The Missing American Read online

  Finally, a young—very young—female doctor came out to Derek. Was he getting old or was this a child prodigy?

  “We had to intubate Mr. Guttenberg,” she explained. “He was hypoxic breathing on his own. Looks like he has pneumonia, or it could be lung cancer, or both. He’ll be going up to the ICU as soon as we get a bed.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Derek asked. “In other words, should I stick around for a while?”

  She wiggled her lips around. “We’re not sure of his prognosis just yet, but I would say he’s stable for now. I mean, you could go home and get some rest, come back in the morning. If anything comes up, we can always call you, but at this point there’s not much you can do.”

  Derek nodded. “Thanks. I’ll come back tomorrow, then.”

  As he drove home, Derek wondered how and why life had become so sad and grim. Had he been a religious man, he would have asked if God was punishing him. Now Derek recalled something that had been buried in the excitement. Cas had been trying to say something before becoming completely overwhelmed by his coughing fits. “I’ve done an awful thing,” he had said. And after that, he started to say he shouldn’t have . . . what?

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  June 18, Accra, Ghana

  Sowah called Emma into his office after the morning brief. “Have a seat, Emma. I want to talk to you about the Tilson case.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ve found Mr. Gordon Tilson as his son requested. This was a classic missing person case with a terrible outcome. We wish it could have been a happy ending. Unfortunately, it was not.”

  “Yes,” Emma said. “Very sad.”

  “Despite that,” Sowah continued, “we have fulfilled the task Derek assigned to us. The rest, namely finding who actually killed Gordon Tilson, is now in the hands of the police.”

  Emma felt her dismay rising as she realized what Sowah was driving at. “You mean we’re not going to keep on investigating?”

  “As I said, it’s now in CID’s court. Let them handle it. We are under no obligation to investigate, especially now that DCOP Laryea is overseeing Quaino and Damptey. Laryea is a straight shooter. He will see to it.”

  “Oh,” Emma said, defeated.

  “Why so downhearted?”

  “I promised . . .”

  “Promised what?”

  “I promised Derek we would find the culprit.”

  “And we will. Maybe not you and I specifically, but the culprit will be found.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I can see you’re disappointed,” Sowah said, smiling a little. “I know you would have liked to be the one to bring Mr. Tilson’s murderer in, but I would rather we don’t tangle with murderers if we don’t have to.”

  “Of course, sir. You’re right.”

  “In the meantime, I have a brand-new case for you.”

  At her desk, Emma wrestled with her feelings of profound letdown. She agreed that the flavor of the case had changed: a missing person was now a murdered one, and her boss didn’t want her exposed to some potentially dangerous men, but she felt empty and unfulfilled leaving it at that. The logical next step after finding Gordon so hideously murdered was to find out who did it.

  Emma’s phone rang and to her surprise, it was Bruno. He almost never called her.

  “Bruno, what a miracle,” she said dryly.

  “Oh, chaley.” He laughed. “How be, sis?”

  “By God’s grace. And you?”

  “I’m good, oo. Are you at work?”

  “Yes, I am. What’s up?”

  “I have a question for you.”

  “Okay,” Emma said. “Go ahead.”

  “You go to some place every Sunday—what is it called?”

  “Autism Center.”

  “Ah, autism. I see. Those children, they can’t talk, or what?”

  “Some do, some don’t. For example, Kojo, my favorite is thirteen years old and up till now, he doesn’t speak, but he can draw very well. Why do you ask about it?”

  “Some guy told me they be devil children. Is it true?”

  “No, it’s not,” Emma said. “As for we Ghanaians, as soon as we fear something or don’t understand it, then we call it juju, or the devil, or curses. But it’s not like that.”

  “Ah, okay. What about his mother and father?”

  “His father, I have no idea where he is,” Emma said. “But Abena, his mother is a very nice woman. Normally, they visit me on Sunday evenings. Why don’t you come to my house this Sunday to meet them?”

  “Okay,” Bruno said, with a slight hesitation. “I will do that.”

  When Emma ended the call, she toyed with a happy fantasy that Bruno would be quite taken by Kojo and might show an interest in helping at the Autism Center. Somehow, though, she didn’t believe that would happen.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  June 19

  After much back and forth, a court order to the Apple Corporation granted the American Embassy Legat office in Accra access to Gordon Tilson’s iCloud emails. Had those emails never been stored in the cloud, the FBI would never have seen any of these messages no matter how hard they tried to persuade Apple to enable them to break into Tilson’s phone.

  Gordon Tilson

  February 24 at 8:05 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  Hey Cas—thought about what we discussed, but seriously, I feel like I should cut my losses and just get the hell out.

  ~

  Casper Guttenberg

  February 24 at 12:32 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: GTilson

  Ok, got it. I guess I understand, though I’m disappointed—not in you personally, that’s not what I’m saying, but occasionally, a chance to make an impact comes along, and I was hoping you would take that chance.

  There are signs that lots of Internet scam survivors are taking back the power by going to Ghana and confronting them. Watch this YouTube clip https://bit.ly/2CFEDi8 in which a European woman went to Ghana to hunt down her scammer. She got him, he was arrested and his house and car, both ill-gotten, were sold off by the authorities and the funds returned to the her. Very satisfying.

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  February 24 at 8:57 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  Outrageous how luxurious the scammer’s house was on that video. And an Escalade parked outside no less. I wonder what kind of car my scammer drives.

  ~

  Casper Guttenberg

  February 24 at 2:16 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: GTilson

  Makes one’s blood boil to think of these guys living in the lap of luxury all financed by stolen money. Well, maybe you can find out what kind of vehicle your scammer drives! It’s rumored some of them have Lamborghinis. How is that even possible? Still think you should at least try get in touch with the Sana Sana guy. And maybe Josephine, as well.

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  February 27 at 7:22 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  You get my text yesterday? I reached Sana Sana via his FB page, kind of surprised he responded, but he’s interested and, whatever it’s worth, wants to meet with me next week on Thursday March 5

  ~

  Casper Guttenberg

  February 27 at 12:07 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: GTilson

  Outstanding you’ll be meeting with Sana! I think it’s worth at least a discussion with him. I’m betting he has a lot more resources at his disposal than we know. How about Josephine? Still undecided whether to reach out to her?

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  March 1 at 1:46 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

 
To: CGuttenberg

  Sana called today recommending I move out of Kempinski Hotel to somewhere more “sequestered,” as he put it. He said Kempinski is one of those places to be “noticed,” whether intentionally or not, and if Sana (or anyone else) wanted to come to visit me in private, Kempinski is exactly the wrong place. Not to mention their rigid security here—guards everywhere for these big shots who breeze in and out of the hotel. They notice everyone who enters and leaves. I’m moving to another location tomorrow morning.

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  March 2 at 8:42 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  At my new accommodations, now, a B&B called Flamingo Lodge owned by a Dutch woman who’s lived in Ghana practically all her life. Lovely woman, and her place is great with all the amenities including meals cooked on the spot by a chef, and a great espresso machine.

  And you’ll be proud of me: I’ll be meeting with Josephine tomorrow.

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  March 3 at 6:31 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  Very interesting meeting with Josephine Akrofi today. We met late afternoon and had coffee. Of course, she looked incredible, but in the different setting of Ghana as against Washington, she seemed very different. It’s all context, I guess. She’s the master of her domain, confident, competent, and quite rich. She didn’t pour scorn over me at all, in fact, she bemoaned the present state and extent of Internet scams and the pain people like me are being put through. Indirectly I asked her about possible collusion of highly placed officials—government or otherwise—in the scams, and she became kinda defensive about it. In the same breath, she castigated Sana Sana—ripped him to shreds really—even without my having brought him up. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’ll be meeting Sana in a few days. I don’t want to antagonize her, but it’s clear whose side she’s on—her husband’s, the IGP, and the “establishment,” and why should she not be? She lives a really cushy life with all the trimmings and perks. Talk about the one percent!

  ~

  Casper Guttenberg

  March 4 at 2:09 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: GTilson

  Fascinating. Would be intriguing if her “defensiveness” has something to do with her own knowledge of highly placed people who are in on these online cons. She’s not going to squeal on them if they belong to her inner circle. You’re in the driver’s seat obviously and I don’t want to be a backseat driver, but I would mention your meeting with Josephine to Sana when you see him. Tell him you have a possible “in” on this via Josephine. I feel you shouldn’t avoid her, even if she seems a little distant to you compared to when you met her in Washington.

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  March 5 at 11:11 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  I met the famous/infamous Sana today at a secluded, wooded area outside of town. He had his signature “cap and beads,” and at first it was a weird experience talking to him, but after a little while I got accustomed to it and it even felt kind of normal. He took down all the details of my story and asked me to forward my WhatsApp conversations with “Helena.” He seemed a little surprised by my interest in the wider scope of my being conned, i.e. how far up this thing all goes. He said most white people just want to catch the con artists, get their money back, and get the hell out. I suppose it has to do with my connection with Ghana. I spent a great two years of my life here as a Peace Corps guy, I met my wife here, I came back to Ghana with her multiple times to visit, and on top of all that, when you think of it, Derek is half Ghanaian. So, when I see all this crap ruining this country, I guess I basically care more than the average “oburoni.”

  Sana told me some chilling stories of how groups of “sakawa boys” now organize into factions based on their location where they can then exercise control over the local police or even chiefs in that specific area. Someone high up in the government or police force can then oversee a cluster of these factions and make money off them in return for protection. Reputedly, at the top of the whole pile is one guy whose name is, appropriately, “Godfather,” but I’m not sure if that’s just urban legend.

  ~

  Casper Guttenberg

  March 7 at 7:11 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: GTilson

  This is some amazing work you’re doing, Gordon. I think we have enough for me to begin drafting the first write-up. Great job, my friend.

  ~

  Gordon Tilson

  March 22 at 11:36 a.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: CGuttenberg

  Started with diarrhea last night, something I ate, I guess. Feeling pretty lousy, I’ll go get something from the pharmacy down the street. The pharmacies are very well stocked here. Beginning to feel I should call it quits in Ghana and come home. I don’t know how much more I can get out of this quest I’m on, and it’s not as important as it felt back in February.

  ~

  Casper Guttenberg

  March 22 at 12:45 p.m.

  Re: Ghana

  To: GTilson

  Sorry to hear about the stomach upset. Hopefully you’ll feel better soon. Regarding the “quest,” you should do whatever feels right for you, Gordon, but I think if you could see the witch doctor guy Sana told you about, that could really round up the story and tie up some loose ends. If a lot of the sakawa boys go to consult this man, maybe he might know about who duped you in particular. Maybe he’ll let on if you offer him some serious money. Just think if you could nab the guy who did this to you! I get you’re tired and I agree you should come home soon. Just don’t give it up too prematurely. I’ve written up Part 1, and it looks great. I’ll send it to you once Marc has taken a look and you can make changes or additions if you see fit. Feel better, my friend!

  SIXTY-NINE

  June 21

  On Sunday evening, Abena and Kojo visited Emma as they did most Sundays. Reproducible routine was important to Kojo, and this was one that he liked.

  Emma welcomed them at the door. “Come in, come in. Kojo, how are you?” He didn’t respond or look up at Emma, but she sensed his acknowledgement instinctively. “I’ve started the nkontomire,” she said to Abena as they went to the kitchen.

  Emma left the main door open while closing just the screen door to allow some air to circulate through the tiny house and release food fumes from the matchbox kitchen. Abena sat Kojo down on a mat in the corner. “I brought his tablet to keep him calm,” she said.

  “Is that one from the Center?” Emma asked.

  “No—Mrs. Akrofi gave him a new one.”

  “That’s nice of her. When will you go to her house with Kojo to do the video?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Abena said. “They want to film him at the Center first. I know they’re hoping Kojo will draw something again, but since the first time, he hasn’t done anything.”

  “He will do it when the spirit moves him,” Emma said, beginning to grind fresh chilis on a large, flat stone. The fresh, piercing odor tantalized her. “My brother Bruno was asking about autism today. I told him he should visit this evening and meet Kojo. I wish I could get him interested in doing something good in his life—maybe volunteer to work with autistic kids.”

  “That will be really great,” Abena said. She looked over at her son, who was sitting cross-legged on his mat.

  “Have you ever had a full night’s sleep since Kojo was born?” Emma asked.

  Abena pulled a face. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “He can sleep on my bed when he’s ready,” Emma offered.

  Late that afternoon, Bruno had asked Nii to take him to Emma’s house in Madina.

  “She said Abena and her son will visit her this evening,” Bruno explaine
d. “So, I will see if I can get one of the boy’s shirts.”

  “How are you going to do that?” Nii asked.

  Bruno chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know.”

  He was quiet almost the entire journey as he thought it over. Traffic from town to Madina was impossible. As they waited in the gridlock that plagued the stretch from the 37 Roundabout up to the Accra Mall interchange, the customary itinerant traders plied the lanes between vehicles waving food and cheap goods in the windows for a quick, on-the-run sale. Bruno was idly watching a vendor ahead of them with a skyscraper load of children’s clothes balanced on her head when a brainwave struck. He lowered the window and emitted a sharp whistle to catch her attention. Her merchandise was still rock steady on its human perch as she ran up eagerly to Bruno. He asked for a T-shirt to fit a thirteen-year-old. He had no idea how big or small Kojo was, but he would take his chances.

  He chose a canary yellow one as cars began to move forward. “Do you have another one, same size?” he asked her.

  Rummaging through her collection while half-trotting alongside the vehicle, the trader found a duplicate and Bruno paid her just as traffic finally began moving.

  It was almost seven when they reached Madina. Nii parked, but looked unsure whether he was getting out or not.

  “What are you waiting for?” Bruno asked, shooting Nii a look.

  “I’m shy of your sister,” he confessed.

  Bruno laughed and sucked his teeth. “You are not serious. She won’t do anything. Come on, let’s go.”

  They walked along the uneven pathway between houses until they came to Emma’s. Bruno knocked and called out, “Kokoo ko!”

  Emma came to the door. “Ei, Bruno! So, you came after all. I thought maybe you weren’t.”