Sleep Well, My Lady

by Kwei Quartey

  “But how did they come up with this strange deafness story?” Emma asked.

  “It was Caroline Seeza’s idea,” Walter said. “She had knowledge of an obscure connection between Augustus’s illness and loss of hearing, and it’s hard to challenge that kind of medical knowledge.”

  “This family seems incapable of any honesty whatsoever,” Emma said, almost wearily.

  “The question, though,” Jojo said, “is if they’re capable of murder, and my answer is yes. My money is still on Augustus.”

  Emma raised her hand. “One other thing, boss. Remember I told you I saw a small metallic object on Lady Araba’s bed in the crime scene photos?”

  “You did?” Sowah asked, looking momentarily blank. “Okay, okay—I recall, now. What of it?”

  “I called DS Boateng, and he said, yes, they had spotted it and submitted it with the rest of the evidence. Fortunately, he had a couple of photos of it, which he has now sent to me, and I’d like to show them to all of you.”

  While the others came closer to look, Emma opened up her phone to the images of the object taken from different angles. It was a bloodstained metal band about a centimeter wide. End on, it took the shape of a “⍵” and measured about nine centimeters in total length.

  “What is that?” Gideon said.

  “I don’t know,” Emma replied, “but to me it looks like a clasp or clip to hold two things together—like the ligatures used to strangle Lady Araba.”

  “Ah,” Sowah said, thoughtfully. “Not bad, Emma.”

  “On the other hand,” Walter said in bored tones, “it could have nothing to do with the murder itself.”

  “Manu, it has blood on it,” Emma said pointedly. “You’re going to overlook that?”

  “I didn’t say we should overlook anything,” Walter replied crisply. “Just that we can’t attach too much significance to every little thing.”

  “Well,” Sowah interjected, “if we suppose for a moment that Emma is correct, this metal clip, or band, or whatever it is, doesn’t look like it was made at home by the murderer to hold two ligatures together. It looks like he repurposed it from something else—but what?”

  Emma racked her brain, but came up short.

  “Is it something to fasten electrical cables together?” Jojo suggested.

  Sowah snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “For wiring a house, for example.”

  Gideon, the office’s electrical and electronics wizard, said, “I’ve never seen a cable fastener like that before, and I’ve done a lot of household wiring in my time.”

  “Show-off,” Jojo muttered.

  Emma zoomed in and out on the image showing one side of the metal clip. “Are those engraved letters I see where the layer of blood is very thin?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Gideon said, peering at it.

  Walter disagreed. “Your eyes are playing tricks on your brains,” he scoffed.

  “Well,” Sowah said with a sigh of resignation, “obviously, we’re not going to solve this right now. The main issue is that we have something from the crime scene with someone’s DNA all over it. How can we get it tested with Thomas and Madam Tawiah standing in the way?”

  FIFTY

  Twelve months after

  Early in the afternoon, Doctor Jauregui called Emma. “I just returned from my lectures to the CSU guys at CID, and I also checked the police docket for the Lady Araba case. You were right that the family claimed some jewelry pieces went missing from Lady Araba’s room, including the necklace that she wore habitually. The police accused Kweku, the driver, of the theft as well as the murder, but they didn’t find any such jewelry when they searched his living quarters. For the record, they officially concluded Kweku had already sold off the alleged jewelry for personal gain.”

  “Convenient scapegoating,” Emma said grimly. “The infamous MO of the Ghana Police.”

  “Unfortunately, you are right about that,” Jauregui said. “I have some other news for you, though.”

  “Yes, Doctor?” Emma said, eagerly.

  “The metal object at the crime scene that we couldn’t identify. I think I’ve found it.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes, it’s not at the FSL. According to this record, it’s at the CID property room.”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “The property room? Should it be there?”

  “No, it should have gone to the lab,” Jauregui said. “Otherwise, how was it to get tested for DNA?”

  “Then how did it get to the property room, I wonder?” Emma said.

  “Exactly the question I had, so I called DS Boateng and asked him. At first, he was mystified, and then he figured it out. Everything they took from the crime scene was divided in two piles—the evidence that was to go to the FSL in one pile, and regular belongings in the other—things like her phone, purse, and so on. Corporal Tackie, the evidence tech, took the evidence to the FSL, while one of the constables took the ordinary belongings to the CID property room, but someone must have accidentally put the metal clip, which was in a paper envelope, in the wrong pile, and so it was unknowingly signed out to the property officer.”

  “Ah, I see,” Emma said. “That must be the explanation. Is the seal on the bag intact? No sign of tampering?”

  “Everything is correctly sealed,” Jauregui said. “I will send you a photo.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Emma felt a growing sense of excitement. “Somehow we have to get that piece of evidence and have the blood DNA-tested.”

  “I would have signed it out myself,” Jauregui said, “but I’m not a police officer, so it’s not allowed.”

  “I understand, Doctor,” Emma said. “No problem. We don’t want you getting in trouble. You’ve already gone far beyond the call of duty. Thank you.”

  After ending the call, Emma ran down the hall to Sowah’s office. “Sir?”

  He looked up over his glasses. “What’s up?”

  Emma dropped into the scarlet sofa, which was beginning to show its wear. “I just heard from Dr. Jauregui, who was at CID this morning. She discovered that the mystery object we were looking at this morning wasn’t sent to the FSL as it should have been. Instead, a police constable accidentally submitted it to the CID property room.”

  “Really?” Sowah sat up straight. “Then we have to get hold of that evidence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The boss leaned back in his chair to reflect for a moment. Then he cast around his desk, muttering, “Where did I put my phone?”

  “In the drawer, sir?” Emma suggested.

  Sowah found it there. “Thank you. How did you know?”

  Emma merely smiled.

  Sowah dialed someone and waited with the phone to his ear. “Cleo! How is life, my friend? Oh, you know, we are surviving like anyone else. The case? Well, to be honest, we have been stalled, but we might have a breakthrough that I’m hoping you can help us with.”

  Sowah detailed Dr. Jauregui’s discovery of what was a potentially useful piece of evidence from the crime scene. “We can’t let it sit there, Cleo,” Sowah said urgently. “In fact, I would argue that we are morally obligated to get it tested for DNA . . . Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but you know what I mean. And we can’t let this get into Thomas’s hands, or it will likely suffer the same fate as the other pieces of evidence.”

  Nodding and murmuring agreement at intervals, Sowah listened to what Laryea was saying on the other end, which Emma tried without much success to gauge.

  “Yes, of course,” Sowah said at length. “You’re perfectly correct, but how can we allow this miscarriage of justice? An innocent man is in jail for this.”

  He paused again as Laryea said something, and then there was another back-and-forth exchange. Finally, Sowah said, “Thank you so much, Cleo. I appreciate your help.” He ended the call, and turned to Emma. �
�I had a tough time persuading him to get involved, but he finally relented.”

  “What is he going to do, sir?”

  “He’s going to sign the evidence out of the property room himself.”

  “Wow. And then?”

  Sowah shook his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  Back at her desk, Emma sat pondering as she doodled absentmindedly on a page in her composition book. She felt as though she and the team were wandering around lost in a forest. The blood on the metal clip might reveal something new, but if it had only Araba’s DNA on it, they were back at square one.

  What was the crux of the difficulty they were having? It was that they had been unable to place anyone at the scene of Lady Araba’s murder at around the time it was likely to have occurred—probably between nine-thirty Sunday night and five o’clock Monday morning. Peter had said it had been quiet the whole night at the front gate, so the consensus was that the murderer must have used the rear gate to gain entry. Why hadn’t the surveillance cameras worked?

  “Gideon?” Emma said.

  He was glued to his cell phone screen. “Yes, Emma?”

  “Have you ever worked with security systems?”

  Gideon looked up. “What kind of security systems?”

  “Like the one at Trasacco Valley. Peter said the DVR they were using for the CCTV surveillance was old and he didn’t think it was working well, but has anyone really checked it? It could just be that Peter doesn’t know how the thing functions. I mean, what if there really is surveillance footage available from the night of Lady Araba’s murder and we’ve overlooked it all this time?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Gideon said thoughtfully. “Well, I haven’t worked on security systems as such, but before I came to the agency, I did do repairs at a friend’s electronic shop in my neighborhood. What are you thinking?”

  “Could you or your friend take a look at the machine? Jojo can ask Peter.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Gideon said. “Where’s Jojo? Jojo!”

  “Mm?” The languid reply came from the makeshift staff room around the corner.

  “Can you come here for a minute?”

  “I’m eating.”

  Gideon shook his head and muttered, “He’s always eating. Come, Emma, let’s talk to him about it.”

  Jojo was digging into a full bowl of yam and kontomire. Emma couldn’t imagine eating such a heavy meal in the middle of the afternoon. She sat opposite Jojo at the table. “We have a mission for you.”

  Jojo grunted, his mouth too full to say anything.

  Emma explained her idea and Jojo paused the banquet for just a few moments to think about it. Then he nodded and continued his meal. “I’ll talk to Peter about it tomorrow.”

  “Why not save some time and call him when you’re done?”

  “No problem,” Jojo said, chewing noisily. “I’ll take care of it. Now, go away and let me finish my lunch.”

  His belly full, Jojo discussed with Gideon how to frame the DVR matter before putting in the call. Peter was home on his day off. Jojo kidded with him briefly, and then got to the point. “I was talking to a friend of mine about the old DVR you had been asking the management to replace before Lady Araba died. Do you still have it?”

  “Yeah,” Peter said. “It’s still there, at the Trasacco security post. When the guys came to install the new DVR, I asked them about the old one. They didn’t really look at it in detail because they weren’t there for that, but they told me that most of the time it’s not worth it to try to repair it. Then, I asked management if they wanted me to keep the old machine around. They said as far as they were concerned, I could throw it out or give it away.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Jojo said. “My friend works at a secondhand electronics store. He’s an expert at computers and stuff. He asked me if you would like him to check the DVR to see if it can be fixed.”

  “Oh, really?” Peter said, sounding interested. “You mean to use it here as a backup?”

  “If you like, but better than that, if my friend manages to sell it to someone, he says he can give you and me a small commission.”

  “Oh,” Peter said, laughing. “I won’t say no to that. I’ll be on duty tomorrow, so he can come to Trasacco in the morning. What is his name?”

  “Gideon,” Jojo said. “We will come together, okay?”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Twelve months after

  Cleo Laryea met with DS Isaac Boateng at a relatively secluded area in a shady car park outside the Department of Parks and Gardens. They sat in Laryea’s car with the windows down and the front doors cracked open in the hope of catching a decent cross-breeze on an oppressive afternoon.

  Boateng was clearly nervous about this meeting. “Am I in trouble, sir?”

  Laryea shook his head, “Not at all. To the contrary, I need your help.”

  “Sir?”

  “The forensic doctor spoke with you a couple of days ago about the evidence sent to the CID property room instead of to the FSL.”

  “That’s correct, sir.”

  “If the blood on the metal clip or clasp, or whatever it is, contains DNA other than Lady Araba’s, it could be a potential breakthrough.”

  “I agree, sir, but as you know, I’m no longer—”

  “I’m aware you were taken off the case. We have no choice but to work with that, but here and now is an opportunity to redirect the investigation. We all know that the driver, Kweku-Sam, didn’t kill Lady Araba. The fact is, evidence has been suppressed, and we cannot allow that to happen. I know it matters to you.”

  Boateng nodded, “Yes, sir,” but he sounded tentative.

  “There aren’t that many people in the force like you and me,” Laryea continued. “I’ll be retiring soon, but you are the up-and-coming generation who can make things better. You have a science degree and care about your work. But it’s tough to be an island of integrity when sneaky crocodiles are all around, circling you.”

  Boateng sighed. “That’s the thing, sir.”

  “Bottom line,” Laryea continued, “is we must find out whose DNA is on the piece of metal found on Lady Araba’s bed, but we can’t surrender it to Thomas to get it done, because in all likelihood, nothing will happen. So, we have to do something else. To start, I have signed the evidence out of the property room.”

  Boateng was startled. “Sir?”

  “My name is now on the chain of custody form.”

  “Then, what’s going to happen?”

  “I want you to do the DNA testing.”

  Boateng let out a long breath and dropped his head as if guillotined. “Sir . . .”

  Laryea shifted so he was looking directly at Boateng. “I know it feels like I’m putting your job on the line, but I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you. I will have your back. I promise you that.”

  His gaze down, Boateng chewed on his lower lip for a moment. Finally, he lifted his head. “Okay. I trust you, sir.”

  Jojo and Gideon arrived midmorning, well into Peter’s shift. He shook hands warmly with both men, expressing that he appreciated Gideon’s coming.

  “Come in and take a look at the DVR,” Peter said, steering them into the sentry room, which was smaller than it had seemed to Jojo from the exterior. On a small counter next to the window, a large security record book lay open next to a monitor screen, which showed a paneled image feed from the cameras at the front and rear gates. On the back wall was a shelf piled with miscellaneous junk, from which Peter extracted a clunky, dusty, black-and-chrome DVR.

  “This is the old machine,” Peter said, resting it on the counter. He pointed to a much sleeker model mounted on a bracket over the counter. “That’s the new one we got a week after Lady Araba was murdered.”

  Gideon bent forward to peer at the DVR’s front panel, and then the back. “
So, how was the machine behaving when it started to go bad, and when was that?”

  “I want to say about a month before Lady Araba was killed,” Peter responded. “Sometimes it made a kind of whining noise, and the picture on the monitor was bad.”

  “Did anyone ever drop the machine?”

  Peter shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  “And you didn’t have a backup system?” Gideon asked casually. “Like an external drive?”

  Peter shook his head. “Not then. We do now. You know how it is—people learn their lesson after the fact.”

  “Yes, that’s always the way it is,” Gideon said with a knowing smile.

  “So,” Peter continued, “when the detective who was investigating the case asked us to try playing the video from the night Araba died, nothing showed on the monitor except some strange flashing and zigzag patterns.”

  “Did someone check that the cameras and the connecting cables were working at that time?” Gideon asked.

  Peter nodded. “All that was fine. As soon as the new system was connected, everything worked.” He tapped the DVR with his finger. “It’s this thing that’s the problem.”

  Gideon nodded, leaning against the wall and studying the machine like a doctor running through possible diagnoses.

  “Do you think you can repair it?” Peter asked, sounding hopeful.

  “It depends on how bad the damage is,” Gideon said. “The trouble is the hard drive—either the actuator arm or the reader head or the platters, maybe all of them.”

  Peter looked at Jojo and said, “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

  Jojo laughed. “Yeah, and don’t ask him to explain because you’ll be even more confused. He always shows off like this. Very annoying.”

  Gideon grinned at Peter. “Don’t mind him. Anyway, bottom line is, I won’t know until I open up the hard drive to check it.”

  “Can you do that here?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, no,” Gideon replied, laughing. “I have to take it to the shop, if that’s okay with you.”