‘Apparently they ran after the gunmen, and were shot out here.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Another toto hid in the woodpile and saw everything. He roused a few of the natives in the compound, but no one thought to fetch us until the morning.’

‘Did you find any letters in my sister’s bedroom?’

‘Letters?’

‘She was trying to stand up to the people running the ivory trade out here – I know someone wrote to her about it. I think they threatened her.’

‘We didn’t find anything in her room, but we’ll look into it.’ Phillips seemed uncertain. ‘It’s more likely to be a case of robbery. There are many people out there who think the law doesn’t apply to them.’

I felt a sudden revulsion for him, for Kiboko, for the bodies underneath the white sheet. I couldn’t wait any longer to look for Solly, even if it meant explaining who he was to the police. I had to be sure he was safe – nothing else mattered now.

I stood up.

‘Do you mind if I go inside?’

‘Are you sure you want to?’

‘I just want to see –’

Phillips looked doubtful. ‘Don’t touch anything.’

I had to stop myself from running through the house and into Maud’s bedroom. Other than her bed and normal pieces of furniture it was empty. No police, and nothing there to show Solomon had even existed, no cot, no blankets, no toys. I leaned against the doorframe, my mind whirring. I wondered if she’d hidden him, before I remembered Phillips saying she’d been shot straight away.

I didn’t even want to consider the possibility that the gunmen had taken him, or what they would do to him if they had. I felt my heart throb imagining how desperate Maud would have been right now.

I stumbled outside and across the lawn. One of the African children was skulking by my car. I leaned against the bonnet, and she took my hand silently, tugging at me and looking up with big eyes.

I followed her to one of the smaller huts in the compound. The woman who had been there at Solly’s birth came out, wiping her hands on her skirt.

‘I have little bwana,’ she said.

My throat closed up and I couldn’t speak for a while; the woman waited in front of me, her face turned to the ground.

‘What happened, Josephine?’

‘Before police arrive I bring him to my house. He’s a brave boy, not crying.’

‘Thank God,’ I said, and then couldn’t stop saying it.

She waited for me to finish, still staring at the ground.

‘Do you think you could look after him for a few days?’ I said, when I was finally able to get the words out. ‘My mother doesn’t know –’

‘I can look after him.’

‘Do you need food? Does he need food?’

‘I have milk,’ she said.