Chapters (109)
- Part One
- ONE
- One day earlier
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- PART TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EIGHTY-FIVE
- EIGHTY-SIX
- EIGHTY-SEVEN
- EIGHTY-EIGHT
- EIGHTY-NINE
- NINETY
- NINETY-ONE
- NINETY-TWO
- NINETY-THREE
- NINETY-FOUR
- NINETY-FIVE
- NINETY-SIX
- NINETY-SEVEN
- NINETY-EIGHT
- NINETY-NINE
- GLOSSARY
- Acknowledgments
- Continue reading
- Part One
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
Laryea was doubtful. “Well, we’ll see if Yahya confesses to anything further, but I’m afraid your case is not that strong, Quaino. It’s very blurry around the edges. You understand what I mean by that? It’s not solid at all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The motive is not well defined, and if this jacket is the only physical evidence tying Yahya to the crime of murder, it won’t stand up well in court.”
“But he will confess,” Quaino said with confidence. “I am certain of that.”
FIFTY-SIX
FIFTY-SIX
April 3, Akosombo, Ghana
Gordon Tilson hadn’t smoked in decades and he didn’t know how or why the urge had suddenly materialized. Standing at the side of the Riverview Cottage, he puffed away at his second cigarette for the night. The bubbling sound of the river was soothing, and he needed that. One o’clock in the morning and he couldn’t sleep.
His visit to Akosombo had been eventful but he couldn’t say successful, exactly. He had met with Kweku Ponsu four days ago, but it hadn’t gone as well as Gordon had hoped. At first, under the watchful eye of the twins Clifford or Clement, the conversation had been easygoing enough—where Gordon was from in the States, how long he had been in Ghana and where he was staying in Akosombo, and so on.
When Ponsu asked Gordon about the purpose of the visit, Yahya quickly answered for Gordon in some local language and the response appeared to have satisfied Ponsu—something to the effect that Gordon was writing a book about traditions in Ghana.
Gordon wanted to learn about Ponsu’s involvement with sakawa boys and how the system worked. What, specifically, did they come to Ponsu for? What did they pay him? How did Ponsu communicate with the gods, and so on?
Ponsu’s responses were evasive and unhelpful. He sat there, passive as a block of wood. Gordon tried to entice him to say more by initially handing him a hundred dollars in crisp bills.
“Mr. Ponsu, do you know the director-general of CID, Commissioner Alex Andoh?” Gordon asked.
“No, sir. I do not.”
“Do you know of him being involved in sakawa?” Gordon asked.
“Not at all.”
“What about Inspector General Akrofi?”
“What’s your question?”
“You know him? Does he do all this sakawa stuff too?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
And on it went. Gordon asking more questions and Ponsu remaining as impenetrable as Fort Knox. And then Gordon lost it. He was frustrated and angry. Ponsu was a liar. Of course, he knew all these top guys—MPs, police commissioners, and the like.
“The truth will come out,” was Gordon’s parting shot to Ponsu. “And then we’ll see how the whole corrupt system works.”