They’re both silent for a moment and Zodwa wonders what the woman is thinking. Her mind seems to be racing and yet her expression is guarded.

“So,” Zodwa prompts. “Can you check your files to see if there are any possible matches?”

“I don’t need to,” Mrs. Nkosi says. “I know all the children here and none of them fits the description.” She hands the photos back to Zodwa, but doesn’t meet her eyes when she says, “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more helpful.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Delilah

3 April 1995

Drimolen, Muldersdrift, South Africa

We all sat clustered around in camping chairs, our encampment of tents and vehicles spread out behind us. The moon, a waxing crescent, resembled a closing parenthesis missing its mate.

It was the fourth dig I’d joined Riaan on but the first one that required us to sleep over for a few nights. We’d started off as a boisterous group of approximately two dozen scientists, students, and volunteers sitting around the fire, but the conversation got more muted as people started drifting off to bed. Only five of us remained and after I yawned for the third time, Riaan stood and held out his hand for me. I took it and stood, trying to ignore the frisson of nerves I felt at his touch.

It was a crisp, cold night and the farther we retreated from the fire, the chillier it got.

“I’ll wait here for you and then walk you to your tent,” Riaan said as we split up to go to the bathrooms.

He was waiting for me when I came out, his hands tucked into his pockets and his head tilted back looking at the stars. I stood still for a moment, just watching him and thinking how he’d retained so much of his boyish charm.

“I pitched our camp over there.”

When Riaan had first invited me, he’d made it clear that we’d be staying in separate tents, which had alleviated some of my anxiety. He’d arrived a few days before me along with some of the scientists, so everything was already set up, and I was grateful to have my bed ready and waiting for me.

I’d spent the day doing grunt work, and even that had required special training beforehand. My muscles were sore from spending the day crouched over buckets of sand, sifting through them to find bones or other artifacts, which had to be documented and bagged so that they could be sent for analysis. It was backbreaking but rewarding work.

“Don’t worry, the tents are built for winter conditions and the sleeping bags are made for subzero temperatures, so you shouldn’t be too cold,” Riaan said, leading me to a tent on our site. He unzipped the flap and stepped through, and I could hear him shuffling around on the groundsheet. “Aha,” he said as torchlight flooded the tent. “Here you go.”