Children of the Street - [44]

“I’m still not sure about the signature. Why chop off Musa’s fingers but not do something similar to Ebenezer?”

“Evidently that macabre twisting of the head is similar in the mind of the offender.”

“Wait,” Dawson said, snapping his fingers. “Dr. Botswe, you said the killer does what? Throws the body in a distasteful place.”

“Yes, that’s right. What is it, Inspector?”

Dawson sprang to his feet. “I’m a fool,” he said. “The killer didn’t drag the body here. He threw it.”

Dawson turned, leapt across the gutter, and ran out the railway station’s entrance. Now on the outside of the wall running along Nkrumah Avenue’s sidewalk, he turned left and trotted up about thirty meters to four concrete blocks piled on top of one another next to the wall. Stepping up on them brought Dawson’s shoulders past the top of the wall. He could easily see everything on the other side. The garbage dump was right below him.

Botswe looked up as Dawson’s head appeared, and the light of realization dawned on his face.

Dawson returned to him at the crime scene. “You get me now?”

“Yes, I believe I do, Inspector.”

“Here is my theory,” Dawson said. “Level with the garbage dump on the pavement the other side of the wall, there’s a stack of concrete blocks. The sidewalk is wide enough to accommodate any size vehicle, even up to an SUV. The killer drives up with the dead body in the boot or whatever. He mounts the sidewalk with the vehicle, backing it up to the concrete blocks. He stands on those while dragging the dead body out of the boot, then tosses the body over the wall.”

As they were talking, CSU arrived. There were four of them, including Bright.

“We meet again,” Dawson said.

“And in the same kind of place,” Bright observed. “Smelly and dirty.”

“Aptly put,” Botswe said. “Part and parcel of the signature.”

Bright looked at him, wondering who he was. Dawson introduced them.

Chikata came up. “Dawson, Issa is with a friend who says he might know the victim.”

“Good,” Dawson said. “Let’s go and talk to him.”

Dawson followed Chikata to where Issa and his friend stood next to the gutter.

“Hi, Issa,” Dawson said. “What’s happening?”

“This is Jonathan,” Issa said, indicating the boy beside him. “He says maybe he knows the dead girl.”

Jonathan looked to be sixteen or so. He had a lazy eye. “I heard someone say her name is Comfort,” he said, “and I know a girl called Comfort.”

“Who is that someone?” Dawson asked.

“I don’t know the man,” Jonathan said. “He was here earlier, but he’s gone now. I heard him telling people that he recognized that girl and that her name is Comfort and that she’s a head porter at Agbogbloshie Market.”

“What did this man look like?”

“Tall,” Jonathan said, lifting his right hand high above his head. “And thin like he hasn’t eaten for two months.”

“How old?”

“Maybe… thirty? I don’t know. He looks old.”

“Was he wearing some colorful clothes?” Issa said.

“Eh-heh, yes,” Jonathan said. “Some crazy orange and purple clothes.”

“Then that must be Flash,” Issa said. “The prostitutes at Timber Market pay him to use a tent belonging to Tedamm.”

Tedamm. Again.

“And you think you might know the same Comfort this guy Flash was talking about?” Dawson asked Jonathan.

“I know one Comfort Mahama who is a kayayo at Agbogbloshie Market.”

“Are you willing to look at the body and identify her if possible?”

Jonathan looked nervously at Issa, who said to Dawson, “Please, can I go with him? He’s afraid.”

“Sure.”

The three of them walked over to where the girl lay under the sheet.

Dawson looked at Jonathan. “Ready?”

Issa put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. Jonathan swallowed and nodded.

Dawson uncovered the girl’s head, shining his flashlight on her.

“Yes,” Jonathan said tightly. “It’s her.”

“You’re sure?” Dawson said.

“Please, yes, I’m sure.”

Issa drew in his breath sharply, looking at Dawson in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” Dawson said.

“Please, she’s the same girl I saw with Tedamm and his boys tonight.”

28

Chikata stood slightly behind Dawson in the morgue at the autopsy table as Dr. Biney looked over Comfort’s body. It was his first autopsy of the morning.

“Age sixteen to seventeen,” Biney said. “There’s a penetrating knife wound to the back on the right side, identical to the two previous cases we’ve seen.”

“Any mutilations like Musa’s?” Dawson asked.

“Yes, there are.”

George, the venerable morgue attendant, turned the corpse over.

“Here are those mutilations, Inspector,” Dr. Biney said. “Deep wounds to both knees inflicted well beyond the joint capsule, followed by excision of both patellae. In other words, wholesale removal of the kneecaps. Almost as if he scooped them out.”

“Like the amputation of Musa’s fingers.”

“Yes, but there’s something else. I see signs she was raped.”

“Raped,” Dawson said, startled. “Oh. Now I’m confused.”

“Why?” Chikata asked.

“Rape says sexual homicide,” Dawson said, “and that’s not what the other two were.”

“Maybe Dr. Botswe can shed some light on this?” Biney suggested.

“I agree,” Dawson said. “I had him come to the crime scene, so I’ll go back and tell him about this rape thing.”