Children of the Street - страница 2

Agyekum was Detective Inspector Dawson’s rank equivalent, but as a general inspector he wore the standard, heavy, sweltering dark blue uniform of the Ghana Police Service (GPS) in contrast to CID’s plainclothesmen.

“Morning, Inspector.” Dawson shook hands, finishing with the customary mutual finger snap.

“I was starting my shift when a small boy came into the station,” Agyekum took up. “That’s him there with Constable Gyamfi.” He pointed his chin farther along the bank where a police constable stood over a boy of about eight sitting on the ground with his head down and his arms folded tightly across his skinny body.

“Many people saw the body,” Agyekum continued, “but because they fear the police, they just kept quiet. But the boy took it upon himself to run over to the Korle Bu station to report it.”

“He’s a brave young man,” Dawson said, looking over at the boy with approval. “And then?”

“Constable Gyamfi took the report in the station and brought it to me,” Agyekum said, “then the two of us returned with the boy. When I saw the body there, I decided to call the Crime Scene Unit.”

“Very good,” Dawson said. “Thank you.”

Dawson knew Police Constable Gyamfi from a previous case a year ago. He waved at the constable, who smiled and half waved, half saluted in return.

“Mr. Bright says he’s quite sure it’s a homicide,” Chikata said.

“Then it probably is,” Dawson said.

Deputy Superintendent Bright, a trained serologist, was head of the CSU team. His hunches were seldom wrong.

Dawson moved a little closer to the water, which was the color of tar and almost the same consistency. He winced at its relentless stench, but people living within smelling distance were used to it, or maybe just ignored it.

Bright and his two crime scene guys squelched around looking for an unlikely clue. There was so much garbage it would be a miracle if they found anything useful. Only Bright’s relentless thoroughness and commitment to excellence had deemed the search necessary. Others might have simply reeled the corpse in without bothering.

The garbage partially camouflaged the dead body, which was facedown. On casual glance, it could have been mistaken for a big clump of rubbish, and undoubtedly had been.

With glop sucking at his galoshes, Deputy Superintendent Bright joined Dawson and the other two men.

“Morning, Dawson.” His voice sounded like the bass notes of a bassoon. “Please excuse my appearance and odor.”

“Good morning, sir. I admire you for going in there.”

Bright looked down at his soiled outfit with a grimace. “These are the last of our hazardous materials garb, so fortunately or not, I won’t be doing this again for a while.”

“Any findings, sir?” Dawson asked.

“Besides the body? Nothing. Still suspect foul play, however. I know a dumped corpse when I see one. And this one is in terrible shape.”

“When are you bringing it in?”

“We’re almost ready for that now.”

“Can you wait a few minutes? I don’t want the boy to see that.”

“No problem, Dawson.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s good to have you around.” Dawson turned and trotted up the bank.

The boy was still with Police Constable Gyamfi, who was in his mid-twenties but looked so young he could have gone undercover as a high school student. As Dawson approached, Gyamfi’s face lit up with a smile of strong, white teeth-the kind that could snap the top off a beer bottle.

“Morning, Gyamfi,” Dawson said as they clasped hands. “How are you? It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yes, sir, and you too.”

“How’re the wife and new daughter?”

“Very well, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

Gyamfi was a recent import from the rural town of Ketanu in the Volta Region. With Dawson’s help and persistence, he had been transferred to the police force in Accra, not an easy achievement in the GPS. He was a good man with great integrity and promise.

Dawson looked down at the boy, who didn’t return the look. He wore torn cutoff jeans, a soiled black-and-white muscle shirt that was too big for him, and slippers that were falling apart on his dusty feet. He was staring at a point on the ground in front of him. Dawson knelt down.