Zoe frowned. “You have a better idea?”
“Not better,” he replied. “More pressing.” He fished in his pocket and removed his digital camera. “I took this on the way here,” he said, handing it to her.
Zoe looked at the image in the frame. A black BMW sedan was parked beside a tall fence. In the background, slightly blurred, was the sign for the British High Commission.
“Look above the bumper,” he said.
Zoe’s heart lurched. Beside the license plate was a sky blue crest with an X at its center. Except the X was not a character of the alphabet. It was a pair of golf clubs crossed at the neck. The clubs were overlaid with three stenciled letters: LGC.
“The Lusaka Golf Club,” she said softly.
“Let me see that,” Niza said, taking the camera from her. She stared at the screen while Sarge and Mariam crowded around. “How can you be sure this is the right symbol?”
“I’ll confirm it with our witnesses,” Joseph replied.
“Are you going to stake out the golf club?” Zoe asked.
Joseph nodded.
“Can I come along?”
He smiled. “The more the happier.”
She laughed. “Merrier, you mean.”
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
Zoe was tempted to accompany Joseph to Kanyama to question Dominic about the bumper sticker, but the memory of the gang leader in the bandana dissuaded her. Until the election was over, she intended to stay out of the compounds. Agreeing to meet Joseph at noon, she climbed into her Land Rover and placed the doll and glasses on the seat beside her. If the objects were indeed Kuyeya’s, she needed to give them back.
The drive to the children’s home took half an hour. She parked in the scarlet shade of the poinsettia tree and found Sister Anica in the breezeway beside the courtyard. “We’ve made progress,” she said, giving the nun an outline of their discoveries. “Her name is Kuyeya.”
“So that’s how you pronounce it,” the nun replied. “Sister Irina said ‘Kuwia.’”
Zoe was instantly curious. “She started to talk?”
“A little. Come, they’re in the garden.”
Zoe followed the nun through a trellis of bougainvillea to a cultivated field brimming with plants and herbs in the first stages of growth. She saw the girl rocking quietly on a bench, Sister Irina beside her.
“She spends hours here,” Sister Anica said. “It’s her favorite place.”
Zoe recalled the fingernail marks in Doris’s apartment. You’re learning to see the sun, she thought. “How is she handling the pain?”
“She’s taking her Tylenol,” replied the nun, “but I doubt she’ll run for a while.”
They greeted Sister Irina, and Zoe sat beside Kuyeya on the bench. “Hi there,” she said to the girl, wondering if she understood English. “Do you remember me?”
Kuyeya pressed her lips together and made the balloon sound.
“She does that when she’s happy,” Sister Irina explained.
“Hi, Zoe,” Kuyeya said spontaneously, her tone flat and her speech slightly slurred.
“I taught her your name,” Sister Irina explained. “She likes to say it.”
Zoe laughed. “I have a present for you, Kuyeya. I bet you like presents.”
The girl nodded, beginning to smile.
Zoe took out the glasses and tried them on her. They fit perfectly. The girl looked toward the trellis of bougainvillea in the distance. After a moment, she made the balloon sound again. This time it carried a faint chime of laughter. She’s nearsighted, Zoe thought.
“I have another present for you,” she said, handing over the doll.
The sight of the stuffed toy transformed Kuyeya. She snatched it away and began to rock back and forth, groaning softly under her breath. Suddenly, she spoke. “Baby is hurt. Baby is not bad. Baby is hurt.”
Zoe felt a chill. “Who is the baby?” she asked, but Kuyeya didn’t seem to hear her. Zoe looked at Sister Irina. “Has she talked about a baby before?”
The young nun shook her head.
“It might be a projection. She could be talking about herself.” Zoe turned back to Kuyeya. “Who hurt the baby?” she asked slowly.
Instead of responding, the girl rocked faster.
Zoe tried again: “How is the baby hurt?”
Kuyeya crossed her eyes, then refocused. At last, she gave an answer: “The man hurt Baby. The man is bad. Baby is not bad.”
At once, Zoe found herself acutely conscious of her surroundings. She heard the drone of an airplane overhead, the voices of children nearby, the whistle of the breeze in her ears.
“Who hurt the baby?” she probed. She willed Kuyeya to speak again, but the girl gave her nothing more. She gritted her teeth in frustration. You saw his face. What is his name?
She turned to Sister Irina. “It would be helpful to know what she says. Would you mind keeping notes?”
“I’d be happy to,” the nun said.