“Yes,” Forjoe said, nodding. His expression was friendly. “Especially the young ones who can’t afford to buy a new canoe. You know, now the wood is expensive, and the government doesn’t allow certain trees to be cut. The fishing is tough too. Not so much fish in the sea anymore.”
“Oh, I see,” Dawson said. He had heard about the troubles plaguing the fishing industry. “It makes life hard, eh?”
Forjoe turned the corners of his mouth down. “Very hard.” He looked at Dawson with curiosity. “Why? Do you want to hire a canoe?”
“Oh, no,” Dawson said with a smile. “I just have a question, Forjoe. Last July, someone killed a man and his wife and took them out to sea in a canoe, all the way to one of the oil rigs. Did you hear about it?”
Forjoe’s expression changed abruptly. “Are you a policeman?”
“Yes.”
Forjoe shook his head as if to say, I can’t help you.
Dawson was used to this kind of reticence. People became very uncomfortable and tight-lipped with police questioning, often afraid that they were under suspicion.
Abraham came to his rescue. “Forjoe, he’s not here to make any trouble for you. CID sent him from Accra to help the Sekondi police.”
“Oh, okay.” Forjoe appeared to relax, although not completely.
“We think that late on the night of Monday, seventh July, after the killers murdered the Smith-Aidoos,” Dawson said, “they put the dead bodies in a canoe and used a second one to tow it out to sea.”
“Starting from where?” Forjoe asked.
Excellent question, Dawson thought. “That I don’t know, but that Monday night, there was a full moon, so I’m hoping that maybe some fishermen might have spotted the canoes.”
Forjoe frowned. “But you won’t find any fishermen at sea late on a Monday, sir.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because we can’t fish overnight. It’s a taboo to fish on Tuesdays.”
“Oh,” Dawson said, flattened like an insect underfoot. He had forgotten that by ancient tradition, the sea is a goddess who must rest one day a week. Why it was Tuesday in most fishing communities along Ghana’s coast, Dawson did not know.
Abraham looked at him ruefully. “He’s right. I should have thought of that.”
“On Mondays,” Forjoe continued, “rather than going to sea, most fishermen concentrate on selling as much fish as possible from the weekend’s catch. Monday is a big market day. We never miss it.”
“So, no one rented a canoe from you on that day,” Dawson said, disappointed and clutching at straws.
“No, sir.”
