IT WAS THAT MORNING, while Mma Ramotswe was finding out about the loss of the tiny white van, that Mma Makutsi made a discovery of her own. The matter of the missing Zambian financier was proving frustrating. Letters had been sent out to no avail, and telephone calls had taken them no further. Mma Ramotswe had suggested a few personal calls on prominent members of the Zambian community in Gaborone, and that was what she was proposing to do. They had three names—a dentist with a long list of patients, many of them Zambians, a minister of religion, and a businessman who ran a thriving import-export agency. Looking at the list that morning, she had decided not to try to speak to the dentist, as she knew that dentists were usually very busy and she would be unlikely to get past the receptionist. Of course she could make an appointment to see him—she had not had her teeth checked for some time and it might be a good idea to have that done—but it would be difficult to ask questions while one’s mouth was full of dental equipment. It was for this reason, perhaps, that conversations with dentists were often somewhat one-sided.

She had telephoned the minister of religion but had been spoken to by his answering machine. I am not in, but you may leave a message, a careful voice had announced, and in the meantime, my prayers are with you. Mma Makutsi had been momentarily taken by surprise when she heard this message, and she put down the receiver without saying anything. How could his prayers be with her if he did not even know who it was who had called? It would be different, she thought, if he had said that his prayers would be with her in the future, once he had heard that she had called. That, at least, would have been honest. Of course, he was only trying to be kind—she understood that—but it was important, she felt, that one should always speak the truth, and ministers of religion, more than others, should understand that.

Mma Makutsi thought about this for a few minutes, and the more she pondered it, the crosser she became. Eventually, picking up the telephone she dialled the number again and listened, with irritation, to the insincere message. Then, after hearing the tone which indicated that she could leave a message, she spoke. “This is Grace Makutsi of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency here. I am calling you about some important matters. But how can your prayers be with me until you have heard who I am? Should you not say that you will pray for people after you find out who they are? Shouldn’t you do that? Thank you very much, Reverend, and goodbye.”