“So,” Hammond said with a tense, one-sided smile, “you’re here to show us how to solve a case, is that right?”
“Pardon?” Dawson said.
“The Western Region has had thirty-four homicides this year,” Hammond continued in a flat tone. “Headquarters won’t give us a regional crime lab, we don’t have enough crime scene technicians, and there’s a hiring freeze. Our resources are stretched to the limit, yet we’re expected to clear up all these cases in record time. Just four months on the Smith-Aidoo case and already Headquarters is breathing down my neck and sending a junior officer to supervise me.”
Stunned, Dawson struggled to find the right words. “Sorry, sir, but Chief Superintendent Lartey has sent me here in response to a petition and in assisting capacity only, not to disgrace or embarrass anyone, sir.”
They eyed each other in silence for a moment. Hammond heaved a sigh, as if he would rather not be bothered. “I see you have the docket with you. Do you have any questions?”
“Okay, thank you, sir,” Dawson said, now uncertain where to start. “I met Dr. Sapphire Smith-Aidoo last week in Accra. She told me about Jason Sarbah. When you spoke to him, did he blame the doctor or her uncle for the death of his daughter, Angela?”
The superintendent seemed wearied by the task of having to explain all this to Dawson. “Sarbah didn’t say that directly, but I know he is very bitter about the events that led up to Angela’s death.”
“Was he your prime suspect, sir?”
“At the beginning, yes, but his alibi is solid. The day of the ambush of the Smith-Aidoo’s vehicle, he was working at his real estate business. Two other people in the office confirmed that.”
Dawson had allowed his eye to stray as he tried to gauge what kind of man Hammond was. A folder with papers was in front of him, as well as a pen the superintendent had apparently been using to write some kind of report. His fingernails were medium long and cut square across, but like his hair, not that recently. His desk was piled with documents, but it was neither excessively jumbled nor chaotic. One drawer of a metal filing cabinet in the corner behind the superintendent was half open. Dawson decided Hammond was probably smart enough, but maybe not meticulous. He might be a little burned out too, Dawson thought. Or else I’ve burned him out because he’s just so disgusted to see me.
“What about a contract killing?” Dawson asked. “Sarbah hiring someone to do the job? Is that a possibility?”
