He heard a soft sound and turned to see Richard Sarbah entering the room. He was of average height but exceptionally solid in the chest and shoulders. His hair was jet black, and Dawson thought he must dye it. If his son, Jason, was in his mid to late forties, Richard had to be in his early seventies, at least. On the other hand, he appeared youthful in posture, and his age was difficult to place from his appearance alone.
“Mr. Sarbah?” Dawson rose from his chair.
“Yes, please. You say your name is?”
“Dawson. Inspector Darko Dawson.”
“Ah, I see.” He had a slightly hoarse voice, but it didn’t trigger Dawson’s senses. They shook hands.
“Please, have a seat.” Sarbah sat in a facing chair. “I don’t usually accept visits from strangers, especially at this time of the night, but Forjoe tells me you’re a friend.”
“Yes,” Dawson said, going along with it. “I’m investigating the murder of Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo.”
His face revealed a flicker of interest. “So what can I help you with?”
“Jason Sarbah at Malgam Oil is your son, is that correct, sir?”
“Yes. Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” Dawson said pleasantly. “Just checking that I have the right Sarbah. As part of my investigation, sir, I’ve been looking into the Smith-Aidoos’ and Sarbahs’ past. I understand Tiberius and Bessie were your parents?”
“Yes.”
“Your father was once accused of killing Bessie and Robert, is that correct?”
Sarbah closed his eyes and rubbed his brow slowly, as if he had a headache. “Please, Inspector Dawson, this is not a memory I enjoy discussing.”
“I understand it must be painful,” he said gently. He was going to be empathetic, but he wouldn’t let Richard evade any questions either. “However it’s important. I was ordered here by CID Headquarters to assist the Sekondi police with the investigation, so that’s what I must do. Any details you can provide are much appreciated, Mr. Sarbah.”
“And if I choose not to?”
Dawson remained polite. “Then there are one or two options. I can return daily to question you, which will become quite tiresome-for you, not for me. Or would you prefer to join me at the police station for interrogation?”
“Very well.” He sighed. “My father Tiberius married Bessie Smith in England in 1925. They had two children-my sister, Abigail, and me. I never knew her because she died of meningitis in 1932, and I was born in 1938. Bessie and Tiberius divorced each other in 1940.”
“By that time,” Dawson said in a neutral a tone as possible, “your mother was already having an affair with Mr. R.E. Aidoo, is that correct?”
