Joseph threw aside the curtains, admitting wide shafts of sunlight. “We’re not here for a consultation,” he said, disregarding the nganga’s smoldering stare. “I want to see your eyes.”
When everyone was situated, Wangwe was the first to speak. “I am advising my client not to answer questions until you agree to offer him full immunity.”
Joseph stared the lawyer down. “He’ll answer my questions now, or I’ll conduct the interrogation at the Woodlands Police Post.”
“That will not be necessary,” Amos replied hastily.
“I thought so.” Joseph took a digital recording device out of his pocket and placed it on the floor. “I’m going to record our conversation.”
“And I’m going to make a backup,” Zoe said, taking out her iPhone.
Wangwe shifted uncomfortably but didn’t object.
Joseph began with an introduction, stating the names and offices of everyone in the room, the date and time, the voluntary nature of the interrogation, the fact of recording, and the terms of immunity being offered. When Amos and Wangwe affirmed their agreement, he turned to the matter at hand.
“We’re interested in the services you provided to a man named Darious Nyambo,” he began. “Darious is the defendant in a pending defilement prosecution. When did you meet him?”
“He came to me last year when the rains ended,” Amos said. “He thought he had AIDS.”
“Had he gone for testing?”
Amos shook his head. “He didn’t want a diagnosis from Western doctors.”
“Why not?”
“Western medicine is for the weak. His father is a prominent man.”
“How do you know Frederick?” Joseph asked.
Amos chose his words carefully. “He consults a friend.”
“Is Frederick sick, too?”
The nganga shook his head. “He is a man of mukwala. He has medicine.”
“Meaning he practices witchcraft?” Zoe inquired.
Irritation showed in Amos’s eyes. “That is a word used by muzungus to describe what they do not understand. Mr. Nyambo has knowledge of the spirits.”
Something clicked in Zoe’s mind. Darious was afraid he had AIDS, but he was even more afraid of his father’s medicine. So he avoided testing and ARVs and came to Amos.
Joseph picked up the questioning again. “How did Darious find you?”
Amos shrugged. “Most of my patients are referred by someone. I didn’t ask who.”
“Did he tell you who he was?”
The nganga shook his head. “Not initially. But after a few visits he opened up.”
“What do you mean?”
Amos took a breath. “Officer Kabuta, I am not like white doctors who dispense pills and send their patients home. I encourage my patients to think of me as a friend. In the course of treatment, many tell me their stories. Darious was no exception.”
“What story did he tell you?”
The nganga frowned in puzzlement. “He told me many things.”
Joseph regrouped. “I’m interested in what he thought about his sickness.”
“He believed a mahule had given it to him.”
“Who was the mahule?” Joseph asked, trading a glance with Zoe.
The nganga opened his hands. “He didn’t tell me her name. But he thought she was a witch. He believed she had put a hex on him and stolen his health.”
“Why would he think that? Did she practice magic?”
“I know only what Darious told me. He said she had bewitched his family.”
“Did he say what he meant?”
The nganga gave him a grave look. “He said the mahule had brought a curse upon his parents. She was the cause of great strife and pain.”
Zoe was astounded. Was Frederick also a customer of Bella’s? Did Patricia find out and confront him about her?
“Did he tell you anything else about his parents?” Joseph asked.
The nganga held out his hands. “That is all I know. But Darious hated the mahule deeply. The damage must have been great.”
“If he hated her so much, why did he sleep with her?” Zoe asked.
“He said he didn’t know who she was until it was too late.”
The gears of Zoe’s deduction ground to a halt. How could he not have known? Had she hidden her identity from him?
“The curse upon his family, when did that happen?” Joseph asked.
“Darious was a young man,” replied the nganga. “Sixteen years old, I think he said.”
Zoe stared at Amos. “Darious is thirty now, isn’t he?”
He nodded. “A terrible shame for one so young to be so sick.”
She sat back, beginning to understand. Whatever happened between Charity and the Nyambos happened soon after she arrived in Lusaka. But Darious didn’t meet her then. When he met her at Alpha Bar years later, he thought she was just a prostitute. Suddenly, she had questions the nganga couldn’t answer. She made a mental note to talk to Clay Whitaker at the World Bank.
She had one last thought: “How did he find out who she was?”
The nganga searched his memory. “I don’t know,” he said at last.