A woman replied, “When I need another man telling me what’s good for me, it won’t be you . . .”

“Goodness,” Hungry said under her breath.

At the far end of the catwalk was a massive stainless steel door more than four inches thick, with recessed locking bolts along its edges, the kind of door found on a bank vault or, Klay reasoned, a safe room. Klay smiled. Someone had propped the impregnable door open using a floor mop and a couple of bricks. All the protections . . .

Inside, the argument continued: “. . . slipping around those clubs has brought sin home with you . . .”

Hungry grasped the mop and slid the bricks away with her toe. “Please,” she said, ushering Klay and Tenchant inside. Behind them, the steel door closed with a hush.

“It’s my kota he has, mum,” a large woman said. “He has taken it for himself. In his desk drawer.“

“Untrue,” the man said. “I do have it in my desk drawer, but I have it for your own good. You have your daughter’s wedding to think of . . .”

Three people were seated at desks in what resembled a mini squad room. Whiteboard. Steel filing cabinets. Computers. Each had their breakfast laid out in front of them, none appeared to have started eating yet.

Hungry cleared her throat. “Mr. Tom Klay and Mr. David Tenchant of The Sovereign magazine, this—I am rarely embarrassed to say—is my task force. They think we call them the Wild Dogs because they are three of our nation’s finest criminal prosecutors. But you will find, as with so many things in South Africa, the truth is much more straightforward.”

Hungry gestured toward a large, light-skinned woman in a bright dress and ornate headscarf. “This is Miss Edna Sebati, who,” she said sharply, “is in charge of this office when I am away.”

Miss Edna nodded.

“Miss Minenhle Mthembu—Minnie—my junior prosecutor,” Hungry said. Minnie smiled. She was slender, in her late twenties, wearing a dark business suit and white blouse.

“And last, Officer Julius Sehlalo, our investigator, formerly of the Hawks.”

Sehlalo was handsome and fit, and as dark-skinned as Tenchant was pale. He wore a tailored navy-blue jacket over a black T-shirt. A gold medallion on a gold chain hung around his neck.

Klay and Tenchant smiled hello, but that didn’t help much. They were outsiders, and tension in the room was thick. As he reached forward to shake Sehlalo’s hand, Klay noticed a holster under Sehlalo’s jacket, a reminder that this special prosecutor’s office came with special powers.

Hungry walked behind Sehlalo’s desk. She opened a drawer and removed a large sandwich wrapped in foil. “This kota is the property of the state now. I will dispose of it according to the rules of eminent domain, affording just compensation to its owner in the form of mineral water and raw vegetables of her choice.”

“State capture!” Miss Edna shouted.