“Worse,” Joseph said. “He said a child would do the trick.”
“Did you record him?” Zoe asked.
“I did. I showed it to him afterward and offered him two options. Either I’d throw him in jail on felony charges or he’d talk about Darious Nyambo. He made a bit of a fuss—”
“Just a bit?” Niza interjected.
Joseph held out his hands. “He was enraged, but he wasn’t stupid. He agreed to talk so long as he had a lawyer present.”
“Who’s his lawyer?” Sarge asked.
“Bob Wangwe.”
Niza laughed. “Lawyers get the clients they deserve.”
“Who’s Wangwe?” Zoe inquired.
Sarge answered. “He’s a shady character who represents other shady characters.”
“When are you meeting them?” Zoe asked.
“This afternoon,” Joseph responded, “as long as we get the DPP on board. Amos said Wangwe wouldn’t let him talk without a promise of immunity.”
“What does Amos have on Darious?” said Niza.
“He wouldn’t tell me. I threatened to arrest him, and he stood firm.”
“You should have a witness,” Sarge said. “In case he contests it later.”
“I’ll go,” Zoe volunteered, trying not to sound too eager.
“Is that all right with you?” Mariam asked Joseph.
He nodded. “We make a good team.”
Just before two o’clock, Joseph and Zoe drove to Kanyama in his truck. Somewhere in the traffic snarl southwest of Cairo Road, she put into words the question at the forefront of her mind: “Why didn’t you tell me about Amos?”
“I didn’t know if it would work.”
“Are you sure he’s going to cooperate?”
“You mean is he going to run? I doubt it. He’s been in Kanyama for a decade.”
A few minutes later, Zoe saw a sign that read: “DR. MWENYA AMOS, HERBALIST AND TRADITIONAL HEALER.” They turned before the sign and drove down a dirt lane to a white house flanked by shade trees. Unlike the shambling residences around it, the nganga’s house had embroidered curtains, an herb garden, and a door painted bright red. Two cars were parked outside—a dingy yellow sedan and a white Prado SUV.
“See the door?” Joseph said. “Red is a symbol of spiritual power.”
“So he’s repugnant and delusional.”
He shrugged. “His clients obviously don’t think so.”
A bespectacled Zambian in a pinstripe suit met them in the yard. He coughed once, covering his mouth with his hand, and then offered the hand to Joseph. “Officer Kabuta, I’m Bob Wangwe, Dr. Amos’s attorney.”
Joseph ignored the handshake. “Is your client ready?”
Wangwe cleared his throat. “He’ll be out shortly. He has to purify the space.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “How long is this going to take?”
“Who are you?” Wangwe asked with a frown.
“An attorney for the prosecution,” she said.
The lawyer grunted. “Does the DPP offer my client full immunity?”
“Your client is guilty of a felony,” Joseph replied matter-of-factly. “We’ll see what he has to say. If it’s helpful, we’ll give him immunity. If not, he goes to jail.”
Wangwe glanced at his watch—a shiny gilded piece that looked to Zoe like a Rolex knock-off—and turned toward the house. Before long, another man appeared on the threshold, wearing trousers and a loose white shirt. He walked to the garden and knelt down, harvesting a handful of herbs. He handed a herb to Wangwe, another to Joseph and a third to Zoe.
“Chew it and spit it out,” he said. “It will cleanse you of the spirits of the dead.”
Zoe’s impulse was to say no, but Joseph silenced her with a look. He placed the herb in his mouth, ground it with his teeth, and spat it onto the earth. Reluctantly, Zoe followed suit. The herb left her mouth tasting bitter.
“Come,” said Dr. Amos, leading them into the house.
The first thing Zoe noticed about the nganga’s residence was the pungent odor. The living room was cluttered with tables displaying the articles of his trade—incense, herbs, feathers, bones, and remnants of animals. Bottles of all sizes were strewn about. Some contained powder, some herbs; the rest were empty. At the center of one of the tables lay the mutilated carcass of a bird encircled by a halo of dried blood. Zoe felt nauseous. She braced herself against the wall, controlling her breathing.
The nganga pointed to a shadowy bedroom. “This way.”
The bedroom was half the size of the living room and empty of furniture. With heavy curtains veiling the windows, the room had the atmosphere of a cave. Two rugs were on the floor, one white and the other red. Between them was a pile of partially burnt sticks. Dr. Amos sat cross-legged on the red rug and gestured for Joseph and Zoe to sit on the white one. The lawyer, Wangwe, looked around before squatting awkwardly on the cement slab.