Joseph cast a questioning glance at her, and she gestured for him to proceed. He took the conversation in a new direction. “When Darious came to you with his fears—about AIDS, about the mahule’s curse—what sort of medicine did you prescribe?”
“I gave him the same herbs I gave you,” said Amos. “One for TB, one for diarrhea, one for headaches. My own triple combination therapy.”
“How long was it before he asked for something more potent?”
“It was about two weeks. He said the herbs helped with the diarrhea, but he needed something for his skin. He had lesions on his face and neck. He also had a rash in his crotch.”
“What did you give him then?”
“I gave him a powerful herb that—how do you say it in English?—detoxifies the body, including the skin. I also gave him some medicine for STDs. It seemed to help.”
“But he came to you again.”
“A few months later.”
“When precisely?”
The nganga looked out the window and Zoe saw beads of perspiration on his brow. “I think it was in July. It was very cold.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He said the herbs weren’t working. He was very afraid of the hex on him. He wanted to fight it with strong mukwala.”
Joseph leaned forward. “How did you respond?”
For the first time the nganga showed signs of apprehension. “I told him I could help him with that. My grandfather was a great nganga, and he was adept at healing spells.”
“Did you perform a spell for him?”
Amos shifted on the rug. “No. He wasn’t interested in them. He wanted revenge against the mahule. He wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him. I told him mukwala didn’t work that way. He didn’t want to listen to me.”
Joseph gave the nganga a forceful look. “If you lie to me, even one time, you lose any chance of immunity. Is that clear?”
Amos swallowed hard and sweat began to run down his cheeks.
“Go on,” said Joseph.
The nganga glanced at his attorney and his hands began to tremble. “I tried to reason with him, but he wanted a cure. He told me he’d heard a story from a friend—that a man could sleep with a virgin and the poison would pass to her. He asked me what I thought of that. I told him I’d heard the same thing. It’s true. There are many ngangas who believe that.”
Joseph waited a beat and then asked, “Did he say anything else?”
Amos’s eyes shifted to the floor. “He asked me how he could tell if a girl was a virgin.”
“What advice did you give him?”
The nganga sighed and seemed to shrink. “I said he would see blood.”
At this admission, Zoe nearly flung herself at Amos. For a moment she fantasized about choking him to death. Joseph placed a hand on her knee and squeezed gently.
“How did Darious respond?” he asked the nganga.
“He smiled,” Amos said. “I remember it well. He said was going to bewitch the witch.”
“Those were his exact words?”
Amos nodded. “It is not the sort of thing a person forgets.”
“Did he say anything else, anything about a child?”
The nganga shook his head. “He paid me and left. I never saw him again.”
When Joseph concluded the interview, Bob Wangwe reiterated his client’s demand for immunity and threatened to file a complaint with the Commissioner of Police if Joseph didn’t grant it. The lawyer’s smugness so infuriated Zoe that she stood abruptly and stomped out of the house, leaving Joseph to negotiate the terms of the deal.
She skirted the edge of the herb garden and set off up the ramshackle lane toward Los Angeles Road, her pace just short of a run. She knew the evidence offered by the nganga could put Darious behind bars, but suddenly winning the case wasn’t enough. Thousands of girls like Kuyeya were suffering across southern Africa. Until the authorities put the fear of God into men like Amos and Darious, the sorority of victims would only increase.
She didn’t notice the gray Toyota Prado in the lane behind her until she reached the intersection at Los Angeles Road. She stopped beside the nganga’s sign and harbored a fleeting fantasy of whittling it down with a chainsaw. It was then that she saw the SUV and the man behind the wheel. She stared at him in shock.
It was Dunstan Sisilu.
With a roar the Prado leaped forward, screeching to a halt only inches from her. She felt an overwhelming instinct to flee, but her legs didn’t translate the message from her brain quickly enough. Sisilu jumped out of the vehicle, brandishing a huge, silver-plated revolver.
“Get in the car,” he commanded, as her iPhone began to vibrate in her pocket.
Joseph! she thought, staring at the gun. Where are you?