The Garden of Burning Sand (9 page)

She pulled out of the space and drove down the lane, retracing the path she had taken on foot. At the end of the row, she looked toward the last rank of cars. Her jaw dropped when she saw the empty parking space. Seconds later, the silver Mercedes passed her in the lane, the young man in the pink shirt behind the wheel. She craned her head around but couldn’t see his bumper in the gloom. The thought struck her with sudden force:
He matches the profile exactly
.

She made a swift U-turn and followed the SUV. The man made a left on Haile Selassie Avenue and then a right on Los Angeles Boulevard. When traffic opened up, Zoe pressed down on the accelerator and gained on the SUV. She pulled to within two car lengths of the vehicle and studied its bumper. Staring back at her across the African
night was the Lusaka Golf Club crest, positioned to the left of the plate and below the emblem of Mercedes Benz.

She took out her iPhone and opened the camera, zooming in until the license plate and the crest stood in opposite corners of the frame. The plate was slightly blurred but the characters were legible. She took a few pictures and then called Joseph and told him everything.

He whistled. “Don’t get too close. I’ll meet you at the Kabulonga roundabout.”

“Hurry!” She dropped back and changed lanes. “We’ll be there in three minutes.”

The suspect kept a leisurely pace through the suburbs and took Kabulonga Road off the roundabout. Zoe glanced in her mirror and saw a new pair of headlights behind her.
That was fast
, she thought. Two turns later, the suspect stopped outside an iron gate manned by a guard. Zoe drove past the gate and saw the upper story of a European-style villa over the electrified walls.
He’s a member of the elite
, she thought,
and he lives in my neighborhood
.

She checked her mirror and saw the outline of Joseph’s face in the glow of her brake lights. At the end of the road, she reversed course and drove slowly back toward the gate. Turning off her headlamps, she pulled to the grassy shoulder fifty yards from the driveway. She saw the guard standing in a puddle of light cast by wall-mounted security torches. He glanced her way and then ambled back to his chair.

Zoe used her iPhone to download a satellite image of her location. She zoomed in until she could see the layout of the property beyond the gate. The grounds had the appearance of a park with grass and trees surrounding the house and two outbuildings, one of which looked like a garage. Beside the house was a swimming pool.

Joseph pulled up behind her and turned off his engine. Before long, another vehicle turned into the driveway. It was the black Jaguar from
the hotel. The guard opened the gate, allowing the sedan to enter the property. Zoe conjured the older man in her memory—the piercing black eyes, the flared nose and strong jaw, the expanding waistline and bespoke suit—and compared him to the thin man.
Father and son
, she guessed.

She heard her phone ring. “How did you find him?” Joseph asked when she picked up.

She told him the story, omitting only the detail about her father.

He was silent for a moment. “You didn’t get a picture of him, did you?”

“Why would I have done that?”

Joseph grunted. “We need something to show the witnesses. I’m going to stick around.”

“He might not leave until morning.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve sat up all night.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No, your truck’s too visible. Did you get the license number of the SUV?”

She found the image on her iPhone and recited the number for him.

“Thanks. I’ll call my friend at the Department of Road Transport in the morning.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“He owes me a favor.”

She studied the guard sitting beside the ornate gate. Instead of slouching with his legs crossed, he sat erect with his hands resting on his knees. “There’s something peculiar about that guard,” she said. “He looks ex-military.”

Joseph murmured his agreement. “He’s also sitting outside the walls after dark, not inside in the guard shack. Obviously, they want him to be seen.”

Zoe scanned the walls again and noticed a tubular device mounted on a stand at the corner of the property. “They have cameras, too. Maybe his father is a government minister.”

“Or an industrialist. He’s obviously worried about a break-in.”

“Robberies aren’t common in Kabulonga,” she objected.

“But when they do happen, people often end up dead.” He took a breath and let it out. “Go home and get some sleep.”

“Promise me you’ll keep me in the loop.”

He laughed drily. “I’ll call you if anything interesting happens.”

At nine fifteen on Saturday morning, Zoe sat in the CILA conference room tapping her fingers on the table, waiting on Joseph. At her request, Mariam had summoned the response team for an emergency meeting. All but Niza had arrived in casual attire, and Zoe had briefed them on the events of the night before. Joseph, however, had yet to show up. She had left two messages on his mobile, but he had not returned her calls.

By nine thirty even Mariam was showing signs of irritation. “This isn’t like him,” she said, checking her watch. “I’ll send an SMS.”

Suddenly, Zoe heard a horn and saw the nose of Joseph’s truck pull into the drive. A minute later, he sauntered in with an insouciance that belied the tension in the room.

“Sorry to leave you in the dark,” he said, “but I was busy, as you’ll see.” He found an empty chair and smiled at them. “The suspect’s name is Darious Nyambo, son of Frederick Nyambo, founder of Nyambo Energy Company, Ltd. Darious is thirty-one and a television producer at ZNBC. Frederick was Minister of Energy and Water Development under President Mwanawasa. I had breakfast with a friend who works at the Department of Energy, and he gave me the scoop on the Nyambos. Frederick is the leading private investor in the coal and hydroelectric sectors on both sides of the Zambia–Zimbabwe border. His holdings
and government connections make him one of the most powerful men in Zambia.”

“Any relation to Patricia Nyambo?” Mariam asked.

“She’s his wife.”

Zoe leaned forward in her chair. “You mean the High Court judge?”

“Exactly.” Mariam’s voice was grave.

Zoe’s eyes went wide. “Why have I never heard of Frederick?”

“He keeps a low profile,” Joseph replied. “You saw the security at his house. According to my friend, he’s a businessman, not a politician. He peddles influence quietly.”

“All of that makes for delicious gossip,” Niza broke in, “but what proof do you have that he’s the assailant?”

Joseph nodded. “I took photos of him and his SUV and showed them to our witnesses. Dominic and Given both recognized the SUV, and Dominic felt strongly that Darious is the man he saw. Given wasn’t quite as certain, but she agreed that they look a lot alike.”

“That’s enough for probable cause,” Zoe said, glancing at Mariam.

Niza held out her hands, as if trying to stop a runaway train. “Darious might have picked the child up and dropped her off, but what do we have linking him to the rape itself? For all we know, he took her somewhere and another man raped her.”

“We have Dr. Chulu,” Zoe disagreed. “And we have DNA.”

Niza rolled her eyes. “You act as if that’s a simple proposition.”

“You act as if it’s impossible,” Zoe shot back.

Mariam spoke up: “Sarge, what do you think?”

“The child witnesses are a problem,” he said calmly, “and we don’t have firm evidence of age. I would say we stand a fifty percent chance of getting assigned a magistrate who won’t consider DNA in a case involving the son of Patricia Nyambo.” He looked at Mariam. “That
said, we should talk to the Director of Public Prosecution. If he agrees, we should co-prosecute.”

“What?” Niza exclaimed. “You just shot holes in the airplane, and now you’re telling us to take off. We need something more, a lot more.”

Sarge nodded. “I agree. But that doesn’t mean Joseph can’t make the arrest. We have time to develop our evidence before trial.”

“You know as well as I do how dirty they’re going to fight,” Niza persisted. “They’ll hire Benson Luchembe and his band of con artists. They’ll tie the magistrate’s head in knots and line his pockets with enough kwacha to give his wife and children visions of grandeur. And that doesn’t take into account the pressure the Nyambos will exert behind the scenes.”

Sarge stared at Niza. “Since when have you run from a fight?”

Anger flared in her eyes. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Sarge shook his head. “I’m saying that all of us are here because we believe in the possibility of justice. When a child is raped in this city, we’re the ones who stand up to her abuser. Skeptics have no seat at this table. If you aren’t a believer, I need to know.”

Niza stomped out of the room, ignoring Mariam who tried to wave her back to the table.

Sarge looked around. “Sorry to do that. I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

Mariam cleared her throat. “I’ll contact the DPP at home and walk him through the evidence.” She stood, clutching her notebook. “Any more issues we need to discuss?” No one spoke. “Good. Joseph, Sarge, I need you on the call with me. And Niza, if you can find her.”

“I’ll get her,” Sarge said.

Joseph motioned to Zoe, and she followed him to the kitchen.

“Impressive work,” she said.

He shrugged. “Darious was your discovery. Listen, I’m not sure it’s relevant, but he didn’t stay at his father’s place last night. He went to
Alpha Bar and left with a couple of
mahules
. He stayed at a flat in Northmead. Early this morning he drove back to Kabulonga.”

“If he’s consorting with prostitutes—”

“Then he could have been a client of Bella’s. I think it might be beneficial to have another talk with Doris. Show her the pictures I took; see if she remembers him.”

She looked at him carefully. “You’re going to let me do it?”

He nodded. “She trusts you.”

Zoe smiled. “Send me the photos and I’ll stop by her place when I leave.”

A few minutes after ten o’clock, Mariam called Zoe into her office. Joseph, Sarge, and a chastened-looking Niza were already there. For the past fifteen minutes they had been on a conference call with Leviticus Makungu, the Director of Public Prosecution. It was a call Zoe had asked to join, but Mariam had excluded her on account of her expat status. The DPP was sensitive about foreign interference in the justice system. Zoe sat down. “How did it go?”

Mariam took a breath. “Levy expressed curiosity and caution. In light of the suspect’s identity, he’s concerned about evidence. He wants to see our reports.”

“Any favors we can call in?” Zoe asked.

“I used them all to keep him on the phone. He wasn’t thrilled about being bothered on a Saturday. The best I could get was the promise of a quick decision.”

“So we’re going to wait on the arrest?”

“I think it’s wise to get DPP approval,” Mariam said. “Darious isn’t going anywhere.” She folded her hands. “I’ll tell you what I told the others. Certain elements of this case don’t add up. Why would a man from such a prominent family rape a girl like Kuyeya? Joseph told us
about Darious’s activities last night. It’s clear he has access to women. It doesn’t make sense, unless …”

“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?”

Doris collected herself. “They do not listen to women like me.”

Waiting a beat, Zoe asked, “Did he ever show an interest in Kuyeya?”

Doris shook her head. “He ignored her. It was as if she didn’t exist.”

Suddenly, Zoe had an idea. “Did Bella call him something other than his name?”

The question appeared to perplex Doris. “His name is Darious.”

“Never mind,” Zoe said. She slid to the edge of her chair, thinking of Bella’s journal resting on the coffee table in her flat.

She had to get back to it.