She took a sip of wine. “I’ve been trying to reach Godfrey to get Cynthia’s phone number. I haven’t heard from him.”
Joseph shrugged. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“You think he’s afraid?”
“Wouldn’t you be if your family was dead and your village thought you were cursed?” He put down his fork. “There’s also a chance the guy who’s been following us had a talk with him. He wasn’t on our flight back.”
She grimaced. After the riverboat had docked, the man in sunglasses had vanished. She had almost managed to forget about him. “I called Nkana Mine, looking for Cynthia’s husband. No one was there on Election Day.”
“I doubt she’ll help us,” he said. “I’m sure Godfrey talked to her.”
Zoe pursed her lips, then said, “I’m going to Johannesburg tomorrow.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I found Jan, the man in Bella’s journal,” she said, relishing his look of disbelief. “He’s an epidemiologist at the University of Cape Town, but he’s doing a study at Wits in Jo’burg.”
Joseph sat back in his chair. “How did you—”
“Some luck and a little detective work.”
After she told him the story, he shook his head. “Impressive deduction, I admit. But how do you know Jan isn’t someone she met in Lusaka?”
She smiled. “I had the same thought. This afternoon I skimmed the journal again. I realized how much medical detail she included in her descriptions. You could argue that her language was a holdover from her nursing school days. But I don’t think so. I think she was writing words that he would understand, even if she never believed he would read them.”
He examined her carefully. “That’s a fascinating insight.”
She turned away, not knowing what to say.
After a while, he asked, “Why did you invite me to dinner?”
She felt herself begin to blush. “As you recall, you were about to invite me.”
“But your home is different from a restaurant.”
She looked at his eyes in the candlelight. “I enjoy your company.”
A smile played across his face. “Then our reasons are the same.”
Chapter 14
Just after dawn the next morning, Joseph drove Zoe to the airport. In the aftermath of Election Day, the streets of Lusaka were eerily calm. The vendors that normally crowded the roadways were absent, and foot traffic was astonishingly light. The winner of the election had yet to be announced, and the media had begun to recycle bland pollingstation footage to fill the void.
“I’m worried about PF if Banda wins,” Zoe said. “They’ll never accept that it’s fair.”
Joseph frowned. “If MMD stays in power, PF might resort to violence. But I doubt it would spread beyond the compounds. Zambians are peaceful people.”
“Everyone said that about Kenya,” she rejoined. “Then the whole country blew up.”
They reached the airport as the sun rose above the plains. Joseph pulled into the drop-off lane and stopped beside the curb. He regarded her silently, and she realized that he was at a loss for words. Something had changed in their relationship the night before. She felt more comfortable in his presence, but at the same time she felt vulnerable, as if in giving voice to her attraction she had shed a layer of psychological clothing. From the look in Joseph’s eyes, she knew the feeling was mutual.
“I’ll call you when I buy my return ticket,” she said. She hesitated and then kissed him lightly on the cheek before climbing out of the truck.
After passing through security, she took a seat in the departure lounge. At some point, her eyes were drawn to a television monitor hanging from the ceiling. A newscaster from the BBC was giving an update on the primary race in the United States. In advance of the debate in Orlando, her father’s lead had tightened from fifteen points to eight, and a new challenger—the Governor of Kansas—had surged on a wave of anti-establishment rhetoric. The telecast showed the Senator waving to a cheering crowd, while the announcer, in voiceover commentary, questioned whether he could hold on to his advantage. Zoe shook her head. It was surreal to see her father surrounded by such adulation and controversy.
The flight to Johannesburg lasted a brief two hours, and she dozed through most of it. When the plane began its descent, she watched the city take shape through the skein of brownish haze. She saw the great flat-topped mine dumps of the Witwatersrand in the distance, and smiled. During her year in the judicial trenches with Judge van der Merwe, she had explored the many dimensions of the city—the gritty urban core, the not quite desegregated townships, the leafy suburbs and lush parklands—and had developed a deep fondness for it. While in many ways crass and dangerous, Johannesburg was the birthplace of the Soweto uprising against apartheid and the repository of the continent’s greatest legal treasure—the South African Constitution.
The plane touched down at OR Tambo International Airport at half past nine. An hour later, she left the airport driving a sporty Volkswagen coupé. She navigated toward the N12 and placed a call to Dr. Johannè Luyt. At first, the epidemiologist was skeptical of her request, but she warmed when Zoe told her about Dr. Kruger’s role in saving Godfrey’s life. She took Zoe’s number and promised to call her back.
Traffic heading into the city center was a bumper-to-bumper mess of flashing lights and honking horns. Zoe’s iPhone rang in the midst of the gridlock.
“I spoke with Dr. Kruger,” said Dr. Luyt. “Can you come to Wits?”
“Of course. Where shall I meet you?”
“How about the steps of the Great Hall?”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Zoe arrived at East Campus of the University of the Witwatersrand a few minutes ahead of schedule. After obtaining a visitor’s pass, she parked in the lot at the top of the hill and followed a path to the terraced lawns of the quad. The campus was alive with activity—students hurrying to class, professors engaging in conversation, and rugby enthusiasts grappling with one another in the grass. She walked toward the imposing edifice of the Great Hall. A thin middle-aged woman in a white lab coat was standing on the steps.
Zoe waved. “Dr. Luyt,” she said, holding out her hand, “I’m Zoe Fleming.”
The doctor returned her handshake curtly. “Dr. Kruger is in the field today.”
“Will he be available tomorrow?” Zoe asked.
Dr. Luyt looked at her carefully. “I might be able to arrange a meeting, but I wanted to speak to you first. The findings of our recent study have generated an avalanche of interest. We have had to be cautious with our time.”
Zoe concealed her puzzlement with a fib. “I know of the study but not the findings.”
Dr. Luyt’s voice grew passionate. “We worked with HIV-discordant couples—that is, one positive partner and one negative partner—and introduced antiretrovirals early, as prevention rather than treatment. We had only one new infection in the study period—an astonishing result. We now believe that with early ARV treatment and prenatal treatment of HIV-positive mothers it may be possible to eliminate the transmission of the virus over the next generation.”
“Eliminate?” Zoe was astounded. “You’re talking about a future without AIDS?”
“It would take time, but yes. The only question is whether the politicians will give us the funding.” She began to walk down the path beneath flowering trees. “Tell me more about the young man Dr. Kruger saved.”
Keeping pace with her, Zoe filled in the details of Godfrey’s story. When she concluded, Dr. Luyt took out her mobile phone. “That’s what he told me. I’m sure he will meet with you.”
The telephone conversation was brief. Afterward, Dr Luyt regarded Zoe again. “There is a coffee shop called Sun Garden outside Cosmo City. He will meet you there.” She shook Zoe’s hand. “I am sorry for delaying you.”
Zoe nodded. “I hope you get your funding. It could change the face of Africa.”
Dr. Luyt looked suddenly wistful. “It c
ould, indeed.”
Zoe found the coffee shop inside a plant nursery in one of Johannesburg’s northwestern suburbs. She left her car in the gravel lot and walked through the showroom, taking a seat on a bench beneath a shaded trellis of vines. At eleven in the morning, the place was mostly empty. A waitress approached her, and Zoe ordered a cappuccino.
On the drive, she had worked out a strategy for her talk with Dr. Kruger, but she was not excited about it. In fact, she felt a strong sense of guilt. She thought of Kuyeya, and the guilt became sorrow. If only Charity had finished her nursing degree, if only she had never met Darious, if only she had sought treatment in time, Dr. Kruger could have been left in peace.
She reached into her backpack and extracted Bella’s journal, placing it at the center of the table. The waitress brought her coffee, and she sipped it, looking toward the entrance. A few minutes later she saw him. He was as Godfrey recalled—fair-haired and blue-eyed. He caught sight of her and walked briskly to her table.
“Ms. Fleming,” he said, glancing at the journal. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Dr. Kruger,” she said, “thank you for your time.”
He sat down across from her. “How is Godfrey these days?” he asked, his pronunciation that of an educated Rhodesian.
“He’s trying to make a life for himself,” she replied. “Most of his family is dead.”
A shadow darkened the doctor’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that. How did they …?”
“AIDS, mostly.”
He shook his head. “We have so far to go.”
She took a breath to calm her racing heart. “I’d like talk to you about Charity Mizinga.”
In the silence that followed, she studied his face, searching for traces of pain or remorse, but she saw none. Either you are an excellent actor, or you came prepared for this.
“Charity,” he said eventually. “She was a talented student.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Zoe pointed at the journal. “She left you a gift.”
Dr. Kruger’s eyes narrowed, but he recovered quickly. “What do you mean?”
She gestured at the book. “See for yourself.”
He stared at her, ignoring the journal. “You asked me here on the pretense that you wished to speak about Godfrey. I don’t like being deceived.”
Zoe struggled to control her frustration. “Would you rather I’d told you that the student you regarded so highly spent the last years of her life as a prostitute in Lusaka? Would you have preferred me to say that she wrote hundreds of letters describing her debasement? Every single one of them is addressed to you. I want to know why.”
He turned his eyes toward the journal, wavering. Finally, he opened the cover. He scanned a number of pages and then set the book down again. “I don’t know why she wrote these,” he said quietly.
“When did you last see her?”
He fingered the journal. “She dropped out of school in her second year. I can’t recall which month. It came as a shock to all of us.”
“She didn’t give you a reason?”
“She didn’t even say goodbye.”
“Yet she wrote you hundreds of letters.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes students have infatuations. You understand that, I’m sure.”
Zoe looked at him skeptically. “Did you ever get the sense that she had feelings for you?”
The doctor shook his head. “Our relationship was strictly platonic.”
“How friendly were you?”
“We saw each other almost every day. She was very dedicated to the research. When Godfrey contracted malaria, she helped me save his life. I knew her fairly well.”
“Did you know she had a daughter?”
“What?” He appeared genuinely shocked. “She had a daughter in Livingstone?”
“You tell me.”
He shook his head. “When I knew her, she never talked about a child.”
“So her daughter was born after she dropped out of school?”
“I have no idea. How old is the girl?”
Zoe paused, meeting his eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
He sat back in his chair, his expression thick with mistrust. “Who are you?”
“Charity’s daughter was raped in Lusaka,” she replied, laying all of her cards on the table. “We believe the perpetrator is a young man named Darious Nyambo, son of Frederick Nyambo, the industrialist. I’m one of the attorneys working on the case.”
As soon as Zoe spoke these words, she knew she had lost him.
He stood up angrily. “You not only deceived me, you deceived Dr. Luyt. What happened to this girl is a terrible thing. But it has nothing to do with me.”
Gritting her teeth, Zoe threw her calculation to the wind. “Did you have an affair with Charity Mizinga? Is that why she wrote you all these letters?”
His eyes flashed. “How dare you come here and accuse me of such a thing? Please give Godfrey my best. But do not contact me again.”
With that, he turned around and left.
Zoe took the expressway back to OR Tambo and bought a ticket on the mid-afternoon flight to Lusaka. When the plane landed, she met Joseph at the curb and slid into the passenger seat, preempting the question in his eyes.
“The trip was an abysmal failure. There, I said it.”
He stayed silent until they left the airport complex. “Did you learn anything?”
“I learned that sometimes I need to keep my mouth shut. Oh, and I learned that a bunch of epidemiologists have proven that we could end the AIDS epidemic in a generation, but that the politicians might scuttle it by gutting foreign aid.”
He laughed under his breath. “You do speak your mind. What did you learn about Jan?”
She calmed down. “I think he’s hiding something. He explained the journal by suggesting that Charity had some sort of schoolgirl crush. I think something happened between them, but I have no proof.” She looked at him. “You think all this is crazy, don’t you? You don’t think it relates to the case.”
He shook his head. “When you have a hunch, you have to follow it. I can’t tell you how many cases I’ve broken that way.”
She took a breath, grateful for his vote of confidence. “So what did you do today?”
He glanced at her. “I found a link between the magistrate and the Nyambos.”
“You’re kidding!”
He smiled. “I had lunch with my friend at the Department of Energy. When I mentioned Thoko Kaunda, he told me that Kaunda’s father is high-level official in the Department of Water Affairs. He was hired by a certain Minister of Energy.”
Her eyes lit up. “Frederick Nyambo,” she said. Then she had another thought. “With Nyambo’s interest in Batoka Gorge, I wonder if they still have a relationship.”
“It’s possible. The link isn’t as direct as a personal friendship, but it raises doubt about the magistrate’s impartiality. Mariam is going to take it to the DPP tomorrow.”
Zoe looked out the window and saw that traffic was unusually light. “Have they announced the election results?”
“Sata is ahead, but it’s too close to call. PF is making a lot of noise about fraud.”
“If anything happens in Woodlands, you can stay over at my place. Kabulonga will be safer than anywhere else.” She regarded him and saw the weariness in his eyes. “You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Probably not.”
“Is it the case?”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I have dreams. They keep me awake.”
“About what?”
“My sister.” He blinked as if trying to shake off the memories. “It’s too long a story.”
“Not if we get dinner. I bet Arcades is open tonight.”
He shook his head. “I really don’t want to talk about it.” Then he surprised her with a grin. “But I wouldn’t mind dinner. What about Plates?”
She laughed. “You’re on.”
Chapter
15
The following morning, Zoe took a seat at the table in Mariam’s office. Joseph, Sarge, and Niza were already there. Mariam dialed the DPP’s number on the speakerphone, and Levy Makungu answered after three rings. His tone made obvious his displeasure.
“I heard about the decision on DNA. I presume you plan to appeal?”
“Not exactly,” Mariam replied. “We believe the magistrate has an undisclosed conflict of interest. His family has a relationship with the family of the accused.”
The DPP took a breath. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
Mariam forged ahead. “We could file an application for recusal, but we’re certain he won’t remove himself without persuasion.”
“Just a minute,” Makungu said, and put the phone down. Seconds later, Zoe heard the sound of a door being closed. The DPP came back on the line. “Unless you have concrete evidence of bias, I’m going to hang up and forget you called.”
“Our VSU officer is in the room. Joseph, will you tell Levy what you found?”
Joseph rolled his chair closer to the phone and shared his findings and his source.
Makungu grunted. “I’m going to need confirmation.”
“I can give you his number,” Joseph said. “He’ll talk to you.”
The DPP took his time replying. “Mariam, what do you propose I do about this?”
Mariam shifted in her seat. “Give the information to the Principal Resident Magistrate. He’ll know how to handle it.”
“I have great respect for Flexon Mubita, but he assigned Kaunda to the case. What if he already knows about this?”
“I trust him more than anyone on the bench. But you’re right. It’s a risk we have to take.”
Makungu cleared his throat. “If the officer’s story checks out, I’ll talk to Flexon.”
Mariam looked relieved. “Thank you, Levy. I owe you one.”
“More than one,” he replied, and hung up.
Zoe spent the remainder of her morning polishing a brief she had written in another child-rape case. The client this time was an eleven-year-old girl from the Ng’ombe Compound whose great-uncle had molested her for years before she finally confessed to her mother and her mother went to the police. After threatening the child, the uncle had hired an attorney, and the attorney had threatened the mother. At Niza’s request, Zoe had drafted an application for contempt, but she expected the magistrate to overrule it. The accused and his attorney had denied making the threats, and the child’s mother was a poor widow standing on nothing but her word.
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