The child smiled and scampered back to his chiyanto game.
When the sun disappeared behind the corrugated metal horizon, they returned to the alley where Joseph had parked his truck. Zoe glanced at him and saw the disappointment in his eyes. It was obvious he had expected to learn more from an afternoon in Kanyama.
“This is a strange case,” she remarked.
“Every case is different,” he replied.
“Sure, but most of them follow a pattern. The perpetrator is a neighbor or family member. The crime happens near the victim’s home. The suspect covers it up with threats and bribery. This is different in every respect.”
“It’s different in some respects,” he corrected. “The girl could have known the perpetrator.”
“Sure. But why go to the trouble of driving into Kanyama at midnight? It’s as if he wanted her to disappear.”
Joseph nodded. “Or be violated again. The perfect cover for rape is another rape.”
“My God,” she exhaled, acknowledging the horrible symmetry of the idea.
“The question I have,” he went on, “is how he snatched her so late at night?”
“We have to find her family.”
He nodded. “They’ll file a report eventually.”
She was about to ask another question when she heard the squeaking of brakes behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a pickup truck blocking the alleyway—a truck carrying young men in green T-shirts. The driver stepped out of the cab, and Zoe’s heart lurched.
It was the hawkish boy in the green bandana.
The rest of his gang jumped out and surrounded them. Joseph made a move toward his truck, but a brawny kid stepped into his path. Zoe scanned the alley and saw that they were boxed in. The walls were too high to scale, and the neighbors were useless—they would never come to the aid of a stranger. Why are they doing this? she thought. What do they want? Suddenly she knew. They want me.
“Let me handle this,” Joseph said, stepping between Zoe and the bandana-clad leader. He spoke a string of heated words in Nyanja, but the young man just smirked, eyeing Zoe.
“What your name, muzungu?” he asked in heavily accented English.
“Don’t talk to him,” Joseph commanded her. He gave the boy a piercing look. “I’m a police officer. You touch us and I’ll throw you all in jail.”
The gang leader laughed as if Joseph had made a joke. “In Kanyama, police sleep. You sleep with muzungu, police?”
Zoe heard sniggering and glanced around. The gang had closed ranks. A wave of dread surged through her and spawned an equal but opposite wave of anger. She was certain Joseph was unarmed; Zambian police officers were rarely issued firearms. She searched the ground for a weapon but saw only scattered bricks ten feet away.
“Back off,” Joseph said darkly. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”
The gang leader looked annoyed. “What you do, police? You fight for muzungu? Rupiah Banda fight for muzungus.” He glanced around at his companions. “Police is friend of MMD.”
The allegation had its intended effect: the gang members began to grumble and curse. Emboldened, the gang leader tried to shove Joseph out of the way, but Joseph backhanded him across the face. The gang leader cried out and threw a wild punch, which Joseph easily ducked. He countered with a swift jab into the kid’s stomach. The gang leader doubled over, and Joseph pivoted on his feet, searching for another target. He managed to land two more punches before three boys took him down.
Zoe screamed as strong hands grabbed her from both sides. She fought back instinctively, torquing her body to escape their grasp and lashing out with her feet. She drove her heel into the jaw of a reed-thin young man, and he collapsed in a heap. She kicked a stocky boy in the stomach and hit him in the side of the head with her backpack. A third gang member wrapped her in a bear hug, and she kneed him in the groin and crushed his nose with her palm.
But she was no match for a joint attack.
Two boys came at her from behind, lifting her off her feet. She kicked violently, screaming at the top of her lungs, as they pushed her into the dirt and held her down. She felt their rough hands yanking at her shirt, at her jeans. Time seemed to fragment like shattered glass. No! Please, God, no! Apparitions danced around her in the dusk. One of the boys sat on her thighs and another straddled her back. She began to lose touch with reality. This can’t be happening! Not again!
Suddenly, she heard a voice rise above the din. “Get away from her!” Joseph screamed. “Get back or I’ll shoot!”
The weight on her thighs relented, as did the pressure on her back. She blinked, squinting through the dust clouding her contact lenses. Joseph was standing over a heap of bodies wielding an AK-47 rifle. At the sight of the roving barrel, the gang members who were still on their feet stepped back, and one of them dropped Zoe’s backpack. Joseph trained the gun on their leader.