by Kwei Quartey
“A dangerous obsession,” Paula observed.
“Yes,” Agyekum said, “but there was one big problem: Oliver. Sometimes Jost would watch him playing around with Heather in the pool. That made him crazy with jealousy, and he began plotting to get the couple apart. He tried to gain Heather’s trust, and little by little she became more free with him—maybe regarding him as kind of father figure. One day, when he asked her about her parents, she poured out her troubles about her relationship with her mother, who is sick with multiple sclerosis. Heather told him she rarely shared that with anyone, and he felt proud that she had confided in him.
“Then he began to slowly poison her mind about Oliver, persuading her that he was using her as a cash machine and a means of getting to the United States. His tactic must have worked, culminating that Sunday when she and Oliver had their big argument and decided to part ways.”
“She trusted Mr. Miedema,” Paula said, seeing it clearly. “That’s how he was able to sway her against Oliver. Miedema knew how to inspire trust while lying to her face. I know that because I myself fell victim to his deception.”
“If only Heather could have seen through him the way you eventually did,” Agyekum said. “His fantasy was that her ending her romance with Oliver meant she was turning to Miedema as her new love. When she called him that fateful night to say she had broken free, as he called it, he invited her down for some champagne to celebrate. He told me in the interrogation that it was possibly the happiest day of his life in a very long time. After he and Heather had talked a while, he suggested they go for a swim and look up at the stars, which were brilliant that particular night.
“Heather went back up to her room and returned in a new tangerine swimsuit Miedema had never seen before. He thought she looked lovely in it and she told him it had been a gift from Oliver. His whole world changed in a second. He said to me that he felt as though he had been slashed across the face with a dagger. He asked Heather why she was wearing a gift from a man she hated, to which she replied that she didn’t hate Oliver at all. They had parted ways romantically because she did not see her future with him, but it wasn’t the same as hating him, and although she was no longer going to sleep with him, she was still going to work with him at the school.”
“Out of wishful thinking,” Paula said, “Jost had misinterpreted the motive behind the breakup.”
“He had,” Agyekum agreed. “When he and Heather went out to the pool, he turned off the lights—but not to kill Heather, as you might be thinking. It was so that they could see the stars better. But all the time they were in the nice warm water looking up at those stars, he could not stop thinking about the tangerine swimming outfit. It was eating his soul, but it was what happened next that delivered the full shock to him. Heather suddenly blurted out that she thought she had just made a mistake—that she had been too hasty with Oliver and now she wanted him back.”
“It must have shattered Jost’s whole, elaborate fantasy,” Paula said.
“He says he felt like he was being buried alive. He became frantic, telling Heather he couldn’t bear it if she left him, that he loved her and wanted to be with her forever—that he was even planning to fly her to the Netherlands to visit with him. Then, according to him, Heather’s behavior abruptly changed at that point. He describes her as becoming hostile and telling him she wouldn’t dream of being in a relationship with an old man like him, that she would prefer Oliver any day.”
“I don’t believe she said it that way,” Paula interjected, shaking her head. “Knowing Heather, I doubt that she was anything less than tactful with him.”
“I’m sure you are right, Mrs. Djan. Whatever she said, Heather excused herself and began to leave the pool. Miedema says he felt, even heard, something snap in his mind, and he hit her hard across the side of her head. It knocked her back, and for a moment she was speechless. But then she tried to scream and he became even more enraged. He pushed her underwater and never let her up again. Her writhing, her resistance to him was like pouring fuel on a fire. The more she fought him, the more he wanted to kill her.”
Her hand over her open mouth, Paula was transfixed by the vivid picture of terror and violence that Agyekum was painting.
“Miedema claims he barely remembers the struggle,” the chief inspector said, “and that it was like a dream. When it was all over, he was dazed, but he remembers walking back to his chalet, fetching his camera and returning to take a picture of Heather’s dead body in the water. The orange swimsuit troubled him, so he removed it and took a final photograph and video of her naked. He said it was a hauntingly beautiful image, and although he kept urging himself to erase the evidence from his computer, he was unable to do it. He was always wanting to look at it just one more time.”
“Hauntingly beautiful,” Paula echoed with a shudder. “How sad. How sick.”
“Yes, Mrs. Djan. Mr. Miedema spent the rest of that night thinking that the body would be spotted and the police would soon be knocking on his door, but when morning came and he went to the pool, there Heather was, just as he had left her, and he realized he had escaped detection—at least he thought he had, and there began his subterfuge. Which would have worked, had it not been for you. You should be proud, madam.”
“Thank you,” she said, “but not proud. Just glad.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
No one at High Street Academy was expecting Paula’s return to school on Thursday, but she couldn’t miss the tribute to Heather, even if she had to be carried there on a stretcher. Against the protests of both her doctor and Thelo, she had signed herself out of Korle Bu on Wednesday night.
Thelo insisted on taking her, telling her she was crazy if she thought he would let her drive herself to High Street Academy. Then Stephan and Stephanie got wind of the upcoming students’ performance and begged to join Paula and miss half a day of their own school.
Paula had two stops to make before their final destination, however. Thelo pulled up in front of the Voyager and waited in the car with the twins as Paula went in. The desk clerk told her Edward was in his office and waved her through. She knocked at his door.
“Paula!” he exclaimed as she came in. “What a sight for sore eyes. Wonderful to see you again. How are you doing?”
“Very well, thanks, Edward. Well, actually I feel a little wobbly, but it will pass.”
“Oh, dear, oh dear,” he said, concerned. “Please, have a seat.”
He guided her to the most comfy chair and sat opposite her.
“Thank you,” she said. “And what about you? I know you were very fond of Jost. How are you holding up?”
He cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. “Of course, it’s been painful for me, but as the proverb says, when the delicious meal goes bad, you don’t want to eat it anymore.”
She nodded. “You are pragmatic, and that’s why you’re a successful hotel manager.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, laughing. “Is there anything I can help you with, dear Paula?”
“I certainly hope so. I’m here to make an appeal.”
“Of course.”
“The turning point in Heather’s case was due in large part to Amadu and his powers of observation. At the very least, I think he deserves to be rehired.”
“I see,” Edward said, considering it for a moment. “All right, that’s fair. I’ll call him this morning.”
“Thank you. One other thing, though. He should be officially recognized and rewarded.”
Edward raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean—some kind of award ceremony?”
“That’s fine,” she said brightly. “In fact I think that’s a nice idea. It will build up morale again at the hotel. Unfortunately, however, ceremonies don’t pay bills. A raise is what he needs.”
He groaned. “Ah, Paula, you’re killing me.”
“If it wasn’t for him, a murderer might have gone scot free,” she pressed. “Come on, Edward. Have a heart. The boy is in need.”
“Thank you. You’re an angel.”
Her second stop was at the Ghana Herald building, where she found John Prempeh in his cluttered office.
“Ah, Mrs. Djan!” he exclaimed, jumping up. “To what do I owe this exceptional pleasure?”
He hastily cleared a stack of documents off a chair and offered it to her before sitting down again at his desk. “I understand you were involved in quite a bit of excitement at the Voyager Hotel.”
“Yes, I was,” she said evenly. “Would you like the exclusive story?”
Prempeh’s eyes lit up. “Well, yes. Are you offering it to me?”
“Interested?”
“But of course.”
She smiled generously. “Then you shall have it. On one condition, though.”
He looked wary. “What’s that?”
“That you run an editorial refuting all the lies you told about High Street Academy.”
“What lies?” he asked innocently.
“Don’t play with me, Prempeh. You know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t think I can run such an editorial.”
“Fine,” she said, standing up. “I have a friend at the Graphic, your rival paper. They’ll be happy to get the story and run the editorial against you. Especially when they find out who the so-called reliable source was for your article.”
Prempeh’s right cheek twitched. “What do you mean?”
She leaned across his desk until her face came unnervingly close to his. “You think I haven’t figured it out? On the day the pathologist’s report came out about the supposedly high levels of alcohol detected in Heather’s bloodstream, you wanted some background on it to spice up your story, so you got in touch with Jost Miedema to see if he had some additional information. That was perfect for him, because he realized that if he could strengthen the falsehood that Heather drank heavily and drowned by accident, the case would quickly be closed and further ensure that he escaped detection. Am I right so far?”
Prempeh, his eyes wide and his jaw clamped tight, said nothing and tried to move back from her.
“So,” she continued confidently, “on condition of anonymity, Miedema fed you the lie that Heather was severely depressed because of an oppressive workload and terrible working conditions at the Academy. And you happily printed it without making an effort to verify the facts. Now, how would you like the whole world to know that your reliable source is an accused murderer? What is that going to do for the reputation of John Prempeh and the Ghana Herald?”
He swallowed. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
“I’ve already written the editorial,” Paula said, stepping back and reaching into her briefcase. “All you need to do is post it.”
She handed it to him and he grasped it gingerly using only his thumb and index finger like pincers—as though the two pages were an explosive device. He read it through with visible discomfort. The editorial apologized for misrepresenting the facts about the Academy, touted the school’s many achievements, and set the record straight about Heather. She had been happy, had not been overworked, was not depressed, and had not drunk herself to the point of dangerous intoxication. Nor had she accidentally drowned. She had been murdered, and the accused had been captured.
Prempeh sighed heavily. “I’ll have to run it by the chief, and do a bit of editing.”
“You tell me now which edits you’re going to make,” she said firmly, still not trusting him. “I have time.”
He wanted to change some words and phrases around, and since none of the adjustments significantly altered the message of the piece, Paula agreed to them.
“Can I have your story now?” Prempeh said hopefully, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Call me when your boss has approved the editorial and it has been printed,” she said pleasantly, “and then we’ll meet and I’ll tell you all about the Voyager Hotel murder and how I solved it.”
As they got closer to the school, Paula felt more and more eager to see her students again. Stephan and Stephanie were chattering excitedly with each other, both hoping to meet some of the friends they had made during their first visit to the Academy.
When they arrived and got out of the car, Thelo took the twins by the hand and held them back with him a little as Paula went on ahead. She rounded the corner and was met with the sight of all her students in the yard perfecting their performance of a traditional Ga sea shanty as Gale conducted them. Their voices trailed off as they saw her, Gale spun around to see what they were staring at, and then pandemonium broke loose. The kids jumped up and down for joy, and yelled, “Madam Paula! Madam Paula!” She opened her arms wide, and they ran to her for one big, collective embrace.
THE END
About the Author
Kwei Quartey
Photo by James De Pietro
KWEI QUARTEY is a crime fiction writer and physician living in Pasadena, California. Having practiced medicine for more than 20 years while simultaneously working as a writer, he has attained noteworthy achievements in both fields. Dr. Quartey balances the two professions by dedicating the early morning hours to writing before beginning a day in his clinic.
Kwei Quartey attended medical school at Howard University in Washington, D.C. In 1990, he began practicing medicine in California with HealthCare Partners. Dr. Quartey later founded the facility's wound care center while working as an urgent care physician.
As a crime fiction writer, Kwei Quartey made the Los Angeles Times Bestseller List in 2009. The following year, the G.O.G. National Book Club awarded him the title of Best Male Author. Having published Wife of the Gods and Children of the Street, he is anticipating the release of a third novel in the series, Murder at Cape Three Points, in March 2014. Dr. Quartey is also a member of the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime, a fiction writers’ organization.
Visit Kwei at his website: http://www.kweiquartey.com
