The magistrate’s court complex, built in 2005 at the behest of President Mwanawasa, a former lawyer, was a thing of uncommon beauty in a city dominated by drab, Soviet-style architecture. The stately brick edifice had a vaulted lobby with glass block windows and a dozen courtrooms that were reached by way of a covered arcade.
They entered the lobby and met David Soso, the police prosecutor assigned to the case. Clad in a chalk-stripe suit and purple tie, he looked more banker than lawyer. “Hi, Sergeant,” he said, shaking Sarge’s hand. “We’re in Courtroom 9. Magistrate Thoko Kaunda.”
“The judge, who is he?” Zoe asked Niza, walking behind Sarge and David.
“He’s young,” Niza replied. “He was hired straight out of school.”
Zoe shook her head. “Excellent. A new member of the bar deciding the fate of Darious Nyambo. Cue the puppet show.”
They strolled down the arcade between patches of grass and open-air skylights. Zoe saw a group of young attorneys waiting outside the courtroom along with two men who looked like elder statesmen. The first was Benson Luchembe. Tall and corpulent with a mane of white hair, the lawyer carried himself like a village chief at a political rally—a figurehead who persuaded with pageantry. The second was Frederick Nyambo. He was taller than Zoe recalled from their brief interaction at the Intercontinental, but his face was unmistakable. In contrast to Luchembe, he had the aloof look of a monarch who ruled by divine right.
Luchembe tilted his head, and Frederick turned to watch them pass. Zoe met his eyes and smiled wryly. We remember each other, but you can see I’m not impressed.
Sarge led the way into the courtroom and set down his briefcase. Niza and David Soso sat next to him at counsel table, and Zoe took a seat in the front row of the gallery. Designed in the British style, the courtroom had high ceilings, wood trim and benches, and a dock cordoned off by a railing. Zoe doodled on a legal pad until the defense team sauntered in. Cocking her head, she saw Frederick Nyambo take a seat at the back of the courtroom alongside a handsome woman in a jade chitenge. That must be Patricia, she thought.
Joseph slid in beside her and whispered, “The jackals have gathered.”
“Along with the lion and lioness,” she replied, gesturing with her head toward the Nyambos.
He nodded. “Must be expecting a feast.”
Suddenly, the door to chambers opened and Thoko Kaunda climbed the steps to the elevated bench, lugging a raft of binders. He took a seat and placed the binders in piles like a student arranging pencils at an exam. He was no older than thirty-five, with a high forehead and wireframe glasses. Zoe felt a churning in her stomach. Unless you are tougher than you look, Luchembe is going to eat you for lunch.
Kaunda waited until everyone was seated and then read the docket so quietly that Zoe strained to hear. He waved a hand toward the courtroom deputy who summoned Darious from a holding room. Darious was thinner than Zoe remembered. She looked at him closely and saw the blemishes on his skin. He took his place in the dock, staring at the magistrate with feline eyes. Like his father, he had the insouciant bearing of a superior being.
After dispensing with a preliminary matter, Kaunda called their case. He held up the charge sheet so that it obscured the bottom half of his face and read the statutory description of defilement in a monotone. Then he looked at Darious and raised his eyebrows almost apologetically.
“Do you admit or deny the charges?” he asked.
“I deny them,” said Darious without a flicker of concern.
The magistrate turned to the lawyers seated at counsel table. “In light of the defendant’s plea, we must schedule a trial date.”
Sarge and Luchembe stood at the same time. Kaunda motioned to the defense attorney, giving him the first word.
“Your Worship,” Luchembe began, choosing the honorific usually reserved for appellate judges, “I must apologize to the Court. My trial calendar is booked until December of next year.”
Sarge shook his head. “Your Worship, this case involves the testimony of children. Their memories diminish rapidly over time. We don’t need more than five or six months to complete our preparations. There is no excuse to delay this case beyond April of next year.”
Kaunda shuffled his papers, then opened a notebook. “If you can try the case in one day, I have dates in June. If you need more time, I will give you a date in December. It is your choice.”
As Luchembe gloated, Sarge conferred with Niza. “If the Court will allow us to bring witnesses into the evening,” he said, “we can try this case in one day.”
The magistrate frowned. “The Court will adjourn no later than seventeen hundred hours.”
Sarge looked deflated. “Then we ask for two days in December.”
Kaunda nodded and wrote something in his notebook. “This case will be set down for trial on the twelfth and thirteenth of December, 2012,” he intoned. “Do we have any other matters to deal with at the present time?”