He shrugged. “I said what I came to say.”
She watched Frederick Nyambo stroll toward the lobby, talking on his mobile phone. “Are you leaving today?” she asked.
“This afternoon,” he said, looking away.
“Have you thought about her future?”
“Yes,” he replied guardedly. “I don’t see how it makes sense for me to be a part of it.”
Zoe bristled. “You’re her father. How can you say that?”
“Fatherhood requires a relationship. My only connection to her is genetic.” He backtracked, as if realizing how selfish he sounded. “Look, I don’t mean to deny my responsibility. I’d like to help with her care. It’s just that …”
“You don’t want to deal with the messiness of her life,” Zoe said.
He inhaled sharply. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it?”
“Look, I knew Charity fifteen years ago. Kuyeya has never met me before. I’m not what she needs. She needs someone to care for her. To her I’m just a muzungu.”
Zoe shook her head. “I’m not talking about taking her home with you. I’m talking about being present in her world. Kids like her need two things: consistency and love. You can’t give her consistency, but you sure as hell can give her love.”
He flinched. “I’ll think about it.”
With that he turned and walked away.
The defense’s case was blunt and unambiguous. Benson Luchembe kept his witnesses within the family, calling Frederick first and then Darious. Much more irritating—and suspicious—to Zoe was the abbreviated nature of their testimony. Leaving whole swaths of the prosecution’s theory unchallenged, the Nyambos told a story about a dinner at the Intercontinental on the night of the rape, a dinner Frederick had proposed and Darious had accepted. Trading on the burden of proof, they offered Mubita nothing more than a technical basis for reasonable doubt.
Luchembe’s approach gave the defense a tactical advantage. Since the rules of procedure limited the scope of cross-examination to the scope of direct examination, Sarge was unable to interrogate the Nyambos about Charity, about Darious’s affection for prostitutes, or about Amos and HIV. In the two hours it took Luchembe to build Darious’s alibi, Zoe sat stewing in the gallery, thinking of all the questions Sarge couldn’t ask. One question, in particular, drove her mad: how had Darious discovered that Bella had been Frederick’s mistress? Zoe thought she knew the answer—that Kuyeya’s name had been the clue—but she had no way to be certain.
At three o’clock in the afternoon, Mubita dismissed Darious from the stand.
“The defense rests,” Benson Luchembe intoned.
“Argument?” the judge asked.
“Yes, Your Worship,” Sarge said, standing again. As he had done with his opening, his closing statement was a model of succinctness. He ticked off the requisites for defilement—the age of the victim, the fact of penetration, and the identity of the perpetrator—and spent the majority of the time connecting the dots of the past, emphasizing Darious’s motive.
“Our burden is clear,” he said, “and we are convinced that we have met it. Listen to the testimony of our witnesses, read the diary of Kuyeya’s mother, remember the words Kuyeya herself spoke when confronted with the accused, and watch as Darious Nyambo takes shape before you. This was not a random crime. This was a premeditated act of wickedness. Kuyeya deserves justice. I trust that you will deliver it.”
When Sarge sat down, Mubita regarded Luchembe over his glasses. “Benson?”
The defense lawyer stood and adjusted his tie. “Your Worship, the prosecution has spun a grand illusion for this Court—the illusion of Darious Nyambo, the monster. In fact, my client is a television producer in Lusaka and the son of esteemed parents. His father is a former cabinet minister. His mother is a High Court judge. We don’t deny that the child was defiled. But by whom? Her caretaker—Doris—doesn’t know what happened to her after she wandered out of the flat. It could have been anyone who picked her up—a neighbor, a friend, a stranger. And it was. It was anyone but the accused. Frederick Nyambo has corroborated his alibi.”
Luchembe paused. “Crimes like this are a dark spot on Zambian society. But the horror we feel is no justification for putting an innocent man in prison. The prosecution has not met its burden. Justice demands an acquittal.”
Once again, silence enveloped the courtroom.