Gold of Our Fathers - [23]

Dawson took Kobby aside. “I have been telling the Chinese man that we will be prosecuting him for the assault, but I don’t think it’s worth it, the way our courts and remand prisons are already clogged. So, unless you insist that we proceed, I intend to have the charges dropped and release him. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, sir,” Kobby said, nodding. “What he did is not worth so much palava. Thank you, boss.”

Getting started on the paperwork, Dawson decided he would carry out what the GPS sometimes did for offences it decided to overlook. Before release, Wei would be asked to sign a warning letter that said if he ever were to repeat such behavior, he would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. That was about as far as Dawson wanted to go.

CHAPTER TEN

Freed from jail, Wei had the task, along with the police, of notifying Bao’s wife that her husband had been murdered, but everyone including Wei agreed that the burdensome duty shouldn’t be done over the phone. Besides, for Dawson, it was always helpful to witness the reaction of the family member receiving the bad news, because those closest to the victim were so often involved in his or her murder.

Huang drove back to the mining site so that Wei could retrieve his pickup. Dawson thought about Bao’s vehicle. It shouldn’t be left alone for too much longer, as it was potentially a piece of evidence. “Does Wei have a spare key to Bao’s truck?” Dawson asked Mr. Huang.

Wei took out a substantial bunch of keys from his pocket and looked through. He found one and tried it in the door of the red pickup. It opened up.

“Thank you,” Dawson said, holding out his hand. “May I have it?”

Wei handed it over and Dawson gave it to Obeng. “Drive it to Obuasi for now,” he told the sergeant, “and then we’ll transfer it to Kumasi HQ when they can take it.” Dawson had no idea how packed Kumasi’s MTU was, but if it was anything like Accra’s, it would be jumbled and overflowing. Sometimes crime-related vehicles sat there for years.

With Dawson in the passenger seat, Wei took the lead to Kumasi, followed by Mr. Huang, whom Dawson had persuaded to help with translation when they paid the fateful visit to Bao’s wife. Wei drove like a maniac, even over the punishing Dunkwa-Obuasi portion of the journey. Dawson thought his internal organs were being rearranged. After a two-hour drive, they were back in Kumasi.

“Where do you live, Mr. Liu?” Dawson asked.

“Kwadaso Estate,” Wei responded, looking at him with a smile. The Chinese man seemed friendlier now that he was free and the stress had abated somewhat.

Dawson had heard the name, but wasn’t sure exactly where it was. At any rate, he thought he should know where Wei lived in case of an emergency. They were now on Melcom Road in the Ahodwo section of the city, passing The View Bar & Grill and a few hundred meters from that, a bed and breakfast called Four Villages Inn.

Wei turned right at J. Owusu Akyaw Street and pulled up to a black and gold metal gate three houses down on the right. He pumped his horn and a young watchman in a tattered pinkish T-shirt opened up and directed them to go through into the yard shaded with mango trees, where Wei picked a good spot to park behind a black late-model Kia SUV and a sleek silver Mercedes- Benz.

The front door was some kind of metal painted to vaguely resemble wood. The Ghanaian housemaid let Dawson and the two Chinese men into the air-conditioned house. She looked as if she never got enough to eat.

The sitting room was full of overstuffed shiny black imitation-leather sofas and chairs and black glossy tables with gold trim. In fact, gold seemed to be everywhere-a kind of assault on the senses. The dining area and kitchen were comparatively small, both with a lot of gleaming plastic and glass.

“Please, you can have a seat,” the housemaid said softly. “I’m going to call her.”

Wei and Huang sat on one sofa, but Dawson took a look at some framed family photographs on a black-lacquered sideboard. One was a posed color portrait of a twenty-something man in a suit and tie and a woman with a frilly lilac blouse standing close together and smiling out at the camera-Bao and his wife, Dawson guessed, perhaps fifteen to twenty years ago. Another was an old sepia photograph of a large group of what Dawson imagined was extended family, with all the little ones in the front. It struck Dawson that no one was smiling in the photos. Everyone appeared stiff.

Dawson turned to Huang. “What is Bao’s wife’s name?”

“Lian,” he replied.

“Does that mean something in Chinese?”

Huang thought about it for a moment. “Something like graceful flower.”

As he said that, a woman appeared at the doorway leading farther into the house. She was tiny, girl-like, and pretty, with dark hair pulled back from her face to accentuate her defined cheekbones. She looked puzzled at the sight of the three men in her sitting room.

Wei stood up, appearing nervous. “Lian, nǐ hǎo,” he said, coming forward to clasp both her hands.

She seemed to sense his edginess and responded uneasily.