“This is an important case,” the judge said after a time. “I have much to consider. I will issue a written judgment after I complete my deliberations. Thank you all for your participation. I know it has been a trying experience. This Court is adjourned.”
When Mubita retreated to chambers, Zoe spent a moment in reflective silence. Around her conversations broke out among the lawyers. Sarge shook hands with Benson Luchembe. The courtroom deputy escorted Darious out of the dock. Niza filled her briefcase with documents. Zoe stared at the empty bench, feeling a turbulent mixture of emotions. They had moved heaven and earth to put on a compelling case. But would any of it matter in the end?
“I need some air,” she said, touching Joseph’s hand.
She led him out of the courthouse into the bright sunshine of the parking lot. She took a deep breath, allowing her lungs to fill to capacity, and then exhaled slowly. “This is the part I hate—the waiting game.”
Joseph gave her an empathetic look. “You have to let it go. It’s out of your control.”
“I know,” she said but felt the tension just the same. She saw the gray Prado on the far side of the lot, Dunstan Sisilu behind the wheel. “Are we ever going to be able to do something about the a*shole in sunglasses?”
Joseph shrugged. “Not without evidence.”
She allowed her frustration to show. “I can’t believe he’s going to get away with all of this: two break-ins—three, actually, counting the one at the office—the theft of evidence, a murdered witness. At times like this I wish we didn’t have to play by the rules.”
Joseph glanced at her. “I feel that way almost every day.”
She laughed drily. “Did I ever tell you what he said to me on the Zambezi?”
Joseph shook his head.
“He told me to be careful who I offend. What he didn’t realize is that I couldn’t care less.”
As she watched, Joseph’s frown turned into a smile. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
PART FIVE
That which is good is never finished.
—African proverb
Darious
Lusaka, Zambia
August, 2011
The spirits of the ancestors had smiled on him. Kuyeya had left Doris’s flat alone and wandered down the street into a deserted alley. It was as if the stars had aligned to ensure his success. He closed the hatch over the girl and scanned the buildings around him. No one was watching from the windows. No one was paying attention on the street. The neighbors wouldn’t remember anything.
He climbed into the Mercedes and headed east on Chilimbulu Road, thinking back to the beginning of all of this. It was a school day and he had come home early, entering the house by the back door, as he always did. The sound of the argument had shocked him. He had never heard his mother yell at his father before. He had crept down the hall and seen them in the living room: Patricia holding the notebook aloft like a weapon; Frederick sitting silently on the couch. Years later, he could still hear his mother’s allegation, still feel his father’s shame. To fall for a girl with a mongrel child? Frederick’s mukwala was legendary. How was it possible?
Darious had waited until the middle of the night to search for the notebook. He thought his mother might have thrown it away, but there it was, in her closet. He stole back to his bedroom and read for hours. The letters filled him with rage. The Frederick Nyambo described in the pages bore no resemblance to the man Darious had admired for sixteen years. According to the girl—Charity Mizinga—his father was a petulant cad obsessed with sex, a hapless fool who believed he had fathered her child when she had been sleeping with another man. It was the grossest kind of fiction. Yet a doubt persisted: what if some of it was true?
That night had changed Darious’s life. Within a month he had purchased sex from a prostitute. Within a year he was soliciting twice a week. He had girls on the side. He loved to surprise them with his intellect, to lavish them with gifts. He never considered violence until one of his girls cheated on him. It was rage that drove him to rape her. But the act awakened something in him. Rape gave him power. Its mukwala was absolute.
Darious drove north to the Lusaka Golf Club, then east toward Kabulonga. Fortune was on his side. His father was on a business trip and his mother had gone to visit relatives. The house was empty except for Anna, and she lived in a cottage at the back of the property. The sedative would last an hour, then Kuyeya would wake up. He would wait. He wanted her to feel the pain. It didn’t matter if she saw him. She didn’t know who he was. He would drive her into Kanyama at midnight and dump her. If his luck held, she would disappear without a trace.