“Oh,” Sly said, looking a little disappointed. He looked at Hosiah. “I’ll race you to the coconut trees.”
They took off, Sly holding back somewhat so that he wouldn’t beat Hosiah by a great margin. Dawson rejoined Christine and the others near a set of chairs and tables in the shade of the coconut palm, where they had a perfect view of the bay formed by two forested promontories on either side.
“This is the life,” Christine said. “I could live here.”
“Me too,” Akosua said.
“Fine,” Abraham cracked. “When we depart, we’ll leave you ladies both behind.”
“Hmm,” Akosua said. “Who’s going to cook for you?”
A white man in shorts and slippers approached them at a leisurely pace. He was of average height with a rotund belly, a fiery head of red hair, and a hircine beard streaked with grey.
“Mr. Cardiman?”
“Yes, and you must be Inspector Dawson. Welcome, sir!”
His voice resembled paper clips rattling in a tin, which suggested to Dawson a man who enjoyed an unfettered, somewhat jumbled life.
“This is a beautiful place,” Dawson said as he shook hands.
He introduced Chikata, the three other adults, and the two boys. Cardiman bent forward and playfully rubbed their heads.
“I’m sure you lads can’t wait to get into the water, eh?”
“You are reading their minds correctly,” Dawson said.
“Well, it’s low tide and will remain so for a few hours yet,” Cardiman said jovially, “so it’s a perfect time to go in.”
“My cousin can go in with them while we talk,” Dawson said.
“Come on, boys,” Abraham said. “Let’s go and change.”
Sly and Hosiah raced off excitedly in front of their uncle.
“Shall we go to my office, gentlemen?” Cardiman said to Dawson and Chikata.
“See you ladies later,” Dawson said.
Lazing in the lounge chairs, neither woman was paying much attention to him.
A ROOM IN Cardiman’s house served as the office. His desk, a muddle of papers crowding out two laptops, confirmed Dawson’s first impressions: the man was a little scattered, but happy with it. Facing Cardiman, Dawson and Chikata sat down in a pair of cushioned chairs along the wall. A pleasant cross breeze passed through the two mosquito-screened windows.
“I know you are anxious to talk about the Smith-Aidoo murders, Inspector,” Cardiman said.
“Did you know them well?”
“I knew Charles as well as I wanted to, but I met his wife only once, and that was when they visited me here at Ezile on that fateful Monday.”
“What was the purpose of their visit?”
