The sound of the key turning in the front door lock didn't bring relief; it sounded like a hammer hitting a coffin. Outside the wooden gate, Maricha Sonoko’s screams had dissolved into a wet, choking groan as the man with the rusty machete dragged her across the red mud. And now, Doctor Chaulo was walking right into the trap, holding a black plastic bag filled with loose rice and dried tilapia fish he had just bought from the local market.
"Esther, I got the"
His voice was cut short as the front door swung open. From my hiding spot beneath the kitchen window, I saw the second man from the red Boxer motorcycle lunge from behind the coral stone pillar. He didn't say a word. He brought a heavy wooden club down toward Chaulo’s head with a sickening, whistling speed.
But Chaulo wasn't just a
