“Sex wasn’t the only motive,” Zoe finished for her.
“Precisely.” Mariam met her eyes. “If Darious is the rapist, he must have assaulted Kuyeya for a reason. If we can find it, we might stand a better chance of persuading the Court to take this case seriously.” She took a breath. “You wanted to investigate Bella’s past. I’m giving you permission. Joseph told me you’re going to talk to Doris?”
Zoe nodded. “As soon as I leave.”
“Fine. But I want a full report on Monday.”
Twenty minutes later, Zoe stood outside Doris’s flat in Kabwata. The apartment complex was noisy with the sounds of weekend recreation—the voices of television newscasters wafting out of windows, the shouts of boys playing soccer in the parking lot. She knocked on Doris’s door. Silence. She knocked louder. Eventually, Bright appeared, wearing sweatpants and a scowl.
“What do you want?” the girl asked.
“I need to talk to your mother again.”
“She’s asleep. Come back later.”
Zoe didn’t budge. “It’s important. It’s about Kuyeya.”
The girl wavered in indecision. Then she disappeared into the hallway beyond the living room. Zoe heard a door open, then a bump and a groan, and finally the sound of loud whispering.
Bright returned and shook her head. “She isn’t available. Come back in a couple of days.”
Zoe felt compassion for the girl. “Did something happen?”
Bright blinked and Zoe saw moisture in her eyes. “Is she all right?” Zoe persisted.
The girl stood stiffly, unsure of herself.
“Where is Gift?” Zoe inquired, remembering Bright’s younger sister.
“She’s with him,” Bright murmured.
“Who?”
“Her father.”
“Is he here?”
Bright shook her head. “He took her away.”
Suddenly, Doris appeared, stooping like an old woman. She sat down on the couch and stared at the floor. Zoe was taken aback. Her lip was split, and she had bruises on her face.
“Who did this to you?” Zoe demanded, as Bright slipped by and vanished.
Doris rubbed her palms together. “It doesn’t matter. What do you wish to ask about Kuyeya?”
Zoe took a seat on the chair. “It does matter. The officer I work with is a member of the Victim Support Unit. He can file a report.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. Ask me your questions.”
Zoe eyed Doris sadly. In all likelihood, the woman was correct: involving the police was a fool’s errand in a culture in which men considered it a privilege, even an obligation, to abuse women.
“Okay,” she conceded. She showed Doris an image of Darious Nyambo that Joseph had taken. “Do you recognize this man?”
Doris tensed. “I know him.”
“How?” Zoe asked.
“He was a client.”
“When did you last see him?”
“A few weeks ago.”
“Where was that?”
Doris gestured toward the door. “He was sitting in a truck on the street.”
Zoe’s heart rate increased. “Was he watching your apartment?”
Doris shrugged. “I don’t know. I went inside quickly.”
“You didn’t want him to see you.”
Doris touched her bruised cheek. “I didn’t want to work for him again.”
“Why not?”
“He was mean to me. And he was sick.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows. “How was he sick?”
“He had sores in his mouth and on his …” She pointed between her legs. “Also, he lost weight. He used to be bigger.”
“Before a few weeks ago, when was the last time you saw him?”
Doris hesitated. “It was two years ago. Not long after Bella died.”
“Was Darious a client of Bella’s, too?”
Doris nodded. “They were close. But then things changed and he stopped coming.”
Zoe felt a surge of gratification. “When were they close?”
“A long time ago. I don’t know. It was after she moved in with me.”
“Why did they have a falling out?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“When you say ‘close,’ what do you mean?”
Doris shifted in her seat and winced. “He took her out to the bars and bought her talktime. He gave her gifts. He was kind to her.”
Zoe softened her tone. “But he wasn’t kind to you.”
Doris closed her eyes and began to rock. When the silence lingered, Zoe considered her next move. Doris’s candor was the product of a fragile trust. It might not survive a misstep.
“You don’t have to tell me what he did to you,” Zoe said. “But it might help Kuyeya.”
After a moment, Doris opened her eyes again. She gave Zoe a haunted look. “The last time I saw him as a client, he beat me. Then he …” Her voice trailed off, and she began to cry.
“What did he do?” Zoe probed.
At last Doris choked out, “He raped Bright.”
The confession took Zoe’s breath away. She sat back against the chair, her gut churning with a strangely personal anguish. Bright was probably seventeen; two years ago she would have been around fifteen.
“I’m so sorry,” Zoe said after a long time. “Did you report it to the police?”