing.”
    “Thank you, Prof. You have really helped.”
    “You are most welcome, Inspector,” he said, smiling with his voice. “Please, do keep me posted.”
    As he hung up, Dawson reflected on what Botswe had said: something terrible done to his family member or members. Is that where Jason Sarbah came in? Did he blame Charles and Fiona for Angela’s death and kill the couple for revenge?
    Dead tired, Dawson took a cold shower, brushed his teeth, and fellinto bed. In the morning, he would meet with Superintendent Hammond with a fresh mind.
    D AWSON SAW THE neighborhood for the first time by the light of day as he emerged from the lodge. It had rained overnight, which surprised him because he hadn’t heard anything and rain usually woke him up. It proved how tired he must have been. He locked the front gate behind him. Across the street was Stellar Lodge, a white, two-story hotel with a brand new extension. Business must be good , Dawson thought, although he recalled that the place had had some adverse publicity about a year ago after a hotel guest had been apparently electrocuted in the shower. Dawson wondered how one could engineer a murder that way. Not as gruesome as his present case, but certainly not a pleasant way to die.
    He observed several 4×4 SUVs parked in front of the hotel. One pulled out with its Ghanaian driver at the wheel and a white man in the rear—probably an oil engineer.
    He decided to take a short walk before hailing a cab so that he could get a good sense of the neighborhood. Within a ball’s throw of the lodge, young soccer players were performing their early morning drills on a large green playing field that belonged to Hassacas, a local soccer team. He caught a slightly smoky scent to the air—someone cooking on firewood somewhere, but he couldn’t tell from which direction. He passed a petrol station to the left, and a little farther along, a strip mall with a clothing store, a jewelry boutique, and a barbershop.
    The morning had started out cool but had warmed up considerably by the time he arrived at Shippers Circle, a neat roundabout that Malgam Oil had recently refurbished. Taxis were ubiquitous in Takoradi; Dawson got one in seconds with barely a gesture. The driver, a bone-lanky man whose name was Baah, looked like he was eighteen but he assured Dawson he was twenty-four.
    “How long have you lived here?” Dawson asked him.
    “Since I born,” Baah said, with a broad smile marred by crooked teeth. He added that he had only been out of Takoradi once in his life. His knowledge of the city and his love for it were obvious as he pointed out landmarks. Just beyond Paa Grant roundabout, he gestured to a thickly wooded area on their right.
    “Dis place be Monkey Hill,” he said.
    “Why is it called that?” Dawson asked.
    “Because plenty monkey dey.”