“Precisely. And this is the problem, is it not? No one knows who actually defiled the child? All you can say is that the child was, in fact, defiled, am I right?”
Backed into a corner, the doctor barely contained his rage. “In the past ten years I have handled at least five thousand cases of child sexual assault. Every time I testify, you lawyers say the same thing. DNA was supposed to change that. Conveniently for your client, the evidence vanished. At this point, the best I can say is that some man raped Kuyeya.”
Luchembe took his seat, looking supremely satisfied, and the judge dismissed Dr. Chulu from the stand. On his way out of the courtroom, the doctor mouthed a silent apology to Zoe. She mustered a reassuring smile that patently belied her feelings. He had done his best to pin the rape on Darious, but it hadn’t made a bit of difference.
The trial resumed after a brief recess, and Sarge called Joseph to the stand. They quickly dispensed with the basics—Doris’s police report, finding Given, collecting the doll and glasses from the alleyway and returning them to Kuyeya—and then moved into the heart of the prosecution’s case against Darious.
“When did you decide to focus your attention on the accused?” Sarge asked.
In crisp, straightforward language, Joseph described his discovery of the Lusaka Golf Club crest, Zoe’s encounter with the silver Mercedes at the Intercontinental Hotel, and their pursuit of Darious to his home in Kabulonga. He got into a tussle with Luchembe over the relevance of Darious’s visits to Alpha Bar and his affinity for prostitutes, but Mubita allowed the testimony on Sarge’s certification that its relevance would soon become apparent.
“When you were observing the accused at Alpha, did you notice anything peculiar about him?” Sarge asked, honing in on a critical link in the case.
Joseph nodded. “He was very thin. He only drank two beers, but he used the bathroom four times. He also had markings on his face and his neck consistent with Kaposi’s sarcoma.”
“Objection!” Luchembe cried. “The officer is not a physician.”
The judge narrowed his eyes. “Officer Kabuta, please confine yourself to observations, and leave the opinions to experts.”
“Did your observations have any significance to you?” Sarge asked.
Joseph took a deep breath. “The accused looked sick. My sister had the same symptoms before she died.”
Sarge softened his voice. “How did your sister die?”
“She had AIDS,” Joseph said simply.
Luchembe exploded to his feet. “Your Worship, this testimony is scurrilous. I will not permit the prosecution to impugn my client’s reputation with this horrid speculation.”
Mubita regarded Joseph with a mixture of annoyance and sympathy. “I’m very sorry about your sister, but I’m going to disregard your surmise about the accused’s health. I meant what I said about confining yourself to observations.”
Joseph stared at the judge for a long moment, his eyes clouded with mistrust. Then he turned back to Sarge, who redirected the conversation.
“You were the officer who made the arrest?” asked the prosecutor.
“I led the arresting party, but there were three other officers with me.”
“You did so without a warrant?”
“The statute doesn’t require a warrant. But I’m very careful. I never make an arrest until I have evidence that will hold up in court. In this case, I took pictures of the accused and his SUV and showed them to Given and Dominic. They told me what they told you today.”
“When you made the arrest, did the accused say anything to you?”
Joseph nodded. “He laughed at us.”
Sarge raised his eyebrows. “He laughed at you?”
“He said our guns were so old they would probably explode in our hands.”
“Did he resist arrest?”
Joseph shook his head. “He came to the station and answered my questions. He claimed to have an alibi for the night in question.”
“I have nothing further for this witness,” Sarge said.
Benson Luchembe stood and began to pace at the edge of the bar. For a moment, Zoe worried that he had something on Joseph, some devastating secret that would discredit the entire investigation. But her concern was dispelled when Luchembe began to speak. His cross-examination was an exercise in sniping. Like a song stuck in an endless loop, he repeated variations on the refrain “you have no way of being certain” so many times that Zoe began to fidget. Joseph, however, parried each thrust, using his answers to reiterate his prior testimony. By the time Luchembe realized his miscalculation, it was too late: Mubita had heard Joseph make the same points twice.
When Luchembe relinquished the floor, the judge checked his watch wearily. “It’s nearly seventeen hundred hours. Sarge, how many more witnesses do you have today?”
“Just one, Your Worship.”
Mubita took a breath. “In that case, we will take an hour recess for dinner.” He rose from his seat and lumbered down the steps, preceding Timothy into chambers.
Joseph sat down beside Zoe. “How’d I do?”