SHE WENT BACK into the office, where Mma Makutsi was sitting at her desk, immersed in the task of addressing an envelope. The search for the delinquent Zambian financier had brought forth nothing so far. Most of the letters they had written had been ignored by their recipients, although one, which had been sent to a Zambian doctor who was thought to know just about everybody in the local Zambian community, had drawn a hostile reply. “You people are always saying that Zambians are dishonest and that if there is any money missing then you should look in Zambian pockets. This is defamation and we are fed up with such stereotypes. Everybody knows that you should be looking in Nigerian pockets …”

Mma Ramotswe made her way to her desk and sat down. She reached for a sheet of paper, folded it, and picked up her pen. Then she put down the pen and opened a drawer, not knowing why she was doing this, but filled with dread and fear. The picking up of a pen, the opening of a drawer, the lifting of the telephone handset—all of these were actions that might be performed in distress by one who did not know what to do, but who hoped that by such movements the fear might be defeated, which of course it never would.

Mma Makutsi watched, and knew that whoever it was who had arrived that morning had upset and frightened her employer.

“You saw that person?” she asked gently. “Was it somebody you knew?”

Mma Ramotswe looked up at her and Mma Makutsi saw the pain in her eyes.

“It was somebody I knew,” she said quietly. “It was somebody I knew very well.”

Mma Makutsi opened her mouth to ask a question, but stopped herself as Mma Ramotswe raised a hand.

“I do not want to talk about that, Mma,” she said. “Please do not ask me about this thing. Please do not ask.”

“I will not,” said Mma Makutsi. “I will not ask.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at her watch and muttered something about being late for a meeting. Again Mma Makutsi was about to ask what meeting this was, as nothing had been said about a meeting, but then she thought better of it and simply watched as Mma Ramotswe gathered her things together and left the office. Mma Makutsi waited for a few minutes, until she heard the engine of the tiny white van start, and then she stood up and looked out of the window to see Mma Ramotswe drive out onto the Tlokweng Road and disappear in the direction of town.

Leaving the office, Mma Makutsi found Mr Polopetsi with the apprentice.

“I need to ask you something, Rra,” she said. “That man who came to see Mma Ramotswe—who was he?”