“Where is the guard?” Joseph spat, as Zoe’s heart hammered in her chest.
He threw the switches and flooded the yard with light.
“Let’s go,” he said, leaving the house and sprinting toward the gate, his gun out in front of him. Zoe took a deep breath and ran after him.
They found the guard crumpled on the ground. Zoe felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” she said.
Joseph checked the gate and found it locked. “They got in another way.”
She followed him around to the back of the house. The pool and terrace looked ghostly in the pale light. He stopped at the base of a tall cypress tree and cursed. The ground wire atop the wall had been cut. A carpet hung over the other wires, weighing them down. At once Zoe recalled his preoccupation at dinner. She put the pieces together. They entered from the neighbors’ yard. But how did they get into the house?
The answer came to her suddenly. “Rosa!” she cried.
The door to the servant’s cottage was ajar, and the living area was as dark as a crypt. Zoe entered the cottage, ignoring Joseph’s commands to stay back. She blinked her eyes against the gloom and made out a couch, a stove, and a bed. A woman lay motionless on the mattress, her arms splayed out at an unnatural angle. Zoe ran to her side, fearing the worst. She pressed her fingers against Rosa’s neck and let out the breath she was holding.
“Thank God,” she whispered, feeling a strong heartbeat.
“I need to check the rest of the grounds,” Joseph said.
Zoe nodded quickly. “I’m coming.”
She ran with him into the false brightness of the yard. Together they scoured the walls and vegetation for a hint of movement. Twice Zoe thought she saw motion in the chiaroscuro of light and shadow. But each time it was a phantom, a trick of the mind. After searching the carport, Joseph led her back to the gate and unbolted the latch. He pointed his gun down the street toward the spot recently occupied by the gray Prado. Zoe looked over his shoulder.
Dunstan Sisilu was gone.
Joseph secured the gate again, and they returned to the servant’s entrance.
“I’m going to search the house,” he said. “You check on Tom and Carol.”
The lights were on when they entered the bungalow. Carol was standing in her nightgown by the stove, her face wet with tears.
“Is Tom okay?” Zoe asked, embracing her.
“He’s out cold,” Carol said.
Zoe walked down the hall to the Prentices’ bedroom. The place was a wreck—a table lamp shattered beside the bed, the desk chair upended, clothes strewn about, and Tom lying in a heap. Suddenly, the magnitude of the attack hit Zoe and she fell to her knees, a wave of guilt sweeping over her. This is all my fault! They protected me and they got hurt.
After a while she felt a hand on her shoulder. “The police are coming,” Carol said softly.
Zoe blinked. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
When Tom regained consciousness, Zoe helped Carol move him to a chair in the living room. The Kabulonga authorities arrived a few minutes later and spent two hours collecting evidence. The dead attacker carried no identification. His clothes were nondescript, as was his knife. His nationality was a mystery. Joseph guessed he was Congolese; the chief investigator thought he was Angolan; they agreed he was not Zambian.
The gate guard was the first to revive. He stumbled into the house wearing a look of profound bewilderment. The police questioned him, but his recollection was almost completely blank. Rosa appeared soon afterward, holding her head. Carol directed her to the couch and sat beside her while the police made their inquiry. The housekeeper remembered waking in the dark and hearing scratches on the floor. Then a hand pressed something over her mouth. She recalled the smell of chemicals, but after that, nothing.
As soon as the police removed the body, Tom composed himself enough to call the security company. Carol took a Valium and scrubbed the floor with bleach until the bloodstain was nearly invisible. Zoe, meanwhile, went to the bathroom and washed her face until her skin turned pink. The laceration from the knife had already dried, but her ear continued to bleed.
She stared at herself in the mirror, overcome by emotion. Pain welled up within her and she slumped to the floor and began to cry. She didn’t know how long it was before Joseph found her and guided her to her bedroom. She crawled under the covers, shivering uncontrollably.
“Are they gone?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I made some calls. Everyone at CILA is okay.”