Sleep Well, My Lady

by Kwei Quartey

  “Yes.” Julius heaved a troubled sigh. Caroline glanced at him and saw how on edge he looked.

  She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry, it will be okay. This is something we must do.”

  When Caroline got into the complex, she checked her watch. Eight thirty-seven. She hoped that Araba would indeed stay at her event until about nine, as she had discussed with Augustus. Caroline kept her head down and adopted a gait she imagined to be masculine. She knew about the CCTV cameras, but Augustus had once told her the system was antiquated and practically useless.

  As many times as Augustus had been at Araba’s home, Caroline had never had the pleasure. Once, just out of curiosity while on a house call to the complex, she had asked one of the landscapers which unit was Araba’s.

  Caroline was tense, constantly on the lookout for patrolling security guards and at the same time assessing the risk-benefit of having Julius wait out there by the gate. The longer he was there, the greater the chances of his being seen loitering, though the car was mostly concealed behind the tree and shed.

  Araba’s house was dark except for a couple lights downstairs. The garage was open with a single vehicle parked there, almost certainly confirming that Araba was still out, since she owned two cars.

  The gate at the bottom of the driveway was something of an impediment to Caroline’s getting in, but the adjoining wall wasn’t impossibly high. Nevertheless, scaling it was not so easy, and Caroline stumbled and fell as she dropped to the ground on the other side. She dusted herself off and hurried across the lawn to the front door, where the porch light was on. She dug in her pocket for Augustus’s keys, which he had left carelessly lying on the coffee table at home. She knew he had a spare key to Araba’s house and Caroline had no reason to believe he would have taken it off the ring.

  She had already donned blue nitrile gloves. Her hand trembling somewhat, she tried each key in the lock. The first, second, third, and fourth ones all failed and Caroline cursed. She prayed the fifth would work. It did.

  Before she heard Araba’s vehicle pull up, Caroline didn’t have much time to decide where to hide. The master bedroom was out of the question, since there wasn’t a single item of furniture that could conceal her presence. She went along the hall to the guest bedroom and hid in the closet, which was empty except for some naked hangers.

  She heard two voices from downstairs, one belonging to Araba and the other to a male—her chauffeur, no doubt. After four or five minutes, the male bid Araba good night. Soon after that, Araba came up the stairs humming a tune. Then she went into her bedroom and out of Caroline’s earshot.

  She wasn’t sure what to do next. She had contemplated waiting until Araba fell asleep, but that would take far too long. Caroline didn’t have all night. She heard the sound of the bathroom shower starting up and waited a few seconds. This was the time to move.

  She reached into the backpack and removed her stethoscope. The irony of using an instrument of healing for her mission wasn’t lost on her. Caroline padded down the hall, grateful to the carpet for muffling her footsteps. Before entering the bedroom, she peeped around the doorjamb to be sure Araba was in the bathroom. She was, and she had put on some music—R&B, which Caroline acknowledged as a tasteful choice.

  She entered the room, marveling at the huge walk-in closet with more clothes than she had ever seen in one place. Should she hide in here? Where was the best location from which to surprise her victim?

  With one eye peeping out from the closet entrance, Caroline watched Araba come out of the bathroom, toweled off and naked. Almost immediately, Araba’s attention was drawn to a backpack to her left. Caroline had deliberately left it there. Araba started and turned to stare at it. It was within that precise moment that Caroline came up from behind and looped the stethoscope over Araba’s head. Crossing her forearms behind Araba’s neck, she pulled the stethoscope tubing tight. Araba gasped and gurgled, grabbing at her throat.

  Caroline had anticipated a struggle, but she had underestimated Araba’s pound-for-pound strength. She kicked out and twisted her body like a thrashing reptile, struggling both to breathe and pull the ligature away. Caroline staggered back toward the bookshelf, Araba with her. They both fell, and Caroline lost her grip. Araba let out a hoarse scream and staggered to her feet.

  Caroline heard the screaming of her adrenaline-drenched brain inside her skull. Araba turned to face her, and Caroline had the sense she was losing control, a feeling to which she was not accustomed as a physician. She thought she said aloud, I’ll kill you before you kill my son, but perhaps she only thought it. With heightened clarity, she saw the silver vase within reach, grabbed it, and struck Araba hard against the side of her head. Araba went down immediately as blood flashed on the white carpet. For a moment, she was still, and Caroline stood there out of breath, her energy depleted.

  Araba moved and sat up, disoriented. Caroline, still breathing heavily, watched her struggle up the side of the bed until she was able to climb upon it and begin to crawl away. Caroline felt both pity and anger. Where does she think she’s going?

  She climbed onto Araba’s back at an almost leisurely pace. Again, she looped the stethoscope over Araba’s head, crossed the tubes behind her neck, and tightened surely and steadily. This time, Araba didn’t struggle much. Caroline realized that one of the two clips holding the double tubing of her stethoscope was biting into her glove and the skin of her right hand, but she ignored it. The most important thing at this point was to not let up the pressure for at least four minutes. There was a ringing in her ears, and she was just beginning to realize how much Araba’s scalp had bled and what a mess it had made.

  Araba had stopped moving for some time now. Her hands shaking violently, Caroline checked for a carotid pulse. Nothing. She staggered off the bed, exhausted. She felt sick, but willed herself not to throw up. She looked at her blood-smeared gloves. The right one had a tear in it, and Caroline realized the stethoscope clip must have bitten into it. She carefully took both gloves off using the physician’s one-touch technique and bundled them up into a plastic bag in her backpack. Then, she put on a new pair of gloves.

  With a burst of panic, Caroline realized she was taking too long. She dropped the stethoscope and vase into her backpack and left quickly, giving one final backward glance at Araba sprawled on the bed. Halfway down the stairs, Caroline remembered what she had meant to do: stage it like a burglary homicide. Annoyed by her lapse, she returned to the bedroom, making a beeline for the dresser. She found jewelry in the second drawer, grabbed several pieces, and left the drawer open before departing once more.

  At nine fifty-six, Julius saw his wife heading his way, switched on the ignition, and moved out from behind the tree and the shed.

  Caroline opened the front passenger door and dropped in. “Drive out. Hurry.”

  Julius turned the BMW toward the exit and moved forward. The gate didn’t budge.

  “Shit!” Julius said, his voice cracking. “It won’t open.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Caroline said. “Of course it will open. Move up some more.”

  Julius did, but nothing happened. He gasped in desperation. “We’re going to have to leave by the front.”

  “We’re not doing that,” Caroline said through gritted teeth. “Back up a little and try again.”

  Julius did as he was told, and this time the gate, albeit sluggishly, creaked open.

  SIXTY

  Thirteen months after

  In the office, Emma told Gideon, “Show me the pic of Dr. Caroline Seeza again.”

  “Okay,” he said, leaning back and languidly working his laptop touch pad. “Here it is.”

  Emma looked at it for a moment, and then down at her phone screen, which she scrolled through to the image she wanted. It was a teal-colored stethoscope. “Take a look,” she said, handing her phone to Gideon.

  “Yeah, it loo
ks similar to the one the doctor is wearing,” he said. “Same color and all that. But lots of stethoscopes look alike. What’s your point?”

  “Look at the manufacturer, though.”

  Gideon drew in his breath sharply. “Prestige.”

  “Exactly. The name on the side of the metal clip that Boateng took from the crime scene. And you see those two metal clips on the double tubing of the stethoscope? One at the top and one at the bottom end?”

  Gideon was looking at her with a smile and light in his eyes that seemed to brighten his whole face. “Like the one at the crime scene.”

  “You got it.”

  Gideon’s expression changed again. “But wait, I’m confused. You can’t be saying Dr. Caroline had anything to do with Lady Araba’s murder. Or are you?”

  Emma pointed at Gideon’s laptop screen. “Well, look at her stethoscope. What’s missing?”

  “Shit,” he whispered. “One of the metal clips—the one on the end. So, you’re saying she went to Lady Araba, strangled her to death with her stethoscope—”

  “Which would explain the double ligature marks listed in the autopsy.”

  “Okay, true too. And while Dr. Caroline was strangling Lady Araba, the metal clip rubbed against her finger and she transferred some DNA onto it.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Let’s go talk to the boss,” Gideon said, excitement in his voice.

  “Hold on,” Emma said. “We should build an airtight case first. I need to talk to DS Boateng.”

  He answered on her second attempt and Emma asked him if he knew the make of car Dr. Caroline drove.

  “I’ve seen her in a Jaguar, but I think he has a BMW. Why, what’s up?”

  “We’re just checking on routine stuff,” she said cryptically, not wanting to be derailed. “Thank you, DS Boateng.”

  She ended the call and said to Gideon, “Justice Seeza has a BMW.”

  They stared at each other.

  “He drove her there,” Gideon said.

  “He’s the one who opened the gate for her,” Gideon said.

  “Then she went to Araba’s house, killed her, came back to the car, and they drove away.”

  Jojo and Walter walked in from lunch.

  “What are you two guys plotting?” Jojo asked.

  “Sit down and listen, both of you,” Gideon said. “We have something to tell you.”

  SIXTY-ONE

  Thirteen and a half months later

  At the clinic reception late in the afternoon, Sowah asked to see Dr. Caroline Seeza.

  “Please, do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked.

  “No, but tell her I might have found something she’s missing.”

  The receptionist looked puzzled, but he made the call to the back office anyway. “Please, have a seat,” he told Sowah. “Someone will come for you.”

  Sowah waited for about ten minutes, and then a pretty nurse in a highly starched green-and-white uniform emerged from the inner sanctum. “Mr. Sowah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, come with me.”

  caroline seeza, m.d. was embossed on her door in gold letters. The nurse knocked and ushered Sowah in.

  Dr. Seeza was busy with medical charts, of which there were quite a few.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor,” Sowah said.

  She looked up. “Yes, what is it?”

  “May I sit down?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said irritably, waving at a seat. “I must say, Mr.—”

  “Sowah.” He noticed Dr. Seeza’s teal stethoscope curled on her desk. Minus one of its metal clips.

  “Mr. Sowah, this is not a good time for me. What is this about?”

  “I’m a private investigator looking into the case of Lady Araba’s murder.”

  “Okay, and?”

  “We’re following up on a number of pieces of evidence, trying to figure out their significance. By the way, is that a Prestige stethoscope you have?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is. Why do you ask? Mr. Sowah, what is the purpose of this visit, exactly?”

  From his pocket, Sowah removed a color print of the metal clip Boateng had found at the crime scene and laid it on the table next to Dr. Seeza’s stethoscope.

  She stared at it. “What is that?” Her voice had turned husky.

  “Do you recognize it?”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Dr. Seeza snapped. “And I don’t know why in the hell you’ve come here to interrupt my day with nonsense I know nothing about. Please leave.”

  Sowah got up, but for a moment, he moved the photo close to the metal clip on the doctor’s stethoscope, as if to compare the two. “You’re missing a clip from your stethoscope, Doctor. Could this be it?”

  Dr. Seeza snatched the stethoscope off the table. “I told you to get out. Hurry up, before I call security.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Have a blessed day.”

  Outside again, Sowah called Laryea. “She reacted. She’s primed.”

  Having had her staff cancel the rest of her appointments for the day, Caroline hurried home, where she found Julius working in his office.

  “They know,” Caroline said as she entered.

  Julius turned to look at her. “Who knows? What are you talking about?”

  “Someone came to the clinic,” she said, hyperventilating. “A Mr. Sawyer, or Sowah, was his name. A private investigator.”

  Julius got up. “Caroline, sit down. You look as though you’re about to faint.”

  “No, no, I’m fine. He had a picture of the clip, this Sowah guy.”

  “What clip?”

  “It came off my stethoscope. I didn’t realize it until we got home.”

  “What? You never mentioned this to me. I didn’t realize that was what you used. And the stethoscope? You threw it out, I presume?”

  Caroline was indignant. “Why would I do that? It still works perfectly well and it cost me a mint.”

  “But it might have trace evidence on it,” Julius said, his voice rising in dismay.

  “I know that,” Caroline retorted sharply. “I’m not stupid. I cleaned it off thoroughly with bleach.”

  “Not good enough,” Julius said, shaking his head. “You have to destroy the entire thing now. Where is it?”

  “In the car.”

  “Go get it. Right now.”

  Caroline hurried out, but as she reached the sitting room, she heard a knock on the door.

  Outside, Cleo Laryea knocked a second time. It was Julius who answered, but he opened the door only a crack. “Yes?”

  “I’m Deputy Commissioner of Police Laryea, CID. I’m here with my constable. May we speak for a moment?”

  “Um, yes, but can you hold on one second? I’m not decent.”

  “Of course.”

  Julius shut the door. Without a word, Laryea signaled to the constable to go around to the other side of the house.

  Julius returned. “Come in, please, Commissioner.”

  “Thank you.” Laryea entered and followed the justice to the sitting room.

  “Have a seat,” Julius said. “How can I help?”

  “Is Dr. Seeza at home?”

  Julius shook his head. “No, she’s out at the moment. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I see two vehicles outside—the BMW belongs to you. To whom does the Jaguar belong?”

  “To Doctor Seeza, but she’s not using it at the moment. She’s out with friends.”

  For a judge, Laryea thought, he’s a terrible liar.

  Julius started as shouts and sounds of a struggle came from outside. Laryea jumped up and pushed open the sliding glass door that led to the back patio. He ran around to the right side of the house, where he found Dr. Caroline Seeza writhing a
nd screaming on the ground as the constable tried to handcuff her.

  “What happened?” Laryea asked.

  “Found her in the bushes,” the constable said. “She was trying to hide something.”

  With his chin, the constable pointed at an object on the ground beside them: a silver vase.

  “Aha,” Laryea said with satisfaction.

  “What are you doing?” Julius screamed, coming up from behind Laryea. “Leave her alone!”

  He launched himself at the constable, fists flailing. Laryea pulled Julius off and wrestled him to the ground. Julius roared with fury.

  “Justice Seeza,” Laryea said, raising his voice above the din, “I’m arresting you for assaulting a police officer, for conspiracy to murder Araba Tagoe, and aiding and abetting the murder of same.”

  The constable got Caroline to her feet and brought her over to where Laryea was.

  “Cuff him too,” he said to the constable, and they switched places.

  Caroline had gone limp now, weeping pathetically with her head bowed.

  “Dr. Caroline Seeza, you are under arrest for the murder of Araba Tagoe.”

  “But I didn’t do it,” she wailed.

  Two arrests in one night, Laryea thought. Not bad at all.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Fourteen months after

  The next time Emma saw Dele Tetteyfio, there were packed boxes piled high inside and outside the house, and a group of young men had started to load them up into a truck.

  “Auntie, are you moving?” Emma asked in surprise.

  “Hi, Emma,” Dele said, smiling and sweating somewhat. “Yes, I’m getting a bigger place and a larger shop.”

  “Congrats,” Emma said.

  “Thank you. Oh, have a seat, or I should say, a box. Any one is fine.”