7
Jed sat on the concrete stoep of the police station smoking a cigarette and reading a report of how his daughter had died.
He was in the shade, but he figured the mercury had topped a hundred. Sweat rolled down his fore head into his eyes, forcing him to blink every now and then. A passer-by, although there weren’t any at this hottest time of the African day, might have thought he was crying. He wasn’t, but the lump in his throat got bigger as he read on. The police station’s photocopier was broken and Superintendent Ncube would not let him take his only copy of the investigation report away, so Jed was forced to read it on the premises.
The victim’s tent was found to be open and there was evidence a single lion had entered, in the form of muddy paw prints on the nylon floor. The cam
